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still choking on his own blood, lying in the Garden House basement, smelling of rotten meat. And then something alive, with cold wet fur, brushed against her ankles—
    Heidi didn’t scream, she didn’t drop her phone, but she bolted: up all the stairs, all the way back to her attic: practically without drawing a breath until she was sitting on her bed, gasping in the dark, with the door shut—
    For about half a second she felt safe. But she could smell the stink of decay, and something was making a scratching noise over by the window.
    It had been waiting for her in the basement. It had followed her back upstairs. It was here.
    Whatever it was, it wasn’t ghostly silent. And I’m awake this time, thought Heidi, grimly.
She switched on her torch and saw a dark, fuzzy shape scrabbling at the cardboard mend.
Dropping the phone on her bed she crossed the room in a bound and pounced . Too slow! The cardboard fell down, the broken window spat cold rain: the fuzzy shape had vanished.
    But Heidi’s door was shut. It hadn’t escaped. ‘I’ve had enough,’ said Heidi, aloud. ‘I’m sick of this. I’m going to get you.’
    She dragged the broken wheelback over and used it to wedge the cardboard mend back in place. She lit all six of her candles, and stood them round the room, dripping wax to fix them upright. The effect was surprising: a proper blaze of light. Gripping the Rock Mouse, both a weapon and her one true friend, she searched.
    This took about ten seconds: there was nowhere to hide.
    Then she listened , and heard a tiny sound from behind the rickety bookcase. Still clutching the Mouse, she shifted old copies of Gardener’s World. The backboard inside the bottom shelf was loose. There was a space behind it. The thing was dead quiet now, but Heidi could feel it crouching there, praying not to be found. She yanked the loose board, thrust her arm into the dark, and closed her fist on fur .
    It struggled but it didn’t attack. It was timid, and Heidi was far stronger.
The nightmare was a cat. A smelly old big black cat, with paws like saucers, flat ears, a snub nose, and two huge, sulky, pleading orange eyes.
    â€˜It was you all along, wasn’t it,’ said Heidi, shaking it. ‘ Stupid cat. You don’t look a bit like my mother. Bad dream cat, where do you normally live? Out on the roof? Well, I’m sorry, but my window is staying shut from now on.’
    She dumped it on the floor: noticing, regretfully, that with six candles ablaze the room was almost warm. But it was a long time to the end of the month. When she’d finished putting the candles away the cat was hiding under her bed. Heidi decided she didn’t care. She left the door a little open, so it could get out to do its business wherever it normally did; and lay down. Her phone was safe. The Nightmare was just a stray cat. She could sleep. Within about ten seconds she felt a stealthy humble weight settling beside her, and smelt a poisonous waft.
    â€˜Oh, no you don’t,’ muttered Heidi. ‘You can’t sleep there, Mr Bad Dream. Not now I know.
You stink .’
    She got hold of it, and sat up. It hung damp and limp, the dull gleam of its eyes begging for mercy. It was trembling like mad. ‘No.’ said Heidi; but she said it gently. ‘Out of the question, mate.’ A puzzle struck her. ‘Hey, cat, my window was shut. How did you get into the house just now?’
    Suddenly it started fighting to get free: silently, but like a cat possessed.
    â€˜Okay, okay, forget it,’ said Heidi, dropping it on the floor.
    Then she heard what the cat had heard: the faintest of stealthy footsteps. Somebody was coming. Heidi lay down, pulled the limp duvet to her chin and listened , as if the Cat had infected her with its superhuman hearing as well as its fear — as something terrifying came creeping, from far, far away: up hundreds of stairs, out of the