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PATTY CLOSED TOM'S NOTEBOOK HAVING READ THE NEXT FEW PAGES. ‘There's nothing in there that tells us how to wake him up. He just comes to in the story when he's dried with a towel.' She stared at the purple bump on the side of her grandson's head. ‘Maybe we should go to a hospital.'

Ben finished tying Aziram to a chair using skipping ropes. ‘I don't know about that. I'm not sure what'll happen to him if we take him outside of the boundaries of the story.' He nodded to the head teacher. ‘It looks to me like it's already moving on.'

Mrs Aziram was crying. Her eyes were no longer lifeless, but instead were red and sorrowful. Wet lines of tears marked her cheeks. ‘I can't remember a thing! I didn't know what I was doing! The last thing I remember was thinking about going to my sister's on the bus!'

‘Put a sock in it,' said Patty. She knelt by Tom, holding a damp cloth to his bruised face.

She'd never, in all her sixty years, ever actually seen anyone knocked out cold. She'd assumed that she'd be able to shake him awake, but Tom wasn't for opening his eyes. His breathing was even, if a little slight and quiet; occasionally she had to check it was still there.

‘If he doesn't wake in five minutes we're taking him to a hospital.'

Ben stood, Mrs Aziram's metre ruler in his hand. It was no longer an awesome weapon that could crack floors – it was a flimsy piece of wood. Still, he held it in two hands as if he was about to launch an attack with it. ‘I should check the rest of the building, and the car park. But judging by the fact Miss Trunchbull here has gone back to normal, I think we're on our own.'

‘If his car is not there, come back and tell me. We'll get Tom out of here.'

Miss Aziram rocked in her chair. ‘What about me?'

Patty huffed. ‘Looks like you're here until term starts in September.'

*

Tom assumed that it had to be a dream.

He was lying in his bed at home, his Minecraft duvet pulled up to his chin. It felt a little strange as it was tucked in along the sides.
Snug as a bug in a rug,
he smirked.

He glanced around at the familiar fixtures: shelves filled with books and posed toy figures that he was beginning to admit he was getting too old for; his desk covered in notebook and a lava lamp; posters with tatty edges and scuff marks on the wall where he'd parked Dodge. He could see that his wheelchair wasn't in the room.
That's because I can walk now,
he thought.

He sent a command from his brain to his legs for them to wiggle, but nothing seemed to be happening. At this point, his dad came in, all red-faced and flustered. ‘No, Tom! You mustn't try to move! You've had a traumatic time!' He came and sat by the bed and laid a palm on the duvet where Tom's midriff was. ‘You need to rest.'

‘I feel fine, honestly. Is Grandma Patty okay?'

His father's eyes seemed to darken. ‘Don't you mention that woman's name in this house! She has got a lot to answer for. She's not welcome here.'

‘But Dad, I was just getting to know her really-'

‘You're not to see her again, and that's final.' He applied more pressure with his hand on Tom's body. ‘You're staying here. Forever.'

‘Dad, don't push so hard.' Tom went to move his arms but found that they too seemed unresponsive. In fact, the only movement he appeared to have was from the neck up. He twisted his head to see his mother in the doorway. She was sobbing into her hands.

‘Mum? What's the matter?'

‘She knows it's for the best, really,' replied Dad. He was untucking the duvet from the sides of the mattress.

‘What's for the best? What are you talking about, Dad?' He was beginning to feel alarmed. He looked at his father's hands grabbing the edges of the duvet. Did they look bigger than usual?

Dad grinned, but his teeth weren't right; they looked a little pointed. ‘I'm talking about this!' he said. With a flourish he whipped away the duvet.

On the bed, Tom's body was encased, from shoulders to toes, in white, tight cotton wool. His arms and legs were arranged evenly so that they were separate from the rest of him, no one body part touching another. Cotton wool was packed into every gap.

It's only soft,
Tom thought, and tried again to move. However, he couldn't twitch the merest muscle. It was like he was fixed in a mould.

His father's eyes were darker, and his teeth were sharper. And as he lay both palms on Tom's body, his hands grew uncommonly big. ‘You're going to be staying here where you're safe, for a very long time,
Master Tommy
. Oh ho ho!'

A forked, lizard tongue flicked out between his father's teeth.

Tom screamed.

*

Ben had checked the corridors and classrooms of the school. There was nothing untoward or out of place; it was clearly just a school that had been tidied up for the summer and a few weeks away from firing back into life. He left the metre rule in one of the classrooms.

As he walked along the corridor to the school's entrance hall, he could see the alarm system in the corners, blinking with a red dot. He assumed that Aziram must have disabled it, unless it was a silent alarm that just alerted the police. If that was the case he might have a car park full of colleagues in front of him when he opened the door. He didn't know whether or not that would be a good or a bad thing. That was when he remembered that the car park was actually around the back of the school. Still, he thought he might as well leave by the front and walk around, just so he could check the grounds as well. He stepped out into the sunshine.

It seemed brighter than earlier; a little more normal. Ben thought that it could be because the position of the story had changed and that the school wasn't central to it at this time. He also thought that if they didn't get moving soon, that brightness might turn grey and lifeless, and they'd fall off the story. He checked his phone. He'd had no signal earlier, but now he had one bar. He glanced down at the rip in his shirt where the blade had gone in. He tried to call Dan.

He couldn't get through; all he got was a permanent engaged tone. He supposed that was possible with Dan if he was playing one of his games and was on a call with another player. Ben opted for sending a text.

I want to tell him that I love him,
Ben thought.

Only, when he looked at the phone screen, all he could see was a series of zeros, in sets of three. 000, 000, 000 all over the screen. Every function he tried to access, just came up with the same numerical sequence.
Brilliant.
He shoved the phone in his pocket and walked up the drive around the side of the building.

Kildare's car had gone, and Ben's was the only vehicle in the car park. He could tell though from a distance that something was up. Not just the fiery new paint job that his car had suddenly acquired, but there was something wrong with the windscreen. A couple of steps closer revealed what it was. It had been smashed in. Jagged fragments of glass lined the window frame but the rest was open and exposed. He noticed the pallet full of bricks next to the building had been disturbed. There was at least one missing.

That's just petty
, he thought, but then he smiled. It said something about their enemy, that he thought it would be, what,
appropriate
, to smash the window? That wasn't the work of an evil mastermind; it was just downright childish. It made Ben think that this man – or whatever he was – wasn't really as dangerous as he thought.

Wait a minute,
a voice in Ben's head said.
He did stab you in the gut with a dagger. By rights you should be dead.

But I'm not. And I think that has frustrated him. So he's got all pathetic and smashed my window.

I think we're winning.

Chuckling to himself, Ben headed to the fire door that opened up into the school hall.

*

Tom was still stuck in his bedroom, his father holding him down, his mother crying in the doorway. However, there was now someone else. His grandmother was outside the bedroom window. However, she wasn't standing on the lawn – which you could do at their bungalow home when stood outside his bedroom – she was floating in air. The view behind her wasn't the normal view either; he could make out the tops of buildings behind her. Where had his bedroom been transported to?

Grandma Patty wasn't particularly trying to get in, or even get anyone's attention. It was like she was playing charades. Bizzarely, hovering in the space on the other side of the window, she was acting out in mime all the adventures they had had in their quest to regain Greatgrammy Aisling's necklace. There was the breaking of the statue for the key, the defeat of the giant tramps, the altercation in the old shop…through it all Grandma Patty spun and twirled, wielding her walking stick like a weapon and defeating all manner of invisible enemies.

It made Tom laugh in his bed.

‘What are you doing?' asked his Dad. ‘Don't exert yourself! I want you to sleep!'

Tom just laughed louder as his Grandma was miming hand-to-hand combat, no doubt with Mrs Aziram.

‘Enough!' said the dad-figure – because Tom knew now that it wasn't really his dad – ‘You must rest! Eternal rest!'

Then Grandma Patty broke out her mime and slammed her walking stick against the glass. It didn't smash, but that wasn't her intention: she was showing him something. Another one of her stickers.

This one was designed to look like a street sign – he could see that much – but he couldn't make out the words.
I have to get out of bed,
he thought. He heaved with everything he had, causing the bed to shake with the effort.

‘No!' said Kildark (because Dad was gone now, and the real enemy was in his place). ‘You can't!'

But Tom could. He tore himself free of the cotton wool and flung himself at the glass. He braced himself against it with his hands, and looked directly at the sticker that his flying grandma was showing him.

Tom woke up.

*

Patty gasped with relief as her grandson's eyes flickered open. She continued to mop his brow but gave him a squeeze with her other arm. ‘Hello, you!'

Even the head teacher visibly slumped in her chair-prison as the tension immediately left the room. At the same time, Ben walked back into the hall.

‘He's awake!' Patty called out. ‘Are you feeling okay?' she asked Tom.

Tom coughed as he sat up, but said, ‘I'm fine.' He put his fingers to his temple. ‘This hurts a little.'

‘Yes, well she gave you quite a whack.'

‘I'm so sorry, Tom!' blurted out Mrs Aziram. ‘I don't know what happened!'

‘That's okay,' said Tom. ‘But that makes us even.'

‘Hmmph!' said Grandma Patty. ‘I'm not sure I agree with that!' She got up and turned the headteacher's chair around so that she was facing the wall. ‘Button it, you!'

‘It's all clear outside,' said Ben. ‘His car's gone. He's put a brick through my windscreen before leaving though.'

‘Mardy,' muttered Patty.

Ben nodded. ‘I tried to ring my son because I had a signal for a second, but I couldn't get through.'

Patty wished she had a mobile now to try and contact Alex and Charlotte. She knew the house phone number though, so she could try the school landline. She explained her thoughts to the others.

‘Press nine for an outside line!' added Mrs Aziram helpfully.

Patty went down the corridor and headed straight for the front of the school. She picked up the phone at the reception desk. Once she'd dialled she listened to the tone. It was picked up on the third ring. It was Alex who answered. ‘Hello? Who's this?'

‘Hello, dearie! I just wanted to let you know that Tom's okay. He's had-'

‘Hello? Hello? Is there somebody there?'

‘Alex, can't you hear me? It's your mother!'

‘Hello? Look, just get off this line will you! Hello!'

It was clear that Alex wasn't going to be able to hear her, that the lines of communication weren't truly open.

But then Patty had an idea. How had they communicated before this?

Tom's notebook was still in her handbag from when she was reading it for clues earlier. She opened it at those pages. ‘George stopped and gasped as the spider disappeared over the horizon.'

‘Mum? Is that you?'

‘Yes, son! We're fine!'

‘Hello? I've lost you again, Mum!'

Patty realised that it was only the story that could get through. They'd left torn pages of it earlier; now she could read it to him and communicate that way. ‘Oh it's no use, that thing is too fast!'

‘That's great, Mum! Keep going!'

She did, and when the others joined her to see what was taking her so long, she handed the phone over to Tom and let him read it. ‘There was a little gasp from behind him. He took a look at the rest of the hall. There were rows and rows of wooden chairs, some of them occupied by surprised looking people.'

Ben whispered to Patty. ‘Do you think they'll work out that we're at the school?'

‘They just might.'

Tom looked down at the notebook. The chapter was finished, and although there was still more of the story to go, the pages weren't revealing to them what came next. ‘It doesn't want them to know any more,' he said. ‘I love you!' he shouted down the phone, but it was obvious that they could no longer hear. He hung up.

Ben looked at the notebook. It doesn't seem to want us to know what's next either. ‘Where to now?'

‘I know,' said Tom.

‘You remember what you wrote next in the story?' asked Grandma Patty.

‘No, but I know where we're going. You showed me in my dream. It was on your walking stick. A particular street.'

Patty looked down and twirled the wood, pausing to look at stickers. ‘Highway to Hell?'