The Midnight Gang
David Walliams
Welcome to the Midnight Gang! Midnight is the time when all children are fast asleep, except of course for… the Midnight Gang. That is when their adventures are just beginning…When Tom gets hit on the head by a cricket ball, he finds himself at Lord Funt Hospital, and is greeted by a terrifying-looking porter. Things go from bad to worse when he meets the wicked matron in charge of the children’s ward… But Tom is about to embark on the most thrilling journey of a lifetime!The Midnight Gang tells an extraordinarily heartwarming and, of course, funny story of five children on a hospital ward – and on a quest for adventure! It is a story of friendship and magic – and of making dreams come true. Readers are set to be utterly spellbound by this heartfelt story that will bring magic to everyone.
Copyright (#ulink_e2015f1e-7a5e-5432-beb8-d58f7127df08)
First published in Great Britain by
HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2016
HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,
HarperCollins Publishers
1 London Bridge Street
London
SE1 9GF
The HarperCollins website address is:
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
1
Text copyright © David Walliams 2016
David Walliams and Tony Ross assert the moral right to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work.
Cover lettering of author’s name copyright © Quentin Blake 2010. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Illustrations copyright © Tony Ross 2016
Source ISBN: 9780008164614
Ebook Edition © OCTOBER 2016 ISBN: 9780008164638
Version: 2016-10-27
Cover illustration copyright © Tony Ross 2016
Cover design copyright © HarperCollinsPublisher’s Ltd 2016
Cover lettering of author’s name copyright © Quentin Blake 2010
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For Wendy and Henry, two keen readers
and future writers.
David x
Contents
Cover (#u77d36503-4e80-5ef1-86c8-2ef8214ea575)
Title Page (#ud499ed16-eea4-5536-8247-43b937981d09)
Copyright (#ulink_faca750d-e3cc-546a-9911-280faeb923d1)
Dedication (#ulink_965bd29c-35f1-5a9f-9c8b-f2fb46e426ae)
Chapter 1: Monster Man (#ulink_a0262b8a-2d5e-5a29-825a-c8d3c3e66b96)
Chapter 2: Here or There (#ulink_145d8b5f-43fa-5aae-bcf3-99a7dbd14b00)
Chapter 3: Bump (#ulink_172fdced-7405-5bfd-ad84-ebe76d9560e9)
Chapter 4: The Children’s Ward (#ulink_27a11c65-b158-5e39-96ea-7e31a14423f8)
Chapter 5: Pink-Frilly-Nightdress Boy (#ulink_7f52adb6-97cc-5952-baab-e3ab4a88e053)
Chapter 6: Up to No Good (#ulink_90a4c892-23b3-5152-950a-a5ef7d0aab67)
Chapter 7: The Midnight Hour (#ulink_322cd7b7-2ff0-58d6-beab-10d07107622b)
Chapter 8: A Promise (#ulink_8151293b-6cfa-56bf-9527-8056974fa922)
Chapter 9: “B” For Basement (#ulink_6a635022-0371-5801-8b34-7d6d2271f077)
Chapter 10: Rabbit-Dropping Roulette (#ulink_c971e82a-4f5a-553b-9500-bb97daf6d9a0)
Chapter 11: Poop! Poop! and Double Poop! (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12: Following the Leader (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13: Thunk (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14: Deep Freeze (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15: The North Pole (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16: Polar Bear (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17: Telling Stories (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18: Ba Ba Ba Bom (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19: Positively Medieval (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20: The Oath (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21: A Voice in the Darkness (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 22: Snotted (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 23: Deep-Fried Otter (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 24: Goodest Morning (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 25: The Boy Protests too much (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 26: The Taste of Pond (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 27: Fly (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 28: The Impossible Dream (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 29: Balloons, Balloons and more Balloons (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 30: An Old Friend (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 31: The World’s Oldest Child (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 32: Balloon Burglars (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 33: Flying Old Lady (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 34: Bottom on Fire (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 35: Nee-Naw! Nee-Naw! (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 36: The Unwelcoming Committee (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 37: Not a Laughing Matter (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 38: Deep, Deep Trouble (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 39: The Saddest Story (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 40: Chocolate for Breakfast (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 41: One Last Adventure? (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 42: The Escape (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 43: A Wall of Black (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 44: Home (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 45: A One-Winged Pigeon (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 46: Prince Charming (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 47: Nothing is Impossible (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 48: An Awfully Big Adventure (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 49: Two Left Feet (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 50: Poppadoms (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 51: Suspicion (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 52: A Pain in the Bum (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 53: Bong! (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 54: Together (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 55: Nestled in the Pillows (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 56: None Shall Sleep (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 57: Make her Smile (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 58: Tonight is Forever (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 59: “My Bottom Hurts!” (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 60: Long-Forgotten Choc Ice (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 61: A Tender Kiss (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
More from the World of David Walliams (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by David Walliams (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Welcome to the world of the Midnight Gang.
This is LORD FUNT HOSPITAL, in London, England. It was built many years ago and should have been demolished many years ago. The hospital was named in honour of its founder, the late Lord Funt.
Have a look inside LORD FUNT HOSPITAL.
Meet the patients in the children’s ward, high up on the forty-fourth floor of the hospital.
This is Tom. He is twelve and goes to a posh boarding school. He has hurt his head.
Amber is twelve. She has broken both of her arms and both of her legs, so has been in a wheelchair for some time.
Robin is also twelve. He is recovering from an operation to save his eyesight, and for now can’t see a thing.
George is eleven and from the East End of London, which makes him a cockney. He is recovering from having his tonsils taken out in an operation.
Sally is just ten and the youngest of the group. Because she is so ill, Sally spends most of her time sleeping.
Downstairs in one of the grown-ups’ wards is the oldest patient in the hospital – ninety-nine-year-old Nelly.
Hundreds of people work atLORD FUNT HOSPITAL. Among them are:
Porter. A lonely figure, whose real name is a mystery. His job is to move people and things around the hospital, which he never seems to leave.
Matron. Despite running the children’s ward, she doesn’t like children at all.
Doctor Luppers has just become a doctor, and is rather easy to fool.
Tootsie is the hospital’s dinner lady. She brings meals round on a trolley to all the patients.
Nurse Meese is the tired-looking nurse, who never ever seems to get a night off work.
Dilly is one of the hospital’s cleaners. You can always tell where she has cleaned as there will be a long trail of fag ash.
Mr Cod is the old chemist. He has a hearing aid and thick glasses. Mr Cod runs the pharmacy in the hospital.
Sir Quentin Strillers is the upper-class hospital principal, and is in charge of everyone and everything.
From outside the hospital there is Mr Thews, the headmaster of Tom’s school, St Willet’s Boarding School for Boys.
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“Aaarrrggghhh!” screamed the boy.
The most monstrous face he had ever seen was peering down at him. It was the face of a man, but it was completely lopsided. One side was larger than it should have been, and the other was smaller. The face smiled as if to calm the boy down, only to reveal a set of broken and rotten teeth. This made the boy even more scared than before.
“Aaaaarrrrrggggghhhhh!!!!!” he screamed again.
“You will be all right, young sir. Please try and be calm,” slurred the man.
His face was so misshapen, that so was his speech.
Who was this man and where was he taking the boy?
It was only then the boy realised he was lying on his back, staring straight up. It felt almost as if he was floating. But something was
. He was
. The boy realised he must be lying on a trolley. A trolley with wonky wheels.
His head clouded with questions.
Where was he?
How did he get here?
Why couldn’t he remember a thing?
And, most importantly, who was this terrifying man-monster?
The trolley travelled slowly down the long corridor. The boy could hear the sound of something being dragged along the floor. It sounded like the squeak of a shoe.
He looked down. The man was limping. Just like his face, one side of his body was smaller than the other, so the man was dragging his withered leg along with him. It looked like every movement might be painful.
A pair of tall doors swung open and the trolley trundled into a room and came to a stop. Then some curtains were drawn round the boy.
“I hope that wasn’t too uncomfortable, young sir,” said the man. The boy thought it was curious that this man called him “sir”. He had never been called “sir” in his life. He was only twelve. “Sir” was a title reserved only for teachers at his boarding school. “Now you wait here. I’m just the porter. Let me get the nurse. Nurse!”
As he lay there, the boy felt strangely disconnected from his own body. It felt limp. Lifeless.
The pain, though, was in his head. It was throbbing. Hot. If the feeling could be a colour, it would be red. A bright, hot, raging red.
The pain was so intense he closed his eyes.
When he opened them, he realised he was staring straight up at a bright fluorescent light. This made his head ache even more than before.
Then he heard the sound of footsteps approaching.
The curtain was whisked back.
A large older lady in a blue-and-white uniform with a hat leaned over and examined the boy’s head. Dark circles framed her bloodshot eyes. Grey wiry hair squatted on her head. Her face was red raw, as if she had scrubbed it with a cheese grater. In brief, she had the appearance of someone who had not slept for a week, and was angry about it.
“Oh deary me! Oh deary, deary me. Oh deary, deary, deary me …” she muttered to nobody in particular.
In his confused state the boy took a moment to realise this woman was in fact dressed as a nurse.
At last the boy realised where he was. A hospital. He had never been in one before, except the day he was born. And he couldn’t remember that.
The boy’s eyes drifted up to the lady’s name badge: NURSE MEESE, LORD FUNT HOSPITAL.
“That is a bump. A big bump. A very big bump. Now, does this hurt?” she said as she poked the boy hard on his head with her finger.
“Oooowwww!” he screamed, so loudly it echoed along the corridor.
“Some slight pain,” muttered the nurse. “Now, just let me get the doctor. Doctor!”
The curtain was whisked across, and then back again.
As the boy lay there staring at the ceiling, he could hear the sound of footsteps departing.
“Doctor!” she barked out again, now some way down the corridor.
“Coming, Nurse!” came a voice from far off.
“Quickly!” she shouted.
“Sorry!” said the voice.
Then there was the sound of footsteps approaching at speed.
The curtain was whisked back.
A young pointy-faced man breezed in, his long white coat trailing behind him.
“Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear,” announced a posh voice. It was a doctor, and he was somewhat out of breath at having had to run. Looking up, the boy read the man’s name badge – DOCTOR LUPPERS.
“That is a big bump. Does this hurt?” The man took out a pencil from his breast pocket. He then held one end and tapped the boy’s head with it.
“Oooowwww!” the boy screamed again. It wasn’t as bad as being jabbed by a gnarly old finger, but it still hurt.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry! Please don’t report me. I’ve only just graduated as a doctor, you see.”
“I won’t,” muttered the boy.
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure!”
“Thank you. Now I need to make sure I cross the ‘i’s and dot the ‘t’s. I just have this little admissions form to fill in.” The man then proceeded to roll out a form that looked as if it might take a week to complete.
The boy sighed.
“So, young man,” began the doctor in a singsong tone that he hoped might make this boring task fun, “what is your name?”
The boy’s mind went blank.
He had never forgotten his own name before.
“Name?” asked the doctor again.
But, try as he might, the boy couldn’t remember it.
“I don’t know,” he spluttered.
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A look of panic swept across the doctor’s face. “Oh dear,” he said. “There are a hundred and ninety-two questions on this form and we are still stuck on question one.”
“I’m sorry,” replied the boy. As he lay on the hospital trolley, a tear rolled down his cheek. He felt like such a failure, not even being able to remember his own name.
“Oh no! You’re crying!” said the doctor. “Please don’t cry! The hospital principal could come by and think that I have upset you!”
The boy did his best to stop. Doctor Luppers searched his pockets for a tissue. Unable to locate one, he dabbed the boy’s eyes with the form.
“Oh no! Now the form’s wet!” he exclaimed. He then began blowing on the form to try and dry it. This made the boy laugh. “Oh good!” said the man. “You are smiling! Now, look, I am sure we can find out your name. Does it begin with an A?”
The boy was pretty sure it didn’t. “I don’t think so.”
“B?”
The boy shook his head.
“C?”
He shook his head again.
“This could take some time,” muttered the doctor under his breath.
“T!” exclaimed the boy.
“You would like a cup of tea?”
“No! My name. It begins with a T!”
Doctor Luppers smiled as he wrote the first letter on the top of the form. “Let’s see if I can guess. Tim? Ted? Terry? Tony? Theo? Taj? No, you don’t look like a Taj… I’ve got it! Tina?!”
All these suggestions firing at the boy clouded his mind, making it more difficult for him to remember, but finally his own name came shining through.
“Tom!” said Tom.
“Tom!” exclaimed the doctor, as if he was about to have guessed it. He wrote down the next two letters. “So what do they call you? Thomas? Tommy? Big Tom? Little Tom? Tom Thumb?”
“Tom,” replied Tom wearily. Tom had already said his name was Tom.
“Do you have a surname?”
“It begins with a C,” said the boy.
“Well, at least we have the first letter. It’s like doing the crossword!”
“Charper!”
“Tom Charper!” said the man, scribbling it down on the form. “That’s question one done. Just a hundred and ninety-one to go. Now, who brought you to the hospital today? Are your mummy and daddy here?”
“No,” said Tom. He could be sure of that. His parents weren’t here. They were never here; they were always there. For some years now, they had packed their only child off to a posh boarding school deep in the English countryside: St Willet’s Boarding School for Boys.
Tom’s father earned a lot of money working in desert countries far away, extracting oil from the ground, and his mother was very good at spending that money. Tom would only see them on school holidays, usually in a different country each time. Even though Tom had travelled alone for hours to see them, his father would often still have to work all day and his mother would leave him with a nanny while she went shopping for more shoes and handbags.
The boy would be lavished with presents upon arrival – a new train set, a model plane or a knight’s suit of armour. But with nobody to play with Tom would get bored quickly. All he really wanted was to spend time with Mum and Dad, but time was the one thing they never ever gave him.
“No. Mother and Father are abroad,” answered Tom. “I am not sure who brought me to the hospital today. It must have been a teacher.”
“Oooh!” said Doctor Luppers excitedly. “Might it have been your games teacher? There was a man in the waiting area dressed as a cricket umpire with a straw hat and long white jacket, which I thought was unusual, as we tend not to have cricket matches in the waiting area.”
“That must have been my games teacher, Mr Carsey, yes.”
Doctor Luppers’s eyes flicked down to his form. They flashed with panic once again. “Oh dear, it only says ‘parent’, ‘guardian’, ‘friend’ or ‘other’ on the form. What am I going to do?”
“Tick ‘other’,” instructed the boy, taking charge.
“Thank you!” said the doctor, looking relieved. “Thank you so, so much. What is the nature of your injury?”
“A bump on the head.”
“Of course, yes!” replied Doctor Luppers as he scribbled that down on the form. “Now, next question, would you say the general appearance of LORD FUNT HOSPITAL has ‘been lower than your expectations’, ‘has met your expectations’, ‘has exceeded your expectations’ or ‘has greatly exceeded your expectations’?”
“What was the first one again?” asked Tom. The pain in his head made it hard for him to think straight.
“Ooh, that’s ‘been lower than your expectations’.”
“What is?”
“The general appearance of the hospital.”
“I’ve only seen the ceiling so far,” sighed the boy.
“And how would you rate the general appearance of the ceiling?”
“Fine.”
“I’ll put that it ‘has met your expectations’. Next question, would you say that the care you have received today at the hospital has been, ‘poor’, ‘fine’, ‘good’, ‘very good’ or in fact ‘too good’?”
“It’s been all right,” replied Tom.
“Mmm, sorry, but ‘all right’ isn’t on the form.”
“‘Good’ then?”
“Not ‘very good’?” said Doctor Luppers, a hint of pleading in his voice. “It would be nice to say I got a ‘very good’ on my first week.”
Tom sighed. “Put ‘too good’ then.”
“Oooh, thank you!” replied the doctor, his eyes dancing with delight. “No one ever gets a ‘too good’! Though I worry whether ‘too good’ might actually be a bad thing. Can I just put ‘very’?”
“Yes, put whatever you like.”
“I’ll put ‘very good’. Thank you very much! This will go down very well with the hospital principal, Sir Quentin Strillers. Now, next question. We’re racing through them now. Would you recommend LORD FUNT HOSPITAL to family and friends, ‘with a heavy heart’, ‘half-heartedly’, ‘wholeheartedly’ or ‘very wholeheartedly’?”
Suddenly Nurse Meese bustled through the curtains. “There isn’t time for all your stupid questions, Doctor!”
The man put his hand up to his face as though he thought he was going to be slapped. “Don’t hurt me!”
“You silly boy! As if I would!” replied the nurse, before clouting him round the ear hard with her thick, heavy hand.
“OW!”screamed Doctor Luppers. “That hurt!”
“Well, at least you are in the right place for an injury! Ha ha!” The woman laughed to herself, and almost managed a smile. “I need this station back right now! I have a newsagent being rushed here in an ambulance who managed to staple his own fingers together. Stupid man!”
“Oh no!” replied the doctor. “I can’t stand the sight of blood.”
“Get this boy out of here before I’m back or I will clout you round the other ear!” With that, Nurse Meese whipped back the curtain and stomped off down the corridor.
“OK,” began Doctor Luppers, “let me speed this up as much as I can.” The man began speaking very fast. “Bad swelling. Keep you here for a few nights. Just to be safe. Hope you don’t mind.”
Tom didn’t mind staying at the hospital at all. Anything to miss time at his dreaded boarding school. It was one of the most expensive schools in the country, and so most of the boys who went there were exceedingly posh. Tom’s parents were rich because of his father’s well-paid job abroad, but the family were not posh at all. Lots of the boys looked down their aristocratic noses at Tom.
“I am just going to send you up to the children’s ward right away. Nice and peaceful up there. You should get a good night’s sleep. Porter?”
Tom froze in fear as the terrifying man limped back in.
“Yes, Doctor Luppers, sir?” he slurred.
“Take … sorry, sorry, sorry … What was your name again?”
“Tom!” replied Tom.
“Take Tom up to the children’s ward.”
(#ulink_1fe9d4d8-e617-5cc2-95ba-2f6741e33c54)
The porter wheeled the trolley Tom was lying on into the hospital lift. The old misshapen man hummed quietly to himself as he pressed a button for the top floor. Tom hated being alone with him. It wasn’t as if he had done anything
; he just looked
.
The boy had never seen anyone so spectacularly ugly before. Yes, there were teachers at his posh boarding school that were so unfortunate-looking they had been given cruel nicknames by the boys, but none was as scary-looking as the porter.
There was:
Mrs Rabbit
The Dome of Doom
Mr Dead-Squirrel-On-His-Head
The Hairy Gnome
Mrs Goggle-Eyes
Dr Octopus
Mr Clown-Shoes
The Dinosaur
Miss Hooter
Professor Comb-Over
PING! The lift doors closed.
The porter smiled at Tom, but the boy looked the other way. He couldn’t bear to look at the man. He seemed even creepier when he smiled. Those rotten and misshapen teeth looked like they could crunch through your bones. Tom’s eyes scanned the man’s name badge. Unlike the nurse and doctor he had already met, this badge didn’t have a name on it, but just the man’s job.
As the lift trundled slowly upwards, Tom’s world gradually began to take shape. Little by little, he began piecing together the events that had brought him here.
It had been a blazing hot summer’s day and he had been playing cricket on the school pitch. The boy lifted his head slightly and looked down. He was still wearing his cricket whites.
Despite his school priding itself on always coming top in cricket and rugby in the country, Tom wasn’t good at sports. The school celebrated all its sporting heroes with cups and trophies and medals and special mentions by the headmaster in assembly. A boy who much preferred to hide himself away in the corner of the school library with some dusty old books like Tom could easily feel like a nobody.
Tom was miserable at school, and would wish the time away. If only the days and nights would pass quicker, he would often think to himself. The boy was only twelve, but he longed to leave childhood behind forever. Then he would be a grown-up and would not have to go to school any more.
The school played cricket in the summer, and Tom immediately discovered the best part of the game for the reluctant sportsman … fielding. The boy would always place himself at the very far edge of the pitch. So far out that Tom could indulge in his favourite pastime – daydreaming. So far out he could daydream the afternoon away. So far out there was little or no chance of the heavy red leather ball ever coming your way.
Well, that was Tom’s thinking.
This time he was wrong.
Very wrong.
As the numbers of the floors flashed past in the lift, the last thing Tom remembered flashed past in his mind.
A heavy red leather ball flying through the air straight towards him at terrific speed.
THUD
Then everything went dark.
PING!
“This is your stop, young sir! Top floor! Home of LORD FUNT HOSPITAL’s children’s ward!” slurred the porter.
As the lift doors opened, the trolley was rolled out. The porter pushed Tom down yet another long corridor before a pair of tall doors banged open.
The pair was inside the children’s ward.
“Welcome to your new home,” said the porter.
(#ulink_ca1d1944-124a-5deb-8403-a14259761f2f)
Tom raised his swollen head a little to take his first look at what was his new home, the children’s ward of LORD FUNT HOSPITAL. There were four other children in the ward. They were all sitting or lying on their beds. All were silent, and no one paid this new boy much attention. Boredom hung in the still, stuffy air. It was more like an old people’s home than a children’s ward.
In the nearest bed was a plump-looking boy in an old pair of spotty pyjamas that were too small for him. He was flicking through a dog-eared picture book of helicopters, and sneakily munching on some chocolates he had hidden under his bed sheet. The name George was chalked on a blackboard above his bed.
Next to him was a short, slight boy with neatly combed ginger hair. He must have had an operation on his eyes as they were covered with bandages. So covered, in fact, that it would be impossible to see anything. A tall pile of classical music CDs and a CD player sat on his side table. The boy’s pyjamas were much smarter than George’s, and he wore them neatly with the top button done up. Over his bed in chalk was the name Robin.
Across the ward from him was a girl with a bob of black hair and round glasses. Startlingly, she had both her legs and arms in plaster. All four of her limbs were being held aloft by a complex series of pulleys and winches. She looked like a puppet on strings. On her blackboard it read Amber.
Then in the far corner of the ward, away from the other children, Tom noticed a sorrowful figure. It was a girl, but it was hard to tell her age as it looked as if illness had weakened her. A few wispy strands of hair sat on top of her head. Above her bed was chalked the name Sally.
“Say hello to everyone, young sir,” prompted the porter.
Tom felt shy, so muttered, “Hello,” as quietly as he could get away with, without being told to repeat himself.
There was a vague murmur of “hellos” in return, though Sally remained silent.
“This must be your bed, right here,” slurred the porter as he wheeled the trolley over. Expertly the boy was rolled from the trolley to the bed.
“Are you comfortable?” asked the porter, plumping up a pillow.
Tom didn’t answer. It wasn’t comfortable at all. It was like lying on a concrete slab with a brick for a pillow. Even the trolley was more comfortable. It was stupid for Tom to pretend not to hear the porter, as he was standing right next to him. The man was so close that Tom could smell him. In fact, the boy was sure the whole ward could smell him. The man was rather pongy, like he hadn’t washed for quite some time. His clothes were tired and worn. His shoes were falling apart and his work overall was thick with grease and grime. He looked like he might be homeless.
“So this is the world’s worst cricketer?” came a voice. The children in the ward tensed and
at the sound.
Then a tall, thin lady stepped out of her office at the far end of the room. It was Matron, the senior nurse who was in charge of the ward. Slowly and surely she made her way down the row of beds towards Tom, her high heels clunking on the floor.
From a distance, Matron looked like she was beautiful. Her long blonde hair had been sprayed perfectly in place, her face was shiny with make-up and her teeth were sparkling white. However, when she got nearer to Tom, the boy realised that her smile was fake. Her eyes were two large black pools, a window into the darkness within. Matron’s perfume was so sickly sweet it burned the children’s throats as she passed by.
“You are meant to catch a cricket ball! Not header it!” said the lady. “Stupid, stupid child! Ha ha ha!” No one laughed except her. It certainly didn’t sound funny to Tom, whose head was still throbbing with pain.
“That cricket ball left a very nasty bump, Madam Matron,” slurred the porter. His voice was cracking a little, as if he was nervous of the woman. “I think young sir should have an X-ray first thing in the morning.”
“I don’t need your opinion, thank you!” snapped Matron. In an instant, her face didn’t seem that beautiful after all, as it twisted into a snarl. “You are nothing more than a lowly porter, lowest of the low. You don’t know the first thing about caring for the patients. So in future keep your mouth shut!”
The porter lowered his head, and the other children exchanged nervous looks. It was clear this lady intimidated them all too.
With a flick of her hand, Matron brushed the porter aside, and he stumbled a little to steady himself.
“Let me look at this bump,” she said as she peered over the boy. “Mmm, yes, that is a nasty bump. You should have an X-ray first thing in the morning.”
The porter rolled his eyes at Tom, but once again the boy didn’t react.
Without even so much as glancing at him, Matron said to the man, “Porter, you may go before you stink out my ward!”
The porter sighed before giving a brief smile and nod to all the children on the ward.
“Quickly!” shouted the woman, and the man limped off as fast as he could, dragging his withered leg behind him.
Tom began longing to be back at school. The children’s ward seemed an utterly miserable place to be.
(#ulink_45f9aa93-0606-5695-b922-993c25b5e03b)
Matron launched into what seemed like a very well-rehearsed speech. A speech she must have given to all her new patients.
“Now, young man, this is MY ward and these are MY rules. Lights out at 8pm sharp. No talking after lights out. No reading under the covers. No eating of sweeties. If I do hear the rustle of sweet papers in the dark, I will confiscate them on the spot. Yes, that includes you, George!”
The podgy boy immediately stopped chewing, and kept his mouth tightly shut so Matron couldn’t see he was chewing a chocolate at that very moment.
The woman continued at quite a pace. Her words snapped like the crack of a whip.
“No getting out of bed. No visits to the toilet during the night; that is what the bedpan is for. You will find a bedpan under your bed. There is a bell on the wall by your head. Ring the bell in the night only in an absolute emergency. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” replied Tom. It was like being told off before you had actually even done anything wrong.
“Now, have you brought any pyjamas with you?” she asked.
“No,” replied Tom. “I must have been rushed here in an ambulance when I was knocked out on the cricket pitch. I didn’t have a chance to pack anything, so I’ve just got my cricket kit that I came in. I don’t mind sleeping in it.”
Matron’s lips curled in horror. “Repulsive child! You are as bad as that disgusting excuse for a human being, the porter. He smells like he sleeps in his clothes. Ha ha! Can we call your parents to bring some pyjamas for you?”
Tom shook his head sorrowfully.
“Why not?”
“My mother and father live abroad.”
“Where?”
The boy hesitated before answering. “I am not sure.”
“You are not sure?!” said Matron loudly so everyone could hear. It was as if she wanted all the children in the ward to enjoy the new boy being humiliated as much as she did.
“They move around a lot for my father’s work. I know it’s somewhere with a desert.”
“Well, that narrows it down!” she snarled sarcastically. “You don’t even know what country your own parents live in! Well, you will fit right in here. The children in this ward are all ones whose parents don’t ever visit for one reason or another. They are either too poor to travel like Amber’s, or too ill like Robin’s, or live too far away like Sally’s. George has the best reason, though. Would you care to explain why your parents never visit, George?”
“Nah,” the boy muttered in his cockney accent. The accent struck Tom, as no one at his boarding school talked like George. The poor boy looked desperately embarrassed. “Don’t …”
“George’s father is in prison! For robbery, no less! So if anything goes missing in the ward we’ll know who to blame! Like father, like son! Ha ha!”
“I ain’t a thief!” shouted George.
“No need to be so sensitive, child. It’s just my little joke!”
“Well, it ain’t funny!” he replied.
“Ooh!” she added mockingly. “I’ve touched a nerve! Now I have an idea for you, Tom. Let me find you something to wear in my lost-property box.”
With a glint in her eye, Matron turned on her heel and disappeared into her office. Moments later, she emerged with her hands behind her back and a suspicious grin on her face.
“I am awfully sad to say, Tom, that I don’t have any pyjamas to fit you!” she said. “So you will just have to wear this!”
From behind her back, Matron produced a pink, frilly nightdress. The smug grin on her face became even smugger.
Tom looked at the pink, frilly nightdress with horror. If the other boys in his boarding school ever heard about him wearing it, he would never ever live it down. In fact, he would be forever known as Pink-Frilly-Nightdress Boy.
“Please just let me keep my cricket gear on, Matron,” pleaded Tom.
“I said no!” snapped Matron.
“I got pyjamas ’e can borrow,” said George.
“Don’t be ridiculous, child!” replied the lady in a flash. “Look at the size of you, boy! They will be far too big! Your pyjamas would be too big for an elephant! Ha ha ha!”
Once again, no one laughed except Matron.
“Now get this on right away or I will report you to the principal of the hospital, Sir Quentin Strillers. He would take a very dim view of a boy like you and could have you thrown out on the street!” said the lady as she whisked the curtains round the boy’s bed. She stayed on the outside, leaving Tom to try to wriggle out of his clothes and into the nightdress on his own.
“Quickly!” ordered Matron.
“I am nearly there!” called out Tom as he pulled the thing over his head. “OK!” he said, even though he felt far from OK.
Matron then whisked the curtains back to reveal Tom.
There stood Pink-Frilly-Nightdress Boy in all his pink-frilly-nightdress glory.
“Actually, it suits ya!” said George.
“I so wish I could see it,” murmured Robin.
“No you don’t!” replied Amber.
(#ulink_87e9a678-4a05-5530-b404-5aa42a175371)
Tom had had some humiliating things happen to him at his school over the years.
There was the time when … his shorts split while he was doing gymnastics …
his clay spun off the wheel in Pottery class and hit his art teacher on the face, sending her flying …
he bent over to pick up a book from the floor in the library and he blew off loudly …
he left the toilet cubicle with the toilet roll trailing from the back of his trousers …
he was in the school cafeteria and he slipped on some gravy and landed headfirst in a blancmange …
he was holding his violin the wrong way round in music class, wondering why he wasn’t making a sound until he realised the strings were facing down …
some of the older boys hid his games kit so he had to play rugby in his pants …
he had to put on a tight-fitting all-in-one bodysuit, with a tail stuck to his bottom. He was meant to be a cat, and had to sing and dance for a production of the musical Cats …
he thought it might be a trick question when his Maths teacher asked him what 2 + 2 was, so he answered 5 …
chalk dust set off a sneezing fit, and he sneezed right in his headmaster’s face, covering Mr Thews in snot.
But now here he was, standing in the middle of a hospital ward, wearing a pink, frilly nightdress.
“It fits you perfectly!” laughed Matron. Once again, it was only her that was laughing. Then she checked her watch, which was pinned to her uniform. “One minute past eight. Way past all your bedtimes! Right, children. Lights out!”
Matron began to march in the direction of her office at the end of the ward.
As if they were all playing Grandma’s Footsteps, she suddenly turned round after a few paces to see if any of the children had moved. Then she did it again. And again. Matron gave one last swivel-eyed look at the children, before switching off the light.
CLICK!
The ward descended into darkness. Tom hated the dark. He was relieved that some light came from the giant clock face of the Houses of Parliament, not far away from the hospital across the rooftops of London. People called the clock tower “Big Ben”, after the huge bell inside it that chimed every hour.
BONG! The light from the clock face glowed eerily through the tall windows.
There was also a small desk lamp in Matron’s office.
The lady sat there behind the glass, staring out into the gloom. She was scanning the beds in the children’s ward for any sign of movement.
Silence.
Then out of that silence Tom heard a sound. It was the sound of a tin opening. Then followed the sound of paper rustling. But not just any paper. It sounded like the crinkly silver paper that sweets are wrapped in. Then Tom heard the sound of munching.
Tom hadn’t eaten since lunchtime, and he had barely eaten his lunch as school dinners were so disgusting. Today it had been liver and boiled beetroot, followed by stewed rhubarb. Lying there on his hospital bed, Tom could feel his tummy rumbling. When he heard another sweet being unwrapped, and another, he couldn’t help calling out softly in the dark, “Please can I have one?”
“Shush!” came a voice back. Tom was pretty sure it was coming from George’s bed.
“Please?” whispered Tom. “I haven’t eaten for ages.”
“Shush!” came another voice. “Any louder and you’ll get us all into trouble.”
“I only want one!” said Tom.
The boy must have spoken too loudly as at that moment …
CLICK!
… the lights in the children’s ward flickered back on.
Blinking at the brightness, Tom could make out Matron rushing out of her office.
“THERE IS NO TALKING AFTER LIGHTS OUT!” she shouted. “Now who was talking?”
All the children remained silent.
“You must tell me now who was talking or you will all be in deep, deep trouble!”
She scanned the ward for signs of anyone cracking under pressure. She looked to George, who looked guilty.
“Was it you, George?” she demanded.
George shook his head.
“Speak up, boy!”
Even from across the room, Tom could tell George’s mouth was full.
George tried to speak, but because of the large quantity of chocolate in his mouth, he couldn’t form words. “Mmm, mmm, mmm,” he murmured.
“What have you got in your mouth?”
George shook his head and tried to say “nothing” but it came out as, “Mmm, mmm, mmm.”
Matron approached his bed like a crocodile stalking its prey. “George! You are meant to be on a strict diet after your operation. But you are scoffing chocolates again, aren’t you?”
George shook his head.
The lady whipped back his bed sheet to reveal a large tin of chocolates. The tin was huge. It was the kind that your family might receive at Christmas and would last until next Christmas.
“You greedy pig!” said Matron. “These are confiscated!”
With that, she snatched the tin from his hands and whipped a tissue from a nearby box. “Now spit out the one you have in your mouth.”
Reluctantly, the boy did so.
“Who sent you these?” she demanded. “I know it couldn’t have been your father. I am not sure they are allowed chocolates in prison!”
Tom could tell George was angry, but the boy was doing his best to keep it in.
“They came from me local newsagent,” replied George. “I’m ’is favourite customer.”
“I bet you are! Look at the size of you!”
“You see, ’e knows I love these chocolates the most.”
“What is this stupid man’s name?”
“Raj,” replied George.
“Raj what?”
“Raj the newsagent.”
“I mean what’s his surname, you foolish child?”
“Dunno.”
“Well, I will try to trace him and with any luck have his shop closed down. After your operation, you are forbidden from eating chocolates, George.”
“Sorry, Matron.”
“‘Sorry’ isn’t good enough! The hospital principal, Sir Quentin Strillers, will have to be told about you defying doctor’s orders like this, George!”
“Yes, Matron,” answered the boy sorrowfully.
“I will deal with you in the morning! Now go to sleep! All of you!”
Matron stalked back towards her office. Once again, like Grandma’s Footsteps, she turned round several times to check the children were as still as statues.
CLICK!
The lights went off again, and Matron sat in her office. After a moment, the lady did the most incredible thing. She opened the tin and started scoffing the chocolates herself!
Matron seemed to like the big purple wrapped ones the best, as she made her way through them at quite a pace. She had barely popped one in her mouth when the next one was already being unwrapped ready for scoffing. Time passed and the more she ate, the sleepier she became. By nine o’clock, her eyelids were flickering. Still she ate and ate and ate. Perhaps she hoped the sugar in the chocolates would keep her awake. Strangely, they seemed to be having the opposite effect. By 10pm, her eyes were closing for a few seconds at a time. Still she ate and ate and ate. By 11pm, she was desperately trying to prop up her head in her hands, but it was becoming heavier and heavier and heavier. The scoffing slowed down too, and soon the chocolate mush dribbled out of her mouth and her head hit her desk with a loud …
THUD!
Through the glass, Matron could be heard snoring.
“ZZZZZ, ZZZZZ, ZZZZZ, ZZZZZ …”
The children on the ward all remained silent for a moment. Then out of the darkness someone whispered, “Well done, George.”
“I think the plan’s workin’!” he whispered back. George’s cockney accent made his voice stand out.
“What plan?” asked Tom.
“Shush!” came another voice.
“Go to sleep, new boy! Stop poking your nose into other people’s business,” said a girl. “Now, let’s all get ready to go at midnight.”
But of course Tom couldn’t sleep, especially now he knew the children were up to no good. What was going to happen at midnight?
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The glow from the clock face of Big Ben shone through the tall window behind Tom’s bed. Suddenly Tom could see shadows flashing through the children’s ward. Figures were moving in the darkness.
Tom was frightened and couldn’t help but gasp. “Aaah!”
Just then he felt a hand on his mouth, silencing him.
This made Tom even more frightened.
“Shush!” hissed someone. “Don’t make a sound. We don’t want anyone wakin’ up Matron.”
The hand was soft and fleshy and smelled of chocolate, and as Tom’s eyes adjusted to the dark he realised it was indeed George’s.
Tom’s eyes darted over to the matron’s office. The lady was still fast asleep in her chair, her head resting on her desk, snoring away.
“ZZZZZ, ZZZZZ, ZZZZZ, ZZZZZZ …”
“Not one sound!” repeated George.
Tom nodded his agreement to the boy, who slowly removed his hand.
Then Tom looked behind him towards the giant clock. He could see across the rooftops of London. It was approaching midnight.
Soon it was clear that it wasn’t just George who was out of his bed. Robin was also there, pushing Amber along in a wheelchair. The wheelchair was old and rusty, and even had a flat tyre. Because Robin had bandages over his eyes, he couldn’t see a thing. Amber’s bandaged legs banged straight into the wall.
“OW!” she cried.
“Shush!” said Robin and George. Tom found himself joining in too.
“Shush!”
“Let me!” said George. He guided Robin to one side, and then took over the pushing of Amber. Robin put his hand on George’s shoulder, and like a rather pitiful conga the trio shuffled out of the ward.
“Where are you going?” asked Tom.
“Shush!” the three children replied.
“Can you please stop telling me to ‘shush’ all the time!” protested Tom.
“Just go to sleep, new boy!” hissed Amber.
“But …” Tom protested.
“You are not in our gang!” added George.
“But I really want to be in your gang,” pleaded Tom.
“Well, you can’t be, mate!” replied George.
“But it’s not fair!” moaned Tom.
“Please can you turn the volume down, dear!” snapped Robin.
“YES, BE QUIET!” said Amber.
“I am being quiet!” replied Tom.
“You are not being quiet! You are talking and that’s not being quiet! We all have to be quiet!” said Amber.
“Then you be quiet!” said Tom.
“Oh for goodness’ sake, will you all please be quiet?!” said Robin, a little too loudly.
All the children’s heads turned towards the matron’s office at the end of the ward. Matron stirred a little at the noise, but didn’t wake up. There was a collective sigh of relief.
“The ol’ moo shouldn’t wake up for a couple of hours at least,” said George. “There was one of my special snoozy pellets that Dr Luppers gave me pushed inside each of those chocolates.”
“Well done for remembering she liked the purple ones the best,” said Amber.
“No point ruinin’ a whole tin of chocolates, was there?” replied George with a smirk.
“You crafty devils!” said Tom.
“Why, thank you!” replied Robin, bowing his head as if for applause.
“Now, new boy,” said Amber, “go back to bed right now. And, remember, you did not see a thing! Let’s go.”
With that, the three friends trundled out of the double doors. At that moment the chimes of Big Ben started.
BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG!BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG!BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG!
Tom listened and counted. Twelve bongs. It was midnight.
The boy was sitting up in his bed. Now it was just him and Sally left in the children’s ward. He looked over to her bed. She was asleep, as she had been since Tom arrived in the ward quite a few hours ago.
Despite his swollen head, Tom felt restless. There was no way he wanted to miss out on all the fun. So he took a giant leap into the unknown, and decided to follow them. Tom felt like a super-spy. But the feeling didn’t last. As the boy eased himself out of bed, his left foot went straight into the bedpan on the floor.
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Tom couldn’t prise his foot out of the bedpan. The boy wanted to shout out in frustration, but knew this would only make matters worse. The last thing he wanted to do was wake up Matron, who was still snoring away in her office. The boy looked over to Sally’s bed in the far corner of the ward. She was lying in bed, a glint of light from Big Ben just catching the top of her bald head. Tom didn’t want to wake her up either.
At least the bedpan wasn’t full, he thought.
As quickly and quietly as he could, Tom reached down and prised his foot from the bedpan. Then he tiptoed out of the children’s ward. To his annoyance, his bare feet made squelching noises on the shiny floor.
SQUELCH
SQUELCH
SQUELCH
SQUELCH
As his fingers touched the heavy swing doors at the entrance to the ward, he was seconds from freedom. Just then a voice made Tom jump out of his skin.
“So, new boy, where are you going?”
The boy turned round. It was Sally.
“Nowhere,” he lied.
“You can’t be going nowhere; you must be going somewhere.”
“Please just go back to sleep,” pleaded Tom. “You will wake up Matron.”
“Oh no, they do this every night. That nasty woman won’t wake up for hours.”
“I really think you should get some rest.”
“Boring!”
“It’s not boring,” replied Tom. “Now come on, go back to sleep.”
“No.”
“What do you mean ‘no’?”
“I mean ‘no’. Come on, Tom, take me with you,” said Sally.
“No.”
“What do you mean ‘no’?”
“I mean ‘no’.”
“Why?” protested the girl.
The reason Tom didn’t think Sally should come was that she looked weak. He was worried that she would slow him down. But he didn’t want to say that. That would hurt her feelings. So he said something else instead.
“Look, Sally, I am just going to catch up with the others and tell them they need to come straight back to bed.”
“Liar.”
“No I’m not!” he said with a little too much gusto, which made him seem like he was lying.
“You are lying. Liar, liar, pants on fire!”
Tom shook his head a little too vigorously.
“I know you must think I’m not going to keep up with you or something,” said Sally.
“No!”
“Yes. Come on! Admit it! I’m not stupid!”
No, thought Tom, this girl is smart. Super smart. There weren’t any girls in Tom’s boarding school so he had hardly met any. Tom hadn’t thought that girls could be smart. The boy immediately had a feeling that this girl could beat him at everything. Tom didn’t like that feeling.
“No, it’s not that, honest,” lied the boy. Then as he stood there looking at her his curiosity got the better of him. “Sally, can I ask you something?”
“You can ask.”
“Why have you got no hair?”
“I decided to shave it all off so I could look exactly like a boiled egg,” replied Sally, as quick as a flash.
Tom chuckled. Whatever the girl might have lost, it wasn’t her sense of humour.
“Is it because of your illness?”
“Yes and no.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s actually the treatment that did this.”
“The treatment?!” Tom couldn’t believe it. If the treatment did this, then what did the illness do? “But you are going to get better, though?”
The girl shrugged. “I don’t know.” Then she quickly changed the subject. “Do you think you will ever recover from a cricket ball hitting you on the head?!”
Tom chuckled. “I hope not. If I do, then I have to go back to school.”
“I wish I could go back to school.”
“What?” The boy had never heard another child say such a thing.
“I have been in this place for months now. I miss my school. Even the horrible teachers.”
Even though Tom had only just met Sally, it was as if he was talking to an old friend. Then the boy realised he had to leave right now if he was to have a chance of catching up with the others. “I have to go.”
“And you definitely aren’t going to take me?”
Tom looked at Sally. She looked too unwell to get out of bed, let alone go on some crazy adventure. Tom felt guilty to be leaving her behind, but he felt he had no choice.
“Maybe next time,” lied the boy.
Sally smiled. “Look, Tom, I understand. The others have never invited me. You go. But I want you to promise me something.”
“What?” he asked.
“I want you to tell me all about the night’s adventure when you get back.”
“I will,” he said.
“Promise?”
“Promise.” Tom looked Sally right in the eyes as he said it. He really didn’t want to let his new friend down.
Then the boy pushed open the heavy swing doors. Light spilled in from the corridor. Just before he disappeared from sight Sally said, “I hope it’s an awfully big adventure.”
He smiled at the girl before he pushed the doors open and was swallowed up by the light.
(#ulink_a36cdc53-b862-5efc-bbe5-f3fa1cfc826c)
Pacing down the brightly lit corridor outside the children’s ward, it suddenly occurred to Tom that he had absolutely no idea where he was going. His new friend Sally had delayed him somewhat, and now the other three children were long gone.
What’s more, LORD FUNT HOSPITAL was a spooky place after dark. Distant sounds echoed down the long corridors. The building was tall and wide. There were forty-four floors of wards and operating rooms. There was everything from rooms for delivering babies to a mortuary where people were taken after they died. The hospital was home to hundreds of patients, and nearly as many staff. At midnight all the patients should be fast asleep, but there would still be night staff, including cleaners and security guards, roaming the corridors. If Tom was discovered out of his bed, he would be in big trouble. What’s more, he was wearing a pink, frilly nightdress. If anyone was to see him, he would have some serious explaining to do.
Tom looked to the direction signs on the wall, which weren’t much help as letters had fallen off.
ENTRANCE & EXIT had become N IT.
ACCIDENT & EMERGENCY was now CIDE R.
RECEPTION read simply P O.
SURGERY now read SU ER.
RADIOLOGY had become RAD LOG, whatever that was.
ADMINISTRATION was now MIN T.
THEATRE was HEAT.
CHILDREN’S WARD read simply WAR, which might not be such a bad description of what it was like in there.
REHABILITATION had changed into HAB IT ON.
PHYSIOTHERAPY had become H OT HEAP.
X-RAY had become simply RAY, so if you were looking for a man called “Ray” all you had to do was follow the arrow.
There was a sign that read IF S which Tom guessed must have been LIFTS at some distant point in the hospital’s past, and so he followed the arrow.
When he reached the lifts, Tom noticed that the arrow above the large metal shiny doors was descending rapidly. He guessed it might be the three children travelling down. The boy watched as the arrow swung all the way down to “B” for basement.
Tom gulped. It was bound to be dark in the basement. And Tom hated the dark. What’s more, the thought of bumping into the porter flashed through his mind. What if Tom felt a hand on his shoulder to stop him and when he looked round it was the terrifying-looking man staring back at him?
For a moment the boy felt like turning back, and then realised that Sally might think he was a scaredy-cat. So, with some hesitation, he pushed the button and waited nervously for the lift to come.
PING!
The doors opened.
PING!
The doors closed.
With his finger trembling, Tom pushed “B” for basement, and the lift trundled down to the darkest depths of the hospital.
With a jolt, the lift stopped.
PING!
The doors opened, and Tom stepped out into the darkness.
The boy was now alone in the basement of LORD FUNT HOSPITAL. His bare feet felt the cold, wet concrete beneath him. Above him on the ceiling was a strip of fluorescent lights, though most had blown, meaning it was all but pitch black down here.
PING!
Tom jumped. It was just the lift doors closing after him.
The sound of water dripping from pipes echoed along the corridor ahead of him.
Slowly Tom made his way along it. When he came to the end, there were four corridors, two to the left and two to the right. It was a maze down here. The boy looked to see if he could make out any wheelchair tracks on the floor. It was hard to see anything with so little light, so Tom bent down to study the floor. At that moment, a creature brushed past his face.
“Aaarrrggghhh!” His scream echoed down the corridor. At first Tom thought it might have been a rat, but he could just see the creature hopping off. It looked more like a bird, but if it was a bird what was it doing all the way down here?
In the dirt on the floor, Tom could see some tyre marks heading down one of the corridors on the right, so he followed them.
After a few paces, he could feel the stale air in the basement becoming warmer. Just up ahead was a giant furnace where the hospital’s waste was being burned. Not far from that, Tom saw a huge basket on wheels. He looked inside. It was full of laundry. Above it was a small hatch. Just then more bed sheets tumbled out of the hatch and fell into the laundry basket. The boy realised that this must be the end of a chute leading down from the wards above.
Every few paces there were doors, and more corridors. Tom followed the tyre tracks as they snaked their way through the basement.
The tracks led on to a corridor that was pitch black.
All the lights in this section of the basement must be broken, thought Tom.
The boy hesitated before going forward. His worst fear was the dark. Still, it seemed foolish to turn back now. He might be about to find the other children and uncover their secret midnight adventure. Slowly Tom tiptoed forward. Soon it was so dark that he could not see his own hand in front of his face. Now he had to grope along the damp walls to find his way. Just then …
KLANG!
… a deafening noise echoed down the basement corridors. It sounded like a heavy metal door being shut. Tom wondered who else might be down here with him. The porter?
Frozen in fear, the boy stopped dead. He listened. And listened. And listened. But now all he could hear was silence. A deep dread all but swallowed him up. Although he stood still, he felt as if he was running or falling or drowning.
Tom realised that coming down to the basement alone was a terrible mistake. He had to get out of there. Right now. He began to retrace his steps, but in a panic he lost his way. Soon he was running barefoot down the corridors, the pink, frilly nightdress flapping as he went.
Out of breath, and still feeling woozy from that cricket ball hitting his head, Tom stopped for a moment. Then he felt something grab his shoulder. He turned round. It was a hand.
“Arrrggghhh!” he screamed.
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“Wot are you doin’ down ’ere?” came an angry voice. It was George. Alongside him were Amber and Robin. Tom turned round and Amber and George immediately collapsed in hysterics.
“Ha ha ha!”
In no time, both were helpless with laughter.
“What’s so dreadfully amusing?” asked Robin. “Pray tell!”
“Yes, what is so hilarious?” demanded Tom. He had the distinct feeling they were laughing at him.
“It’s your pink, frilly nightdress! Ha ha ha!” laughed Amber.
“It’s not mine!” protested Tom.
“Oh, I see,” said Robin. “Well, I don’t see,” he added, patting the bandages over his eyes, “but you know what I mean.”
“Robin, if you could see ’im, you would ’ave a good laugh,” added George.
“So how frilly exactly are we talking here?” asked Robin.
“Well …” began Amber. “There are layers of frills like on a wedding cake.”
Robin must have created the image in his head because he giggled to himself at the thought. “Oh dear me! Ha ha!”
“Shut up! The three of you!” shouted Tom angrily.
“Yes, you boys, no more giggling!” said Amber, even though she was the one who had been giggling the loudest.
“Look, Tom,” began George, “we asked you somefink. Wot are you doin’ down ’ere?”
“I was following you,” replied Tom. “What are you doing down here?”
“We’re not saying!” replied Amber. “Now go back to bed, annoying little twit!”
“No. I won’t!” replied Tom.
“Get back to bed!” added George.
“NO!” replied Tom defiantly. “I won’t!”
“I’d slap you if I could see where you are,” fumed Robin. “Count yourself very lucky, Ducky!”
“I’ll snitch on you all unless you let me come too!” said Tom.
The other three were stunned into silence.
One thing that was looked down on at Tom’s boarding school was snitching. Despite the brutal atmosphere at St Willet’s, snitching on other boys to the teachers was forbidden, even if they had …
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