'Everyone knows, ask anyone. Swear down, Piggy, it's true, mate!'

Keith 'Piggy' Wilson tried to force a laugh, but snorted instead.

Mum said the doc said he'd probably grow out of it, adynoids, or something like that, but Keith quite enjoyed his nickname, enjoyed the baffled looks when people asked why the skinny ten-year-old was called Piggy, so he was in no rush.

'Rubbish! Everyone (with a brain) knows it's rubbish, no such thing.'

Johnno shook his head, trying to look wise.

At twelve, he was the oldest in the gang. Natural leader, his dad told him. (Johnno thought his dad just said that kind of thing to get him to join the blinking Scouts or the Boys Brigade, stop him hanging around the streets with his mates, 'make a man of him'�how that'd work wearing those stupid shorts he couldn't begin to guess, but was determined he'd never set foot in either place!)

'As God is my witness, true as spit, mate!'

To prove his authority, Johnno spat towards the rather run-down house.

Nobody had lived at number 21 for years now; Piggy thought he'd never known it to have owners, ever. He'd obviously heard the stories, dismissed them as mete tales to keep the kids from wrecking the empty house. Probably just dodgy floorboards or something that the local mums and dads were scared they'd hurt themselves on.

But ghosts? He snorted again.

'Seriously, Piggy, my nan even knows about them! And she goes to church every Sunday, so she can't lie, ever!'

'R, ub, ishhhh!'

'Honest, mate, fifty years ago, the lady who lived there then got a Chrimbo present off her mate�.or found it �.or something�.anyway, this lady used some kind of board with letters and numbers that they used ages ago. Contacted the spooks on the other side. And�.'

Johnny paused for dramatic effect, nodding his curly head towards the house.

'And something answered her, mate!'

Another snort, but Johnno noticed that slightly nervous glance towards the old, grey net curtains, and knew he had Piggy hooked.

'So anyway, Christmas Day night, her and her fella are playing this game thing, kids in bed�.'

Another nervous look towards the house, great!

'....and this thing spells out a message. To her. K.i.l.l. t.h.e.m. A.L.L!!

'Nan says the Police came the next day, blood everywhere, husband chopped up, she's dead on the stairs, chopper in her hand still. But they never found the kids!

'Nan says they escaped, their dad letting them out even while he was being chopped up!

So, every Chrimbo now, they say the lady stands on the bedroom, hatchet in her bloody hands, waiting for kids to come inside, finish the job she'd been ordered to do!'

'Like I said, mate, rubbish. The kids would be in all the papers, probably nans or grandads themselves by now. Total rubbish!'

The snort stopped as Johnno beamed at him.

'Well, after your Chrizzy dinner, tomorrow, meet us here and we'll watch you go in and find out�.if it's all rubbish, shouldn't be a prob, eh Piggy?'

Keith knew he'd been stitched up. Like a bloody kipper. He snorted and asked if six o'clock was OK.

As the gang split up, Keith looked up at the bedroom window, feeling suddenly chill as the tattered grey nets moved in the wind, something shiny and metallic glinting in the streetlights.

The policeman stood on the doorstep, wiggling his toes in his boots against the Boxing Day frost as the elderly couple approached.

'Morning, Officer, Merry Christmas. Early start for you! Has something happened?'

Bloody hell, rubbernecks this early in the morning?

'Nothing to see, sir, just a couple of kids mucking around in here last night.

'Little idiots must've fallen through the floorboards or something; the whole place is bloody rotted away inside, pardon my language.

'Anyway, sad state of affairs, 'specially at Christmas. You and your wife have a good day. Season's Greetings to you both.'

'Oh, it's not my wife, Officer, it's my sister. So sorry to hear about the kids, and the state of the old place. We were actually brought up in that house, ooh, must be sixty-odd years ago now. Anyway, have a good day, all the best!'

As the couple walked away, they looked up at the old house neither remembered living in, the bedroom curtains fluttered, the frosted window pane giving the impression of a white figure staring back down at them.

FWR

09.12.24 Front Page

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