Billy Angel by Sam Hay Read Free Book Online

of my fuse. And I sort of exploded.
    â€˜Look! Wait one minute. If anyone is going in there, it’s me!’ (The nipping suddenly stopped.) ‘I mean, this is my story. I’m the angel here – OK?’
    Gaby froze. Her face turned pink and she looked like she was about to say something, but then thought better of it.
    â€˜You’re right,’ she mumbled. ‘So, come on then. What are we waiting for?’
    â€˜Exactly,’ I agreed.
    I hauled up my tool bag and we headed for the door.
    Despite my bravado, I was quaking in my steel toe caps (regulation plumber’s wear).
    â€˜What’s that smell?’ I gasped, as we pushed through the first set of double doors.
    â€˜Formaldehyde,’ whispered Gaby. ‘It’s the pickle juice.’
    Through the second set of doors, the smellgot worse. We were now standing in a corridor in front of another set of double doors. Above was a sign:

    Underneath was a smaller sign:

    I checked my watch. It was only 11.30.
    â€˜It should be locked,’ I whispered.
    Gaby gave the door a push. ‘Well, Thelma must have found the key.’
    With a pounding heart, we crept inside. I half expected Thelma to be waiting, pie slice in hand, ready to pop me straight into a pickle jar. But she wasn’t anywhere to be seen. In fact, there was no one there at all, at least no one alive…

Chapter 11
    At first it just looked like a storeroom: there were wooden shelves, benches, filing cabinets. And then I looked more closely, and realised what was on the shelves – rows and rows of jars. A bit like the big ones you get in the chip shop. You know, with pickled onions and beetroot in them. But there were no onions or beetroot in these jars. There were feet and hands, fingers and ears… and bits I didn’t recognise at all.
    I shuddered, but it was strangely fascinating. Even to a big scaredy-cat like me, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
    â€˜I’ll go through to the next room,’ whispered Gaby, ‘and see if I can spot Thelma. You keep watch.’
    I nodded. But I didn’t really register what she said. I just stood there, slack-jawed, peering at the various parts of people in the jars. One particular pot caught my attention. It contained an eye. I gasped. There’s something about asightless eye, with its raggedy edges, and milky-white surround, peering back at you from a small glass jar. My stomach lurched. Visions of bloodied fish eyes suddenly filled my brain. I felt another heave, and looked around desperately for something to barf into, but all I could find was my tool bag. Dad would disown me. I just couldn’t do it. So I clamped my hand over my mouth and tried to swallow instead.
    And then Gaby appeared.

    I coughed and shuffled my feet. The last thing in the world I wanted was for her to see how green I was feeling. I’d never hear the end of it. But luckily she didn’t notice.
    â€˜Come on!’ she shrieked, pulling me away from all the jars. ‘Thelma’s coming!’
    We ran back through the doors and out along the path, ducking behind a large tree just in time to see Thelma walking briskly past, pulling her shopping trolley behind her. I noticed with a shiver that the trolley was obviously heavier than before, as she was using two hands. And what was that big bulge down one side?
    â€˜Bones!’ whispered Gaby. ‘A whole trolley-load of them.’
    â€˜What?’ I gasped.
    â€˜She pinched a skeleton. I saw her do it. She just opened one of the cases, pulled out a skeleton, and stuffed all the bits in her trolley.’
    â€˜What does she want a skeleton for?’
    Gaby frowned. ‘It’s all pointing to a zombie spell, if you ask me.’
    â€˜A what?’
    â€˜You know – bringing a body back to life. She’s got all the ingredients: fish eyes, pigs’ hair, newts’ feet, and a big bag of bones…’
    I laughed.