Mrs Thistlewick’s garden was unlike any garden Peter had ever seen.
It seemed to stretch for miles.
Great yew trees leaned over narrow pathways, their branches forming dark tunnels through which the moonlight could scarcely penetrate.
There were beds of strange silver flowers that appeared to open whenever Peter looked away.
Enormous mushrooms grew beneath the trees, glowing faintly green around their edges.
A stone sundial stood in the middle of a circular lawn.
Its shadow pointed towards midnight, although Peter could hear a clock somewhere striking one.
“That’s impossible,” he muttered.
Near the garden wall stood an ancient apple tree.
Its branches were completely bare except for seven bright red apples, each swinging gently although there was no wind.
Peter approached one.
Just as he reached out to touch it, a voice whispered:
“Don’t.”
Peter jumped backwards.
“Who’s there?”
There was no answer.
Then came a faint rustling from behind a row of lavender bushes.
Peter turned.
Two yellow eyes stared at him.
He froze.
The eyes disappeared.
A moment later, another pair appeared beneath an enormous rhubarb leaf.
Then another.
And another.
“Good heavens!” whispered Peter.
He looked towards the cottage.
Behind the kitchen window, seven pairs of yellow eyes were glowing in the darkness.
Mrs Thistlewick’s cats!
They sat perfectly still, watching him.
Peter took one step backwards.
The eyes moved closer to the glass.
He took another step.
A large black paw appeared against the windowpane.
Then the kitchen window slowly opened.
Creeeeak!
One enormous black cat slipped through the opening and landed silently upon the garden path.
Another followed.
Then a third.
Within moments, all seven cats were outside.
And they were coming towards Peter.
