By half-past seven, the youngsters had made their way through the darkened streets towards Keere Street.
The little cottage stood behind a crooked wooden gate, half-hidden by an enormous yew tree.
Its windows glowed with a peculiar greenish light.
“Look at that!” whispered Michael.
“Probably just an old lamp,” said Peter, although he did not sound particularly convinced.
On the front doorstep sat three enormous black cats.
Their yellow eyes followed the children as they approached.
“I don’t like this,” whispered Margaret.
“Don’t be such a baby,” said Billy.
Peter stepped forward and hammered loudly upon the door.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
“TRICK OR TREAT!” they shouted.
There was no answer.
Peter knocked again.
Then Michael produced a small paper bag containing flour.
“Watch this!” he whispered.
Before anyone could stop him, he scattered the flour across the doorstep.
Billy added a handful of dead leaves through the letterbox.
Then Peter tied a piece of string to the gate latch so that it would rattle when pulled from behind the wall.
The youngsters hurried into hiding.
A moment later, the cottage door creaked open.
Mrs Thistlewick appeared.
She was a tall, thin woman with silver hair twisted into a tight bun. Her black dress reached almost to her ankles, and she carried a curious wooden walking stick.
She looked down at the flour.
Then at the leaves.
Then at the rattling gate.
“Well, well, well,” she murmured.
From behind the wall came a badly suppressed giggle.
Mrs Thistlewick raised one eyebrow.
“Five little nuisances,” she said quietly. “And not a single sensible thought between them.”
Peter pulled the string again.
CLATTER! CLATTER!
Mrs Thistlewick smiled.
It was not a particularly pleasant smile.
“Sebastian,” she called softly.
The largest black cat rose from the doorstep.
“Fetch your brothers and sisters, my dear. We have visitors.”
And something very extraordinary happened.
The cat nodded.
