***chapter 2******

the tap-a-tap mystery***

Now, as luck would have it, a meanspirit happened to be passing by the large, large house. You may or you may not have heard of meanspirits. They can, and they do, appear in a variety of forms, as ghosts or hobgoblins, as wizards or witches, as bogeymen or little green men, even the ice cold breath on the back of your neck when you know for certain you're all alone.

This particular meanspirit, unable to sleep because of the moon, had crossly climbed out of the midnight river at the very end of the town (where none but the very foolish would dare to walk by on haunted nights such as this) and had decided to appear as an eerie thin, grey shadow, with hollow eyes and no nose and just a thin line for a mouth. Well, there he was, creeping along and still dripping wet, and he came closer to listen.

Of course, when he heard the loving words, he was sick at once!

Very, very sick! Right there, right then, right on the vast lawn of the large, large house, and all over the inflatable left boot of the inflatable Santa Claus. For, you see, there was nothing a meanspirit detested more than happy little family scenes. He must do something about it, he thought, scowling horribly. And all at once a plan began to form in his meanmind. So the child was to be spoilt, was she? Spoilt rotten by the sound of it. Rotten was a lovely word. One of the meanspirit's favourites. It was time, the perfect time, to cast a meanspell...

*****

Tap-a-tap-a-tap! Tap-a-tap-a-tap! Tap-a-tap-a-tap!

It was most peculiar. Angie's mother sat, rocking her baby daughter in her arms, softly singing a lullaby. She was sure they were all alone in the nursery. Angie's father was downstairs in the kitchen, humming merrily as he iced the Xmas cake. Angie was, as usual, fast asleep (though it must be said the mother had a terrible voice and both the mother and father would talk all the time as though they were in the middle of a fairytale and Angie seemed to be asleep a lot so I'm inclined to think she was only pretending in the hope they would go away). Be that as it may, there was a tap-tapping at the window. The mother tenderly tucked the expensive shawl round her baby daughter and carried her across to the window.

"Who can that be?" She called.

But there was nobody there! Not a Xmas robin nor a Xmas window cleaner after a Xmas tip nor even a Xmas burglar suddenly discovering he was afraid of heights. And then, just when she was looking out the window, the tap-tapping began again!

Tap-a-tap-a-tap! Tap-a-tap-a-tap! Tap-a-tap-a-tap!

Only this time it came from the nursery cupboard!

"Who can that be?" The mother called, peeking into the nursery cupboard.

But there was nobody there! Not a Xmas mouse nor a Xmas rat nor Xmas lover having accidentally hidden himself in the wrong bedroom. And then, just when she was peeking into the nursery cupboard, the tap-tapping began again!

Tap-a-tap-a-tap! Tap-a-tap-a-tap! Tap-a-tap-a-tap!

Only this time the tapping was at the window again! The mother gently laid the baby back in her cradle.

"Dear little daughter, you are our very own sleeping beauty and I don't wish to wake you," she said dotingly.

The poor, poor meanspirit was very nearly sick again. But his meanplan had worked. The child was alone!

The moment the mother went to open the window, the nursery glowed with different shades of blues and greens and lilacs (as in all good soaps, meanspirits do like to be unnecessarily dramatic and our meanspirit had been very taken with the fibre optic tree).

"You will destroy," the meanspirit whispered in Angie's ear. "Destroy, destroy, destroy!"

The child's eyes flew open at last. They were black. Black as coal and old as centuries. And Angie's demonic laughter shrieked through the large, large house...