The collar was halfway over his ears when the sound of the nasty lady’s footsteps started to come faster.

Mrs. Abernathy spotted the dog as soon as she rounded the corner. It took her only a moment to identify it as Samuel Johnson’s pet.

“Oh, you naughty boy!” she whispered. “You naughty, naughty little boy.”

She began to run.

Boswell risked a glance to his left, and saw the nasty lady drawing nearer. He gave a final hard tug against the collar, and felt it pull free, almost taking his ears with it. He barked, alternating glances between the path leading into the garden of the big house and the bad lady. He kept hoping that Samuel and his friends would come, yet they didn’t.

Run! he barked. Nasty lady! Run!

Still there was no sign of them. He looked to his left, and saw the nasty lady’s shape begin to change. There were things moving beneath her coat. Suddenly, the material began to tear, and long pink feelers burst through the holes, each one ending in sharp pincers that snapped at the cold air. One extended itself toward him, the pincers making a clicking sound and dripping foul-smelling liquid on the ground. Instinctively he snapped back at it, and it withdrew, but only for a moment. It rose up, like a snake about to strike. Boswell sensed the danger.

With no other choice, he put his tail between his legs and ran away as fast as his little legs would carry him. He thought he felt something graze his coat, but he didn’t look back, not until he had reached the corner. He hid under a car and peered out from behind the wheels. The nasty lady stood for a moment at the garden gate, the long pink tentacles waving against the night sky, then turned away and headed into the garden. Seconds later Boswell heard a terrible sound, one so sharp and piercing that it hurt his ears. It was too high pitched for a human to detect, but Mrs. Abernathy wasn’t trying to contact any human.

She was alerting her fellow demons.

TOM PEERED ROUND THE corner of the house, and saw Mrs. Abernathy enter the garden and close the gate carefully behind her. The tentacles moved in the still evening air, the moonlight catching the fluid that dripped from their pincers. Tom counted twelve of them. On the ground at Mrs. Abernathy’s feet lay Boswell’s empty collar. Mrs. Abernathy took three steps forward, then stopped. She cocked her head to one side, as though listening for something, but she did not move any closer to the house.

She was waiting, guarding the gate.

Tom ran back to where Samuel and Maria were waiting beneath the window.

“We’re in trouble,” he said. “There’s a woman in the garden with tentacles sticking out of her back.”

“Mrs. Abernathy,” said Samuel. “What about Boswell?”

“There’s no sign of him. His collar is there, but it’s empty.”

Samuel looked worried. “She couldn’t have…?” he began to say, then trailed off. He didn’t want to utter the words, didn’t want to think about what Mrs. Abernathy might have done to his dog.

Seconds later, he heard Boswell’s bark. It sounded farther away than before, but it was definitely him.

“He’s okay!” said Samuel.

“Yeah, but we’re not,” said Tom. “If she recognized Boswell, she’ll know that you’re here.”

Samuel swallowed hard. “She doesn’t know you and Maria are with me. I could distract her so you two can get away.”

Tom looked at Samuel with something approaching admiration, then hit him hard on the arm.

“Ow!” said Samuel. “What was that for?”

“For being stupid,” said Tom. “We’re not going to leave you here alone.”

Suddenly, Maria’s hand was pushed against his mouth, silencing him. She put a finger to her lips, then withdrew it and pointed at the rectangle of light from the window. The shadow of a man could now be seen against it. They remained very still, hardly daring to breathe. The shadow began to alter. As they watched, eight spiny limbs, like spider legs, emerged from it. Then the shadow turned and began to recede, as whoever, or whatever, it was moved away from the window.

“We have to make a run for it,” said Samuel.

“We can’t go out the way we came in,” said Tom. “That woman’s guarding the gate.”

“And we can’t go over the garden wall,” said Maria. “It’s too high.”

Now noises were coming from inside the house. They heard a vase break, and then shambling footsteps, as though someone who was having trouble walking was approaching the back door.

To their left, Tom saw two plastic boxes filled with empty wine bottles ready for recycling.

“Do you think you could hit those wine bottles with a stone?” he asked Samuel.

“If I had a stone,” said Samuel.

Tom gestured to Samuel’s right, where there was a small rockery dotted with plants. Samuel immediately reached for a stone that was roughly the size of a cricket ball, took a breath, and threw it overarm at the boxes of bottles. The stone landed slap bang in the middle of them, breaking the necks of the longest and scattering glass on the ground.

“Now!” said Samuel.

They ran to the right, past the rockery and along the side of the house. From behind them came the sound of the back door opening, but by then they were already at the corner house, the front gate before them. Mrs. Abernathy was gone, and when Maria risked a glance, she saw the shape of a woman moving quickly away from them and toward the other end of the house.

They took their chance and sprinted for the gate, leaping over the flowerbeds and the bushes that had been carefully tended by Mr. Abernathy before he was taken over by a thing with no appreciation for the finer points of gardening. Tom was bringing up the rear when his foot caught on a length of trailing ivy and he stumbled, then fell. Samuel and Maria stopped at the gate, Maria preparing to go back and help Tom when Mrs. Abernathy, alerted by the noise, appeared at the side of the house.

“Bad children!” she said. “You shouldn’t trespass on other people’s property.”

Two of the tentacles grew longer than the rest, then shot at speed toward Tom as he tried to get to his feet. He could see how sharp their pincers were, and could smell the stuff that dripped like spittle from them as they came. He was raising his hand to protect himself when something slashed through the air before him. It was a garden rake, which caught the tentacles a hard blow and drove them to the ground. They remained pinned there beneath the rake’s teeth, writhing feebly and spraying thick black blood on the lawn. Mrs. Abernathy screamed in shock and pain as Maria let go of the rake and pulled Tom to his feet.

“Come on,” said Maria, and the three children, accompanied by a happy, and very relieved, Boswell, disappeared into the dusk.

Mrs. Abernathy walked across the lawn, her face contorted with rage and agony. The tentacles had retreated back into her body, except for the two that the horrid girl had pierced with the rake. Mrs. Abernathy knelt down and pulled the rake free, then tossed it away. Slowly, like wounded animals, the tentacles grew smaller, withdrawing into her flesh where they left a series of small holes that bled black against her ruined coat.

Mr. Renfield shuffled toward her, eight spiny legs now receding into his body, and what looked like mandibles disappearing back into his mouth. The same bland, humorless smile was still on his face. Behind him, Mrs. Renfield and Mr. Abernathy appeared, followed by a cloud of flies.

Mr. Abernathy stopped beside his wife. He turned to look at her, and she hit him so hard across the face with the back of her hand that his neck broke and his head hung at a strange angle on his shoulders. He raised his hands and tried to put his head back into place, but it wouldn’t stay. Eventually he gave up and left it hanging. It didn’t seem to cause him any great discomfort, and his smile remained unchanged.