'Gosh, how often did you do that?' said Johnny.

'Nearly once,' said Mr Vicenti.

'Come on,' said Wobbler. 'Joke over. No-one's taken in. Come on. Time's getting on.'

'Shut up, this is interesting,' said Johnny.

He was aware of a rustling noise around him, like someone walking very

slowly through dead leaves.

'And you're John Maxwell,' said Mr Vicenti. 'The Alderman told us about you.'

'Us?'

The rustling grew louder.

Johnny turned.

'He's not joking,' said Yo-less. 'Look at his face!'

I mustn't be frightened, Johnny told himself

I mustn't be frightened!

Why should I be frightened? These are just ... post-life citizens. A few years ago they were just mowing lawns and putting up Christmas decora- tions and being grandparents and things. They're nothing to be frightened of

The sun was well behind the poplar trees. There was a bit of mist on the ground.

And, walking slowly towards him, through its coils, were the dead.

Chapter 3

There was the Alderman, and William Stickers, and an old woman in a long dress and a hat covered in fruit, and some small children running on ahead, and dozens, hundreds of others. They didn't lurch. They didn't ooze any green. They just looked grey, and very slightly out of focus.

You notice things when you're terrified. Little details grow bigger.

He realized there were differences among the dead. Mr Vicenti had looked almost ... well, alive. William Stickers was slightly more colourless. The Alderman was definitely transparent around the edges. But many of the others, in Victorian clothes and odd assortments of coats and breeches from earlier ages, were almost completely with- out colour and almost without substance, so that they were little more than shaped air, but air that walked.