“It's dangerous to go alone.” Jasfoup pulled Dill forward. “Take this.”
“Gee thanks.” The zombie shrugged off his grip. “I'm more than capable of making my decisions, you know.”
“Hold on to Lucy for a bit longer, please.” Harold cupped his daughter's face. “Stay with Uncle Jasfoup for a bit longer, love. I'll be back as quick as I can.”
Lucy caught his hand and pressed it to her face, almost as if she thought he wasn't coming back. It was a sad state of affairs, he thought, when even your child doesn't believe what you're telling her. He put on a brave face and smiled, patted her head and turned to the stairs.
“What do you think is up there?” Dill peered up the stairs. “What could have silenced Gillian so effectively?”
“Nothing good.” Harold began ascending, placing a feat to one side of the steps. It had worked in his mums house to stop the stairs creaking and alerting her he was slipping out after bedtime. It didn't matter these were concrete steps, in his mind he was 14 years old sneaking out to a late-night antiques auction.
At the top of the steps they peered around the doorway. Gillian was being held by a shadowy figure the broken, jagged end of a broomstick pressed against her chest.
The figure smiled and beckoned them into the room. “Ah, Mr. Waterman, we meet at last. Jasfoup has told me all about you.”