The Hangman's Lair by Simon Cheshire

performances. Comedians, pop groups, speciality acts, that sort of thing.’
    ‘What’s a speciality act?’ I said.
    ‘Oh, the more oddball stuff,’ said Izzy. ‘You know, sword swallowers, dancing dogs, jugglers. A few months ago they had a couple of absolutely brilliant quick change artists, who could zip through different costumes like lightning. Really clever.’
    ‘So these acts are a sort of daily show?’ I said.
    ‘Every evening at eight o’clock, yes. Some acts are only on for one night, some get booked for a couple of weeks or more. My uncle won’t let anyone else deal with the bookings - he loves all that. I think he really wanted to be a circus ringmaster!’
    ‘And I assume something’s gone wrong for one of these acts? Is that why you’re here?’
    ‘Not exactly,’ said Izzy. She hesitated, and her voice became quieter. ‘There’s a performer called Godfrey Frye. He’s been touring abroad for ages, apparently, and has never been here before. He’s been appearing at the nightly show for the past few days and he’s booked up until the end of next week.’
    ‘And . . .?’
    ‘And he’s the creepiest person on the face of the earth!’
    I shrugged. ‘Well, there’s no law against being weird, thank goodness.’
    ‘He’s a clairvoyant, a medium. He picks people out of the audience and starts seeing into their future.’
    ‘Sure, I’ve seen similar stage acts on TV,’ I said.
    Izzy shook her head. ‘There’s more to it than that. I went to last night’s show with my mum. This Godfrey Frye started talking about me. I’d never so much as set eyes on him before, but he knew things he couldn’t possibly have guessed. What’s more, he knew about you!’
    ‘Huh?’
    ‘He said he’s communicated with spirits and been told your name. “A friend who fights crime,” he said. “You have a friend called Saxby.” If he’d said, “You have a friend called Tom,” or, “You have a friend called Sam,” well, that’s nothing, is it? That could just be guesswork. But your name?’
    ‘And did he predict my future?’ I said.
    ‘Yes, he did. And I’m really scared.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because,’ said Izzy, ‘he said your future was filled with failure and mistakes. He said he heard the voices of the dead speaking to him, and they’ve told him you’re heading for disaster!’

C HAPTER
T WO
    ‘H ANG ON A MINUTE,’ I said. ‘Let’s . . . I mean . . . Couldn’t . . . Hang on a minute.’
    I suddenly felt as if my nervous system had been put through a shredder. It’s a pretty terrifying experience to . . . be told that . . . in your future . . .
    I batted my hands about to shoo away such ridiculous thoughts. ‘Oh, come on!’ I cried. ‘It’s a stage act! It’s all fake, it’s a trick.’
    ‘If he’s a fake,’ said Izzy, ‘he’s the best bloomin’ fake I’ve ever seen.’
    ‘Good grief,’ I cried, ‘you’re the most sensible, intelligent person I know. How can you let yourself be fooled by such nonsense?’
    ‘Normally, I would say it was nonsense. You know me.
    You know I don’t believe in astrology and superstitions, and all that mystical rubbish. But you weren’t there last night. I’m beginning to wonder whether I’ve been right or not. How could he know about me? And you? How?’
    ‘Weeeeeeell,’ I said. I pondered for a moment or two. ‘OK, I don’t know, but one thing’s for certain: he is not getting messages from beyond the grave!’
    Izzy sighed. She slumped, chin in hand, looking thoroughly miserable. ‘You’re right,’ she said, after another couple of sighs. ‘I’m being really silly. But I’m telling you, Godfrey Frye would give a block of concrete the jitters. He’s frightening. Never mind the audiences, he’s got half the staff at The Pig and Fiddle convinced he’s for real. The waiters in the restaurant talk about him in hushed whispers. And my uncle is the worst one of the lot!’
    ‘How so?’
    Izzy let out a long, slow breath