do such a hare-brained thing. There were too many stories told about the reckless individuals who had ventured into the lane by night, only to meet a gruesome end there.
The story of the Decapitated Tomcat, for example, which was said to appear in the backstreets of Malaisea on the stroke of midnight and the anniversary of its death, walking upright on two legs and carrying its own tear-stained head between its forepaws.
Or the story of the Four Fearless Mongrels, which had gone exploring here for a bet when the moon was full. They returned the following night - amalgamated into a single animal! The poor creatures had been sliced in half and sewn together below the breastbone to form a horrific hybrid with eight forelegs and four heads. But the worst part of the story was that, driven insane by their fate, the four dogs had tried to run in different directions and ripped themselves apart with a frightful rending sound.
Echo was also reminded of the grisly tale of Sweet Siamantha, a greedy Siamese cat which had visited Uggly Lane in her unending search for sweet things to eat. She was now reputed to roam Malaisea at night, her body stripped of its fur and crisply roasted, a carving knife stuck in her belly and a meat fork protruding from her back.
But Echo found these scary stories less perturbing than the actual presence of the Ugglies’ houses. They were such awe-inspiring buildings that not even Ghoolion had dared to have them demolished after evicting their occupants. There was something about their gnarled, organic appearance that made them look inviolable and lent them an aura of venerable indestructibility. Moreover, their dark-brown wooden walls still harboured something - some kind of penetrating odour - which no pettifogging lawyers or bullying bureaucrats could drive out. This was the essence of Ugglydom itself, a clearly detectable source of energy that pervaded the entire lane, as potent as any evil curse.
Since Ugglies were legally prohibited from installing street lights, the only lighting was provided by the reflection of the moon in some rain-filled potholes. Echo paused beside one of these puddles, which looked in the gloom like a pool of blood.
He had now reached the end of the lane without spotting a single lighted window.
‘Good,’ he thought, feeling relieved. ‘There’s no one living here, so I’ll make myself scarce.’
He was just about to turn round when, only a few Crat’s lengths away, the wind wafted a shred of mist into the air like a conjurer whipping a cloth off a birdcage. It rose into the night sky and there, in the place where it had been hovering only a moment ago, stood the only house in the lane from which light was coming.
Echo didn’t move. He scowled at the building, which seemed to have sprouted from the ground like a mushroom. He’d been just about to beat a retreat on the pretext of having failed to find the confounded place, but there it was, and he could have sworn it was returning his gaze. Noticeably bigger than the rest, though not by much, it was the only detached house in the lane. Candlelight flickered fitfully behind its soot-encrusted windowpanes and Echo could hear music - a soft, haunting melody. Someone was singing in a deep voice and simultaneously beating time. It struck him as the ideal background music for a ritual in which dogs were sewn together or cats skinned alive.
For some inexplicable reason, however, the house exerted an attraction on him. ‘I could do with a little Placebo Wart Ointment,’ he murmured to himself as he trotted towards it. ‘And possibly a couple of quality-controlled curses as well.’
What was he talking about? Placebo Wart Ointment? Quality-controlled curses? Why should he suddenly develop a hankering for things he’d never even heard of? Why this irresistible urge to climb the steps of the veranda? What was that funny smell?
He was on the veranda before he knew it, right outside the Uggly’s front door. The little candlelight that filtered through the sooty windowpanes was just sufficient for him to read the noticeboards nailed to it.
Currently in Stock:
Quality-Controlled Curses
Prophecies of All Kinds
(Accuracy Not Guaranteed)
Placebo Wart Ointment
(Discreetly Packaged)
Aha, so those were the only kinds of services an Uggly was still permitted to offer in Malaisea. Ghoolion had certainly done a thorough job of making it hard for the Ugglies to practise their profession and utilise their special abilities.
Another notice board read:
Warning!
You enter these premises at your own risk. The