"Thief!" she yells, silencing me, wild and twisted again. Her hands come up and wave angrily at me. "Find the thief! Soon! You'll see. The mad old witch going up in a puff of smoke. Boom, Kernel Fleck. Boom!"
She laughs hysterically. When you hear a witch laugh in a movie, it's funny. But this isn't. The laughter hurts my ears, makes them ring from deep inside. I half expect them to start bleeding.
"I have to go now," I say quickly, turning away from her, sliding Art round so he's in front of me, all the time protecting him from her.
"Kernel," the witch says in a cold, commanding tone. Reluctantly, I stop and look back. "You won't tell anyone what you've seen today." It's not a question.
"Mrs. Egin... you need help... I think..."
She spits on the ground by her right foot. "You're a fool. I'm not the one who needs help - you are. But never mind that. You won't tell anyone. Because if you do, I'll creep into your room late at night when you're asleep and slit your throat from your left ear to your right." She uses a trembling index finger to illustrate.
That's too much. I lose control and, to my shame, feel the front of my trousers go wet. Fortunately Mrs. Egin doesn't see. She's already turned away. Walks back to her house. Pauses at the front door. Looks up. There's a six-sided patch of pink light pulsing rapidly just above her head. She reaches up and strokes it. The pulse rate slows, as if the light was afraid and she has calmed it down.
"Thought you were the only one who could see them," she says as I stare at her in shock. "But I can too. Now. For a while. Until they take me."
Then she goes inside and shuts the door. For a long moment I stand, fighting back tears, ears still ringing, wanting to run away and never return. But I can't do that, and I can't turn up at school with wet, stained trousers. So I hurry home, clutching Art tight to my chest, steering as far wide of the witch's house as I can. I lie to Mum. Tell her Art peed on me. She's surprised - he's never been a wetter. She wants to change him. I tell her it's all right, I'll take care of it. I hurry to my bedroom and change my trousers. I'm almost out the door before I remember that Art should be changed too, so I quickly find clean clothes for him.
I consider telling Mum about Mrs. Egin's behaviour. Recall her threat - "slit your throat from your left ear to your right." Don't say a word.
The day passes uncomfortably. I can't forget what Mrs. Egin said, her wicked expression, stroking the pulsing patch of light. "You will see me die."
I should tell someone. It doesn't matter that she threatened me. She won't be able to sneak into my room if I tell someone and they lock her up like the mad old witch she is.
But I wet my trousers. If I tell about the rest, I'll have to tell about that too. And I don't want people knowing. So I say nothing. I pretend it didn't happen, that it doesn't matter. And all day long I feel as if a thousand eels of terror are wriggling around inside me.
Dad's talking with Mum about a craft fair when I come home. She's listening quietly, sitting by the piano. (It was in the house when we moved in - none of us can play.) She's frowning.
"This is one of the biggest fairs in the country," Dad says. "It's held every year, and a few of the Paskinston artists always go, representing the village. They sell a lot of work at it and rack up loads of orders. It's a real honour to be asked. It would be rude to refuse."
"But can't one of us go and one stay here?" Mum asks.
"Yes, but couples normally go together. It's not just about selling. There are hundreds of artists and interesting people there. It's a chance to meet, mingle, get to know other people. It'll be fun."
I hand Art to Mum and sit close to her, following the conversation. I learn a bit more about the fair, where it's held, who's going, how long they'll be gone for. Dad's proud to have been invited and keen to go, but Mum's worried about Art and me. She doesn't want to leave us alone. "Can't we take them along?" she asks.
"It's not the done thing," Dad says patiently. "Nobody else brings their kids."
Mum's frown deepens. We haven't been apart since we left the city, not for a single night. But if they go to the fair, they'll be gone for at least a week.
"They won't be by themselves," Dad says. "We'll leave them with one of the neighbours."
"I know, but..."
"Kernel doesn't mind. Do you, Kernel?" He smiles broadly at me, expecting my support. If this was yesterday, I'd have given it instantly. But Mrs. Egin's threat is fresh in my thoughts. I don't want to be left alone. So I just shrug in answer. "You OK, big guy?" Dad asks, surprised.
"Yeah."
"If you don't want us to go, just say. It's not that important."
"No. I mean, I don't mind. Not really. It's just..." I can't explain without telling them the truth. So again I shrug.
"What about Art?" Mum says, kissing his head, looking up at Dad.
"Art will be fine too," Dad says and he sounds a little impatient now.
"I'm not sure, Caspian."
"Melena..." Dad sighs. "Look, if it's going to be a big deal, we won't go. But this is our home now. We're safe here. I don't think we've anything to fear in this place. Do you?"