“I don’t know who told you freaks to come here,” bellowed the landlord, “but if you don’t leave immediately, I’ll have G.H.O.U.L. banish you all to the Underlands!”

  Luke shuddered. G.H.O.U.L. – Government Housing Of Unusual Life-forms — was the organization that had sent the Movers to relocate his family to Scream Street. Sir Otto’s threat was not one to be taken lightly.

  “Whoa,” said Doug. “Chill out, dude!”

  “Chill out?” roared Sir Otto, throwing the plug to the ground. “Chill out?”

  A tall, younger man with lank ginger hair appeared behind the landlord and whispered in his ear, “Uncle Otto …”

  “Sir Otto!”

  “Sorry,” whispered Dixon, the landlord’s nephew. “Sir Uncle Otto, I don’t think he really wants you to get chilly. I just think he means you should relax.”

  Sir Otto’s face turned purple. “I’ll show them what I do to relax!” Snatching the Brain Drain album from the turntable, he smashed it to the ground.

  Doug stared at the broken record in horror. “No way!”

  “That’s what I do to relax,” screeched Sir Otto, grabbing another record from the DJ’s box. “That, and this!” The irate man hurled the record out into the crowd like a Frisbee, where it wedged itself into the soft flesh of a nearby zombie’s face.

  “Ouch!”

  As Sir Otto reached for another record, Flatboy Skin growled. “Petal!” he commanded in a low voice.

  Luke was jolted as the wall behind him began to move. It took him a second to realize that it wasn’t the speakers he’d been leaning against, but the stomach of a massive zombie dressed all in black.

  “Boss?” asked Petal, cracking the bones in his neck menacingly.

  The DJ pointed to Sir Otto with a flat hand. The security guard grabbed the landlord’s collar with a fist the size of a chair, lifting him clear off the ground. He lurched towards the gates of Sir Otto’s mansion, Sneer Hall.

  “What are you doing?” shouted the landlord. “PUT ME DOWN THIS MINUTE!”

  Dixon ran to catch up with Petal. Tapping the zombie’s shoulder, he asked, “Can I get a lift, please?” The huge zombie grunted and swung the thin man over his shoulder. “Thank you!”

  “Dixon, you moron,” came the muffled voice of Sir Otto as the security guard carried the two men off. “You’re a shapeshifter! Why don’t you change into something useful?”

  Doug winked at the DJ as he plugged the record-player back in. “I think we need to drown out that noise, dude …”

  Flatboy Skin dropped another record onto the turntable, and within seconds the sound of Brain Drain rang out across the square once more.

  “Man, that was bogus,” said Doug as the zombies began to dance again. “I hate to think how these guys would react if Brain Drain didn’t appear!”

  “Speaking of ‘these guys’,” said Luke, “we’re trying to find a particular zombie. The first zombie ever to live in Scream Street.”

  “Tough task, little dude,” replied Doug. “If you ask me, you want to speak to the guy who organized this shindig.”

  “Who is it?” asked Cleo. “Who’s in charge?”

  Doug pointed a scabby finger towards a shimmering figure supervising the building of the stage. “Our very own neighbour, and president of Moantown Records, Fool Spectre!”

  More and more zombies poured into the central square as Luke, Resus and Cleo danced their way from the DJ booth to the stage. Movement of any kind was becoming increasingly difficult.

  “We’re getting nowhere fast,” said Resus, opening the gate to the nearest house. “Let’s go round the outside of the square, through the gardens.” He led the way across a lawn that was pockmarked with holes. More of the creatures were appearing by the minute.

  “Be careful, Cleo,” warned Luke as a slavering, lipless zombie stumbled towards them. “These ones might not know the no-brainer rule yet.”

  Cleo pulled a face. “You two haven’t got any faith in me, have you?”

  “It’s not that,” said Resus. “But out of the three of us, it’s usually you who gets captured, lost or injured.”

  “And I suppose I need protecting because I’m a girl, do I?”

  “She’s off again,” Resus sighed, pushing through the hedge into the next garden. Luke followed, shaking his head.

  “I’m not stupid!” Cleo shouted after them. “I know that—”

  She suddenly found herself being lifted off her feet. It was the grey zombie with one eye.

  “Brain drain! Brain drain!”

  “Ow! I know it’s in the spirit of Deadstock and all that,” shouted Cleo, “but that hurts!” The zombie clutched her to his chest, smothering her face in his diseased skin and muffling her cries for help. Luke and Resus carried on, oblivious.

  “Mmph mm-mpph!” grunted Cleo, grimacing against the awful stench of the zombie as it carried her along.

  “Brain drain! Brain drain!”

  Cleo felt her consciousness begin to drift away as the creature clutched her tighter and tighter.

  A pale green hand shot up from one of the holes and gripped the zombie’s ankle. The monster fell, dropping Cleo to the grass. The mummy staggered to her feet, but before she could run, the same green hand grabbed her leg and pulled her into the hole and underground.

  As her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness of the tunnel, Cleo found herself face to face with a young zombie: a boy around the same age as herself.

  “P-please don’t hurt me,” stammered Cleo, trying to back away.

  The zombie moved into a thin shaft of light that shone down from above. Raising a finger to his cracked lips, he gestured for her to be quiet.

  Above them, the ground shook as Cleo’s captor stomped around the garden, searching for his lost prize. “Brain drain! Brain drain!”

  After a moment the footsteps thudded away.

  “You saved me,” said Cleo.

  The young zombie stared at her. “You’re not like the others,” he said.

  “I’m not a zombie, if that’s what you mean,” replied the mummy. “My name is Cleo. What’s yours?”

  The young zombie shrugged unhappily. “I don’t know.”

  “You mean you can’t remember who you were before …”

  “Before I died,” finished the zombie. He shook his head. “I woke up inside a coffin, unable to think clearly. The wood was rotten, so I broke through and followed the others up to the surface.”

  “There’s a letter ‘T’ on your jacket,” said Cleo, pointing to the embroidered symbol. “Maybe your name starts with a ‘T’?”

  “I don’t know,” said the young zombie sadly. He reached out and clutched Cleo’s hand. “I’m so scared!”

  “Of the other zombies?”

  The creature nodded. “They all want to tear people apart and eat their brains. I just want to know who I am. I want to remember.”

  “I could try and help you remember,” suggested Cleo.

  The zombie looked at her in surprise. “You’d do that?”

  “Well, you did save me from being hugged to death,” laughed Cleo. “And don’t worry about your name,” she added, pointing to the zombie’s jacket again. “I can call you ‘Tee’ until we find out what it really is.”

  “You’re kind,” Tee said, his green face brightening. “It’s been a long time since I met anyone who was kind to me.”

  Cleo smiled. “I know what it’s like to lose your—”

  Four hands suddenly reached into the hole and grabbed Cleo, hauling her out of the tunnel. “We can’t leave you alone for two minutes, can we,” said Luke.

  “That’s the last you’ll see of that diseased monster,” laughed Resus, kicking a mound of dirt into the hole and collapsing the tunnel over Tee.

  The zombie stretched his hand towards Cleo. “Please …” he begged as the soil covered his terrified face and he was lost from view.

  “No …” shouted Cleo. “Stop!” She pulled free of Luke’s grip and dropped to her knees, digging frantically with her hands.

  “You don’t have to prove anything by going back down there,” said Luke.

  “He saved me!” snapped Cleo.

  “Yes,” smirked Resus. “I suppose I did.”

  “Not you,” roared Cleo. “That zombie! One of the bigger ones grabbed me, and the one in the tunnel saved me from him!”

  “One zombie saved you from another zombie?” asked Luke. “He probably just wanted your brain for himself.”

  “He wanted nothing of the sort,” shouted Cleo. “He wanted my help.”

  “He wants your lungs for lunch, more like,” said Resus.

  “He’s not like the others,” insisted Cleo. “He’s lost and he’s frightened! Now, help me get him out of this hole.”

  Reluctantly, Resus dropped to the ground and joined in with the digging. Luke grabbed a nearby garden rake and stood guard, knocking any curious zombies to one side. After a few minutes, the tunnel became visible. Cleo jumped down into it and peered through the darkness.

  Tee was gone.

  Resus hurried after Cleo as she stormed through the hedge into the next garden. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We didn’t know that zombie was trying to help you.”

  “You just can’t stand that someone my own age wanted to talk to me, can you!” exclaimed Cleo.

  “Your own age?” scoffed Resus. “Unless he was entombed in a pyramid around six thousand years ago, I doubt he’s anywhere near your age.”

  “You’re just jealous because he’s a real zombie,” said Cleo.

  “What do you mean by that?” demanded Resus, although he knew exactly what Cleo was referring to. He was something of a genetic oddity in his family: a normal child born to vampire parents. He hated the taste of blood, could stay outside in the daylight and was reduced to wearing clip-on fangs.

  Cleo spun and pushed her face closer to Resus’s. “Let’s just say he doesn’t feel the need to dye his hair black.”

  “That’s not fair!” protested Resus. “I only use the stuff so I won’t be an embarrassment to my family.”

  “Who says that hair dye stops that from happening?”

  “Sorry to break up this touching moment,” said Luke as they reached the last garden, leading back into the square, “but could we please save it for when we’re not overrun with zombies?”

  The trio soon found themselves next to the vast stage the overall-clad zombies had been building.

  “Excuse me,” Cleo asked the nearest one. “We’re looking for Fool Spec—”

  She jumped as the phantom materialized in front of her.

  “Well, looky here,” smiled the ghost, running a hand through his wildly back-combed hair. “We got ourselves some flesh-metal music fans!”

  “Actually, Mr Spectre,” said Resus, “we know you’re—”

  “President of Moantown Records!” interrupted the spirit, pressing a translucent business card into Resus’s palm. “And, of course, the man who brought Deadstock to Scream Street.”

  “This is your doing?” asked Luke. “My parents are out of their minds!”

  “So they should be,” beamed Spectre. “It’s not every day a top zombie band like Brain Drain plays in your own backyard.”

  “You’re missing the point,” said Resus. “We’re looking for one zombie in particular …”

  “As am I!” interrupted a female voice. Luke looked up to see Eefa Everwell, the witch who ran Scream Street’s general store, pushing her way through the crowds. The witch’s enchantment charm caused every zombie she passed to stop and stare at her utter beauty.

  “Everwell’s Emporium has been broken into,” she announced.

  “What makes you think it was one of the zombies?” asked Fool Spectre.

  “I’d popped home for a moment,” said Eefa, producing a crystal ball from beneath her robes, “but my security spell caught the culprit red-handed!” An image began to glow inside the glass sphere. Cleo nudged Luke to stop him gaping at the witch’s beauty, and they all crowded around to watch.

  Inside the globe, a tall zombie with lank ginger hair smashed into the emporium through the door from the stockroom and proceeded to demolish the shop. He knocked over shelves, smashed display stands and tore up paperwork.

  “Did he take much?” Cleo asked the witch.

  “Just a few basic spell ingredients, from what I can tell,” replied Eefa. “But everything’s in such a mess, I don’t really know what’s there and what isn’t.” She rounded on the president of Moantown Records. “I kept the emporium open today for Deadstock,” said Eefa. “Because you, Fool, assured me there would be no trouble!”

  “Now, hold on a minute,” protested the phantom. “I cannot be held responsible for the actions of every zombie who’s come to see their favourite band.”

  “Perhaps not,” said Eefa, “but you can reimburse me for the damage.”

  “Reimburse you?” barked Spectre.

  “Excuse me, Mr Spectre,” said Luke. “I know this isn’t the best time, but I need to ask you—”

  “For some backstage passes, I know,” interjected the ghost, pulling three laminated cards from his clipboard. “There you go, kids — now run along and let Miss Everwell and I sort out this problem.”

  Luke found a pass thrust at him and a hand the size of a door at his back, pushing him towards a black silk tent set up at the back of the stage.

  “No,” he objected, “you don’t understand …”

  “Forget it,” said Resus. “You’ve got more chance of escaping from the Underlands than you have of getting a straight answer there!”

  “Sir Otto mentioned the Underlands earlier,” said Luke. “What are they?”

  Cleo shivered. “Something not to be talked about, if you ask me.”

  “The Underlands is another realm,” explained Resus. “A terrifying place that saps your spirit and keeps you in a constant state of doom and despair.”

  “Sounds like a great place for a holiday!”

  “Don’t believe it,” said Resus, missing Luke’s joke. “The Underlands is where G.H.O.U.L. sends all the really nasty beings — creatures that can’t be trusted to live among the likes of us without causing carnage.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought Scream Street had that many bad characters to begin with,” commented Luke.

  “They come from G.H.O.U.L. communities all over the world,” explained Resus.

  Luke looked amazed. “You mean there are other places like Scream Street?”

  “In just about every country,” said Cleo. “My dad and I lived in a town in Australia before we were moved here.”

  “And we were supposed to be performing in Scandinavia today,” snarled a voice. “Not this provincial dump!”

  Luke, Resus and Cleo turned towards the voice, which had come from the black tent. A green face wearing small black sunglasses peered through a gap in the material.

  “Are you talking to us?” asked Resus, stepping towards the tent.

  “Stay right where you are,” ordered the face.

  “It’s OK,” said Cleo. “We’re friends of Mr Spectre’s. He gave us backstage passes.”

  “I don’t care if he gave you Frankenstein’s phone number,” growled the figure. “I told you to stay back!”

  “How dare—” began Resus.

  Luke nudged his friend in the ribs. “Are you with the band?” he asked.

  The figure stepped out from the confines of the tent. He was tall and slim, with tattoos covering almost every inch of his green skin. Luke was amazed to see that the zombie wasn’t wearing sunglasses after all — his eyes were just jet black.

  “I’m not with the band,” snarled the figure. “I am the band!”

  “But Doug told us that Brain Drain had four members,” said Cleo.

  The zombie smoothed back his slicked black hair. “Even a legend like Vein needs musicians behind him.”

  “You’re Vein?” asked Resus. “You’re the lead singer!”

  “You catch on quick,” drawled the slim zombie, “for a vampire …”

  “You take that back!” protested Resus. “Or I’ll—”

  Luke interrupted. “Did you say you were supposed to be performing in Scandinavia today?”

  “Aren’t you clever for remembering.”

  “Deadstock wasn’t supposed to be in Scream Street, then?” asked Cleo, trying her best to ignore the singer’s sarcasm.

  “The venue was changed at the last minute due to an outbreak of hoof-and-mouth disease among the Swedish demons,” grumbled Vein. “Next thing I know, G.H.O.U.L.’s opened a Hex Hatch and we’re here.”

  Cleo shrugged. “So, what’s the problem?”

  “I wouldn’t choose to play hide-and-seek in a dump like this, let alone a rock concert.”

  “Do you mind?” snapped Resus. “This is our home.”

  Vein chuckled nastily. “It suits you.”

  Luke struggled to hold Resus back. “How did the zombies know?”

  “How did the zombies know what?” asked Vein, sounding bored.

  “How did the zombies know that the venue had been changed?”

  Vein jerked a thumb back in the direction of the tent. “Twonk, our drummer, runs the Brain Drain fan club. He must have contacted everyone.”

  Luke stared thoughtfully at the slim opening in the black silk. “There’s a list!” he exclaimed. “We don’t need Fool Spectre; the drummer’s got a list of every zombie here. We can find our zombie that way!” He took a step towards the tent, but Vein slapped his hand on his shoulder.

  “You are not to disturb anyone in my band before we perform,” he warned. As he spoke, three other zombies came out of the tent carrying musical instruments and climbed up onto the stage.

  “You don’t understand,” said Luke. “I need to find a particular zombie.”

  Vein leapt up onto the stage and glared down at the trio. “It’s bad enough having to play a dive like Scream Street, without kids like you hanging around as well!”

  “And what would you know about Scream Street?” Resus asked hotly.

  “I used to live here,” said Vein over his shoulder as he strode off after the rest of the band. “In fact, I believe I was the first zombie ever to do so.”