Luke, Resus and Cleo ran round to the front of the stage. “He’s one of Scream Street’s founding fathers?” spluttered Resus.

  “But, he’s horrible!” said Cleo.

  “I guess you don’t have to be pleasant to be the first of your kind to live somewhere,” said Luke.

  “We should look on the bright side,” said Resus. “At least we don’t have to search through the drummer’s fan club list now.”

  “That’s true,” agreed Luke, “but we do have to ask Vein for his relic.”

  An eerie hush filled the square as Fool Spectre materialized before the microphone at the front of the stage. “Lamies and gentlemoans,” he announced. “Today is the happiest day of your deaths. The greatest rock group ever to taste flesh has arrived here — yes, here — in Scream Street. It’s … Brain Drain!”

  The audience went wild, cheering, applauding and screaming.

  “Looks like we’ll have to watch the show first,” said Cleo.

  Fool Spectre continued. “On drums, the monster that puts the beat in ‘deadbeat’ — Twonk!” The spotlight fell on a jolly, round-faced zombie clutching a pair of arm bones. He sat at a kit of drums covered with stretched human skin and began to pound out a powerful rhythm.

  “On bass,” continued Spectre, “it’s the quiet one — although that could be because his lips fell off during their last tour — Porridge!” The female zombies in the audience screamed as a tall, thin creature appeared in the lights, his long green hair flopping down over his eyes. Porridge plugged in a bass guitar made from a leg with tendons for strings, and joined in with the drums.

  “Next,” said Fool Spectre, “on lead guitar, the sultry siren who makes those strings sing — Jazpants!” This time it was the male monsters’ turn to go crazy as a female zombie dashed out onto the stage clutching a guitar formed out of a human spine, on which she played a wild solo. Cleo nudged Luke and pointed to the guitarist’s hands. Jazpants had eight fingers on each hand, the extra digits having been stitched on beside her own.

  “And finally,” announced Fool Spectre as the musicians continued to play, “the greatest superstar ever to crawl out of a coffin. The viscount of vocals himself! Give it up for the one, the only — Vein!”

  The lead singer of Brain Drain sauntered casually onto the stage to deafening applause and cheers. Several of the zombies near the front of the crowd fainted from excitement, crumbling to the ground.

  Vein took the microphone from Fool, paused theatrically, sending the crowd insane, and began to sing in a deep, gravelly voice.

  “If I rip the heart right from your chest,

  They’ll take me away; cardiac arrest …”

  Fool Spectre shimmered into existence beside Luke, Resus and Cleo. “What did I tell you?” he shouted over the noise of the band. “Aren’t they great?”

  “Wonderful!” yelled Resus, twisting the corners of his cape and pushing them into his ears.

  “I’ll let your blood flow like a river,

  Mop it all up with your juicy liver,” Vein sang to the entranced crowd.

  “Catchy lyrics,” said Luke.

  “It’s called ‘Zombie Feasting Time’,” shouted Fool Spectre. “It was written by one of the band’s fans and delivered anonymously to Vein this morning.”

  “Composed by the decomposed. How appropriate!”

  Cleo scanned the audience of madly dancing zombies. Heads, arms and torsos flew into the air as the creatures clashed against each other in the musical mêlée. Suddenly she spotted a familiar face. “Tee!” she screamed, racing into the crowd.

  Resus grabbed Luke’s arm. “Come on!” he shouted.

  The trio pushed their way through the heavy crowd, searching for the young zombie. “Tee!” yelled Cleo, the pumping music almost completely drowning out her voice. Resus pulled a tennis racquet from his cloak and began to batter dancing monsters out of their way.

  “Are you OK?” Cleo asked as they reached Tee.

  The young zombie shook his head, dazed. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

  “It’s OK,” said Resus. “We’ve only got the vaguest grasp ourselves!”

  “Let’s get out of here,” said Luke. “We can talk to Vein after the show.”

  Resus began to create a pathway through the zombies by batting them with the tennis racquet. Body parts bounced around.

  Cleo grabbed Tee’s hand and began to steer him through the crowd, with Luke bringing up the rear. “Don’t worry,” she assured him. “We’ll be out of here soon.”

  Suddenly one of the zombies who had found himself on the wrong end of Resus’s racquet spun round and grabbed Luke’s shoulder, digging its nails in deep.

  Luke yelled in pain. “What did you do that f—” He staggered as a familiar feeling began to wash over him. “Cleo …” he managed to croak before his mind was wrapped in darkness.

  “Resus,” called the mummy. “Luke’s transforming!”

  The bones in Luke’s arms cracked noisily as they stretched, muscles growing and wrapping themselves around the stronger limbs. Long yellow talons burst from the ends of his fingers.

  This was one of the many partial transformations Luke had experienced since moving to Scream Street, where only one part of his body changed into that of a werewolf. He was often not fully in control over what would change: this time his arms rippled with brown fur and ended in powerful claws.

  The werewolf inside Luke glared up at the zombie still gripping his shoulder. Lashing out with his paws, he sliced at the creature’s chest, sending it crashing to the ground.

  Having seen one of their own injured, the other zombies around the part-werewolf pounced. Luke punched out again and again, desperate to keep his attackers at bay. Resus thrust the racquet back into his cloak and pulled out the flaming torch.

  “Get away from him!” he shouted, jabbing it into the crowd as Brain Drain’s music continued to pound across the square.

  The zombies stepped back, spooked by the flame. Cleo and Tee hurried to Resus’s side as he twisted from left to right, trying to keep the monsters back, and the group found itself in a circle of angry, snarling zombies.

  “OK,” said Cleo slowly. “Any idea what we do now?”

  “Chewing on you, you’re tasting good,

  Gnawing your bones and—”

  Suddenly a piercing scream rang out through the sound system and all eyes turned towards the stage. Vein’s feet were wrapped in a swirling green mist which quickly rose up his body until, with a flash, the singer disappeared.

  “What on earth …?” Resus asked, amazed.

  As the audience watched, another cloud of green gas appeared and wrapped around Jazpants, her instrument clattering to the floor as she vanished.

  The bass guitarist was next to be swallowed up by the vapour. Porridge gave a gurgled yell as the mist enveloped him.

  Twonk, the only member of Brain Drain left on the stage, stopped playing as the gas began to hiss around his feet. The drummer jumped up and leapt from the stage in an effort to escape, but the green cloud was around him within seconds; he disappeared before he hit the ground.

  The zombie crowd stared in silence as a figure strode out onto the stage where their heroes had so recently stood. A large man puffed hard on a noxious cigar.

  “I have two things to say,” Sir Otto Sneer roared into the microphone. “One: never, ever mess with me. And two: meet the composer of Brain Drain’s latest hit!”

  Fool Spectre materialized beside the landlord. “You wrote ‘Zombie Feasting Time’?”

  “Not bad for a first try, is it?” grinned Sir Otto. “I had a bit of a problem finding a rhyme for kidney, but I got there in the end.”

  “What happened to the band?” demanded Spectre.

  “Let’s just say there was magic in the music,” crowed Sir Otto as a zombie with lank ginger hair climbed onto the stage and stood beside him.

  “That’s the zombie who raided the emporium,” hissed Resus.

  The red-haired zombie’s skin began to ripple and clear of its scabs as his body twisted back to its original shape. Fully transformed, the thin figure waved cheerily to the crowd from his uncle’s side. “Coo-ee!”

  “It’s Dixon!” said Cleo. “He shapeshifted into a zombie to break into Everwell’s!” Beside her, Luke groaned as his claws transformed back into human hands.

  All across the square, zombies began to complain. “Brain Drain!” shouted one of the creatures. Those around it joined in with the chant. “Brain drain!”

  Fool Spectre raised a hand to silence them. “Where are Brain Drain?”

  The landlord sucked hard on his cigar. “They’ve set off on a neverending tour,” he said, his voice echoing through the speaker system so no one could fail to hear his words. “To the Underlands …”

  At the mention of this, a shocked hush fell across the crowd, then the zombies began to lurch forward, pressing against the stage. Sir Otto remained unmoved by the moans and growls around him.

  “If you freaks ever want to see Brain Drain again,” he roared, pointing directly at Luke, “bring me that werewolf!

  Two huge zombies pinned Luke’s now human arms firmly behind his back as he was lifted onto the stage to face Sir Otto. Resus, Cleo and Tee were bundled up to stand with their friend.

  “What do you want?” growled Luke.

  “I would have thought that was obvious,” sneered Sir Otto. “I’ll take Skipstone’s Tales of Scream Street, for a start, then there are the relics …”

  Luke glared through the cloud of cigar smoke into the landlord’s greedy eyes. Sir Otto would use the combined power of the founding fathers’ relics to make the lives of Scream Street’s residents as miserable as possible.

  “And what if I decide not to give them to you?” asked Luke.

  “Then I toss you to this angry mob, and they take out their disappointment at the end of Deadstock on you,” smiled Sir Otto. “Once the zombies have finished plundering your corpses, I’ll help myself to Skipstone’s book anyway.”

  Luke glanced down at the furious zombies pressing against the front of the stage. One of them had a broken neck, its top vertebra jutting through a gash at the back of its head. It hissed angrily.

  Luke fixed his eyes on Sir Otto. “I don’t think you’ve got the backbone.”

  Resus’s eyes widened. “Er, Luke …” he said. “What are you doing?”

  “He’s spineless,” replied Luke. “Whatever he takes, we’ll get it back.”

  “Luke!” hissed Resus. “What are you …?”

  “Make no bones about it,” added Luke, as slowly and as clearly as he could. “He’ll get it in the neck.”

  “What are you talking about?” demanded Resus.

  Cleo squealed in frustration. “Keep up!” she shouted. Reaching down, she grabbed the hissing zombie’s exposed white backbone and pulled. With a sickening squelch, the monster’s spine slid out of its body. There was a pfft! and the zombie crumpled to the ground.

  Swinging the spine round, Cleo caught Sir Otto full in the face. The landlord’s cigar was thrust into his mouth, burning the tender skin at the back of his throat. He scrabbled around, gesturing wildly for someone to slap his back.

  Meanwhile, the zombies holding Luke were distracted long enough for him to wriggle out of their grasp. He ran to the back of the stage, pushing over a wall of speakers to allow himself, Cleo, Resus and Tee to jump safely to the ground. The audience swarmed over the stage after them.

  “What now?” asked Resus as the four of them ran from the charging zombies.

  “The only thing we can do,” said Luke. “We go to the Underlands!”

  Resus lifted the metal grille a few centimetres and peered out cautiously. A full-scale zombie riot was in progress. Luke, Resus, Cleo and Tee had managed to outrun the creatures, ducking into a drain at the back of Sneer Hall. The furious monsters, unable to find the people they considered responsible for the disappearance of Brain Drain, had turned their frustrations on Scream Street itself.

  They lurched along the streets, smashing windows, uprooting lampposts and demolishing fences. The terrified residents hastily barricaded themselves into their homes.

  Resus dropped the drain cover and slumped back into the hole. “You know we’re going to get the blame for this,” he said.

  “But it was Sneer’s fault,” said Cleo. “He’s the one who wrote that stupid song and fired the band off to who knows where!”

  Resus grinned wryly. “Talk about one-hit Underlands …”

  “I still don’t get it,” admitted Luke. “How can singing a song cause you to vanish in a puff of smoke?”

  “It must have been the spell ingredients Dixon stole from Everwell’s,” said Resus. “If Sir Otto mixed them together as he wrote the song, playing and singing it could well be the key to release the spell’s effects. Sort of like a password.”

  “We could do with something like that to get us out of this drain,” groaned Luke, struggling to make himself comfortable against the damp wall.

  “And it stinks down here,” said Tee.

  “Well, feel free to walk away any time,” snorted Resus.

  “We aren’t leaving Tee to the mercy of those monsters,” defended Cleo, glaring at the vampire in the darkness.

  “He’s one of those monsters!” countered Resus.

  “Resus Negative,” snapped Cleo, “I would have thought that you, of all people, would appreciate that you shouldn’t judge a person by their appearance.”

  “If you’re going to start on about me not being a real vampire again—”

  “Nobody’s starting anything,” Luke interrupted hurriedly. “We’ve got a problem, and the only way to solve it is to go to this Underlands place and get Brain Drain back up here to continue playing.”

  “You’re crazy,” said Resus. “No one goes to the Underlands on purpose!”

  “Well, if we’ve any hope of collecting the next relic from Vein,” said Luke, “I guess we’re going to have to be the first.”

  “You don’t get it. We can’t go to the Underlands,” said Resus. “The only creatures who even vaguely know how to get there are zombies, and as they’re all currently out for our blood, we haven’t got one to tunnel us there.”

  Tee cleared his throat. “Actually,” he said, “you have …”

  Resus produced a jar of glow-worms from his cloak and used their dim light to check the time. “That’s two hours we’ve been down here,” he moaned, “and we’re no closer to the Underlands than when we started!”

  “You don’t know that,” said Cleo, collecting up the soil produced by Tee as he dug deeper into the ground. She in turn passed the earth back to Luke, who used it to fill in the rear of the tunnel. “We could be almost there.”

  “Nonsense!” scoffed Resus. “I doubt we’ve travelled more than two or three metres. It’ll take days at this rate.”

  Luke wiped the sweat from his face with a muddy hand. Tunnelling under Scream Street was hard enough without Resus and Cleo arguing all the way. “We don’t know how far or how deep we’ve gone,” he said patiently. “I suggest we trust Tee’s instincts for the time being.”

  “Instincts?” laughed Resus, flinging his hands out. “He’s simply digging in the general direction of down. You don’t need zombie instincts to tell you that!”

  “Stop waving about,” said Luke. “We’ll be down here a lot longer if you collapse the tunnel and bury us alive.”

  Ignoring him, Resus continued to rant. “All I’m saying is that we’ll need to dig deeper than the sewer if we hope to get anywhere at all.” The vampire punched his fist down to emphasize his point, and as he did so his arm smashed through the floor of the tunnel and opened up a hole. Before he could even cry out in shock, the vampire had fallen through it into nothingness.

  Luke lunged forwards and grabbed his friend’s wrist as he slipped through the gap.

  “Don’t let go!” Resus shouted in panic, his voice echoing around the tunnel above. Risking a glance down, he discovered that he was dangling high above the ground in what looked like another world. The sky was a deep pulsing red, and Luke’s arm appeared to be clutching his own through a bank of swirling, plum-coloured clouds.

  Luke, Cleo and Tee dragged Resus back through the hole. The vampire struggled to catch his breath. “The Underlands …” he gasped. “We’re here!”

  “All I can see is some kind of purple mist,” said Cleo, peering through the hole.

  “Trust me, it’s down there,” said Resus. “A long way down there.”

  “But we’ve only travelled a few metres,” said Luke. “You said so yourself.”

  Resus shrugged. “I don’t know how it’s happened, but we’re definitely not beneath Scream Street any more.”

  “I believe I can shed a little light on your situation,” came a muffled voice. Luke pulled Skipstone’s Tales of Scream Street from his pocket and propped it up against the wall of the tunnel. The book’s author became bathed in the mysterious purple light from below. “You appear to have tapped into one of the Hex Hatches put in place by G.H.O.U.L. for the zombies to reach Deadstock.”

  “Hex Hatches?” asked Luke.

  “The Movers are required to relocate families over considerable distances in a short period of time,” explained Skipstone. “A Hex Hatch allows them to travel from one G.H.O.U.L. location to another with ease. Did you not hear the band’s singer say they had passed through one to get to Scream Street this morning?”

  “So we’ve been magically transported here, like Brain Drain?” asked Cleo.

  “It would be more correct to say you have stumbled upon a magical shortcut,” explained Skipstone. “But the end result is much the same.”

  “This is all very interesting,” said Resus, “but it doesn’t help us to get down there. We’re up at cloud level and I, for one, don’t fancy a free fall.”

  “Have you got any rope in your cloak?” asked Luke.

  “A bit, maybe, but nothing long enough.”