In the kitchen of the Last Chance Hotel the loudest sound you were usually likely to hear was the gentle bubble of a lone egg coming to boil.
But today, the air was alive with yells from Henri Mould, the balding head chef, bent double with old age, barking out orders as he hobbled around the kitchen.
Merry Trogmanay everyone, and welcome to the Nothing to See Here Hotel, enjoy your stay, but be warned of ghosts, evil going-ons, and oh yes, we hope you don’t mind snow as we have some of our Yeti friends over.
Today is 8-11, so I turned that around and picked a fun teaser from page 118.
‘Ladies and gentlemen! Dad called over the chitter-chatter.
‘And tooth fairieth!’ the Molar Sisters piped up.
‘EVERYONE!’ Dad yelled, cutting off the rest of the crowd before anyone else could join in. ‘It is with happiness in my haunches and armfuls of Trogmanay cheer that I’d like to welcome you all to our summery… ermm… wintery trog-hog feats.’
The sky was lightening when the Wundrous Society’s newest scholars emerged from the woodland path. As they climbed the sloping, frost-covered hill towards Proudfoot House, a line of pale gold on the horizon turned to pink, blossoming in the sky like a gigantic flower and illuminating the red-brick facade.
My life is over.
I had decided never to emerge from underneath my duvet again, and my plan was working perfectly until my mum came barging into my room -which STILL doesn’t have a lock on it, despite all my requests, because Mum seems to think she has the right to just barrel on in and invade my privacy whenever she likes.
“Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?” she said with a sign, yanking the duvet off me.