Buried Alive! Read Online Free PDF

now?’
    We found the public toilets – modern version – and then got back in the car and did another little scenic tour. Biscuits casually mentioned chocolate once or twice but Mum said it was too near lunchtime.
    We drove to Abercoch. It was only drizzling now so we walked along the seafront and had fish and chips out of a packet, all of us sitting on the wet wall. Mum made us put newspaper down first so that we wouldn’t get piles. That made us remember this seriously awful sneery-jeery show-off at the adventure holiday place called Giles – only Biscuits called him Piles.
    Mum and Dad had take-away cups of tea and we had ice lollies, and then we went for a walk towards the old broken-down pier.
    There was a white wooden kiosk near the entrance with all sorts of painted magic symbols round the door and a sign that said GYPSY ROSE, FORTUNE-TELLER TO THE STARS .
    â€˜Ooh look,’ said Mum. ‘I’ve always wanted to have my fortune told.’
    â€˜Don’t be so wet,’ said Dad. ‘It’s all a complete con.’
    â€˜No, it’s not,’ said Mum. ‘You don’t know anything about it. Tim, shall I have my fortune told?’
    â€˜Ooh yes, Mum! Can I have my fortune done too?’
    â€˜No dear, it’s only for grown-ups.’
    â€˜You don’t want to waste your money,’ said Dad.
    â€˜Yes I do,’ said Mum.
    â€˜She’ll just tell you some old rubbish about a romantic encounter with a handsome stranger,’ said Dad.
    â€˜That sounds good to me,’ said Mum, knocking at the little wooden door. ‘Keep an eye on the boys while I’m in here.’
    â€˜Oh, Mum, can’t we come and watch?’ I said.
    But we had to trail after Dad onto the pier. I hung back.
    â€˜What’s up, Tim?’ said Biscuits. ‘Look,
I’ll
tell your fortune if you like.’ He pulled his T-shirt off and tied it round his head like a gypsy scarf. ‘Give me your hand, young man. Aah, what’s this I see? An encounter with an
ugly
stranger – one with prickly hair and big boots!’
    â€˜I hope not!’ I said, snatching my hand away – even though I knew he was just larking around.
    â€˜Come
on
, you two,’ Dad called to us. ‘Biscuits, put your T-shirt on, it’s hardly sunbathing weather. And what’s up with you, Tim?’
    â€˜I don’t like the pier,’ I mumbled.
    â€˜What?’ said Dad. ‘What are you on about? Let’s go and see if the lads fishing have caught anything.’
    â€˜I don’t think much of this pier either,’ Biscuits said. ‘It’s all old and boring. Only one ice-cream stall. They haven’t got any doughnuts or rock or burger bars.’
    â€˜Yes, rotten old pier,’ I said, though I didn’t care about the lack of food stalls.
    I didn’t like the pier itself. I worried about the way the wooden planks were seldom perfectly slotted together. You could see through the gaps down to the frothy grey sea underneath. Some of the planks looked really old, as if they’d splinter as soon as you stepped on them.
    I tried to work out the width of the plank and the width of me. It was fine for someone big like Biscuits. But I’m seriously skinny. I could quite possibly go plummeting downwards to my death. Well, I can swim a bit so maybe I wouldn’t drown immediately. But I knew there are all sorts of dangerous currents under piers. Even very strong swimmers could be sucked straight under.
    â€˜Why are you walking in that funny way?’ asked Biscuits.
    â€˜Oh, I – I’m just playing that don’t-step-on-the-cracks-game,’ I said quickly.
    I didn’t want to tell Biscuits I was scared of the pier. He’d start to think me the wimpiest wimp ever. He already knew I was scared of heights. And the boy with the prickly hair. (Well, we were
both
a bit scared of him.)
    Dad had hurried over to the boys