Raven's Gate

open – but he was still trying to work out how to get past the huge diplodocus. The way forward was blocked. Could he escape upstairs? A second later he cried out as his ankle was gripped by what felt like a coil of barbed wire. He looked down and saw a tiny crablike thing, only fifteen centimetres high. It had caught hold of him with teeth like drawing pins. Richard swore and shook it free, then kicked at its head with all his strength, smiling as the bone disintegrated. The smile was wiped away as the creature’s mother, ten times bigger, scuttled towards him.
    He made his decision and began to run. Sure enough, the diplodocus heard the sound and its great neck twisted round. Other skeletons lumbered out of the shadows, encircling him. But the door was open. The way ahead was clear.
    “You can make it!” Matt shouted.
    The diplodocus was still standing between the two of them but with a shudder of excitement Matt realized what Richard was planning to do. As he watched, Richard ducked underneath the tail of the diplodocus and ran between its hind legs and beneath its belly. The dinosaur was too big, too cumbersome, to stop him, and the other creatures couldn’t get anywhere near him. A quick exit between the monster’s front legs and he would be at the door. He would be safe!
    Enraged, the diplodocus reared up. Its powerful head pounded against the upper balcony.
    A gust of cold wind touched the back of Matt’s neck. He heard footsteps approaching.
    Richard had come to a halt beneath the diplodocus. He was staring at Matt, his face twisted in shock and disbelief.
    The balcony had been shattered by the impact. The great arch split open and with a deafening crash the whole massive pile of stone and mortar, glass and steel, plummeted down. Unable to bear the weight, the diplodocus itself collapsed, its legs buckling underneath it.
    Matt was about to run forward, back into the museum, when a pair of hands reached out and seized him by the neck. He cried out and twisted round.
    Richard was almost invisible behind the dust and falling stone. The curving ribcage of the dinosaur had become a cage of another sort for him. It was as if he had been swallowed alive. He was trapped inside it.
    Matt couldn’t move. Mrs Deverill was glaring at him, her eyes aflame. Noah was holding on to him, his hands tight around Matt’s throat. Matt lashed out, trying to break free. He felt his knee drive into Noah’s stomach but at the same time Mrs Deverill had produced a damp cloth and pressed it against his face. The cloth smelled sweet and sickly. He choked, unable to breathe.
    Richard saw Matt taken. Matt saw the journalist, his face streaked with blood, on his knees in the ghastly prison. Richard raised an arm, trying to brush away the curtain of dust and rubble that was smothering him. The curtain thickened and he was obliterated. A steel girder slammed down into the pile. Matt heard Richard cry out one last time.
    Unable to fight any more, Matt allowed the darkness to take him. The traffic rushed past. He heard the car engines, saw a traffic light turn from green to red. Everything was suddenly far away.
    The world twisted, turned upside down, and he remembered nothing more.

ROODMAS
    The clouds had rolled in over Yorkshire and the entire countryside seemed flat and colourless. Even the birds in the trees were strangely silent. It had rained all night and was still raining now, the water spluttering out of the rusty drainpipes, trickling across the windows, falling into puddles that reflected a grey and hostile sky.
    Matt woke up and shivered.
    He was back at Hive Hall, lying on a rusty, sagging bed. He had been moved to a room next door to Noah on the first floor of the barn. There was no heating and he had only one thin blanket. He looked at his watch. It was seven o’clock in the morning. He sat up very slowly. His neck ached, his shoulder was so bruised that he could barely move his arm, and he could feel a scar on his face where the wing of the pterodactyl had caught him. His clothes were torn, dirty and damp. He stretched his arms and rotated his shoulders, trying to work some warmth into his muscles. It was Saturday, April the thirtieth. Professor Dravid had given the day a name: Roodmas. Some sort of witches’ festival. This was what everything had been leading to. In twenty-four hours it would all be over.
    Matt got up and went to the window. It looked out over the farmyard, where a couple of pigs shuffled about