“Stop moaning and be grateful,” John Watson said. “At least we’re inside, which means we’re not quite as cold as we would be otherwise.”

Sherlock Holmes, who was wearing a skeleton outfit, groaned. “It’s not like the Haunted House is a proper insulated building, it’s just a couple of sheds, plus the reindeer stable, converted for the occasion.” He looked critically at John. “Is that ghost costume padded? You look bigger than you did yesterday.”

“I’m wearing a thick jumper underneath my sheet. The one you told me was extremely unflattering. Which it may be, but it’s also warm.” John tried, and failed, to keep the smugness out of his voice.

Sherlock was about to reply when the Tannoy blared. Places everyone. The gates open in ten minutes.

Together they headed towards the Haunted House. Partway they passed a dragon which was lying on its side, groaning, and waving its legs rather ineffectively in the air.

“Don’t worry,” John said cheerfully, “we’ll let Greg know you need some help.”

There was what sounded like muffled swearing from the dragon, which tried to kick John with one of its back legs. John moved out of its way and said, “Temper, temper!”

When they reached the Haunted House, they found Anderson standing mournfully outside.

“Someone eaten all your apples?” John asked.

“I wish,” Anderson replied. “No, I’m stuck out here, making toffee apples in the cold, while Sally gets to be inside.”

“Should have worn a woolly hat!”

Once inside, John greeted Sally with, “I hear you’ve been promoted to an inside job.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “It gets quite windy outside which was blowing the candy floss everywhere.”

“As I thought,” Sherlock said. “It wasn’t concern for your welfare, but not wanting to lose candy floss.”

“I’m not bothered about the reasoning. I’m inside and I don’t have to listen to Anderson’s moaning.”

At that point Greg arrived. “Right,” he said, “remember you’re to make them squeal with fright, not cry with fear. It’s to be a pleasurable experience. We don’t want any more complaints.”

“Whose been complaining?” Sherlock asked.

“It wasn’t you. Apparently the dragon bit someone yesterday. Some kid decided to put their head in the dragon’s mouth to see what was there. And the dragon closed its mouth. Forcibly. There were tooth marks on the kid’s neck.”

“Dragon ate our Albert!” Sally said.

“What? How do you know the kid was called Albert?” Sherlock asked.

“Never mind,” John said. “Oh, speaking of dragons, it’s fallen over and can’t get back up again.”

“It will,” Greg said. “I’ll prod it with St George’s spear.”

“And why is there a dragon? They’re not traditional Hallowe’en creatures.”

“Mycroft got a cheap George and the Dragon costume. We’re not using the George part, although the spear is quite useful. The dragon costume needs adjusting. At the moment Seb’s at the front and Jim’s at the back. Molly thinks it would work better with Jim at the front, but Seb doesn’t fit in the back half. I must be off, dragon to right, punters to welcome. Have a good day, folks!”

With that Greg departed, ignoring the various rude words flung in his direction.