Photograph courtesy City Headshots
KEVIN MORAN is a best-selling children’s author and primary school
teacher from Ireland. He was runner-up in the Staróg Prize for children’s
fiction in 2023. His debut novel, The Doomsday Club, won the Eilís Dillon
Award at the KPMG Children’s Books Ireland Awards 2026. It was short-
listed for the Irish Book Awards Children’s Book of the Year (Senior) 2025 and was runner-up in the Great Reads Award 2025. The Doomsday Club: Shape-Shifters was a best-selling World Book Day 2026 title.
When not writing, Kevin can often be found on the beach near his home
in Dublin, being walked by his surprisingly strong golden retriever. kevinmoranwrites.com
Previously in
Jack, Conan, Yash and Jerry were never meant to be friends. After
an all-out brawl in the school toilets got them thrown in detention, things took a strange turn: a portal opened up in a stone archway outside their classroom window and from it came a seven-foottall, black-haired beast with enormous antlers. When the creature
wandered into the crumbling mansion across the road, where the sinister old Mr Kilroe lived, the boys put aside their differences
and decided to investigate. That was how the foursome met the mild-mannered shape-shifter called Rucht, an antlered creature who’d been summoned to do the bidding of the real monster – Mr Kilroe! After a narrow escape with Rucht, the boys, with the
help of an elderly librarian, got to the root of Mr Kilroe’s wicked plans. Possessed by a demon, the old man was using an ancient
artefact – the summonstone – to bring demonic creatures into the present. But during a final showdown, the Doomsday Club fought off Mr Kilroe and his legion of monstrous beings and sent him
through his own portal. In the chaos, Rucht was lost to the portal too. With the summonstone still in the hands of the Doomsday Club, however, adventure was sure to come calling once more …
Contents
Chapter 1.
Daydreamer
Chapter 3.
Visions
Chapter 2. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9.
Bog Bodies
Welcome to Inis Fola Stark
Leap of Faith
Members Only
Bloody History
The Will-o’-the-Wisps
page 13 23 35 47 62 71 83 92 99
Chapter 10. The Missing
115
Chapter 12. Dark Things Afoot
131
Chapter 11. The Cold Light of Day Chapter 13. The Ruins
Chapter 14. The Tunnel
Chapter 15. The Thousand-Year Prison Chapter 16. Survival Skills Chapter 17. Alpha
Chapter 18. The Truth
Chapter 19. Breathing Problems Chapter 20. Buried Alive
123 150 162 169 173 181 192 201 208
Chapter 21. Full Throttle
212
Chapter 23. Passengers
226
Chapter 22. Dark Depths Chapter 24. Malice and Magic Chapter 25. Master
Chapter 26. Weapons
Chapter 27. Surrounded
Chapter 28. Plan of Attack Chapter 29. The Ritual
Chapter 30. Deep Dark
Chapter 31. Defenceless Chapter 32. Sacrifice
Chapter 33. Back from the Dead Chapter 34. Home
218 236 250 259 267 276 285 290 294 297 305 310
Acknowledgements 317
CHAPTER 1
Daydreamer
Conan Conan liked winter. How the city would light up and come alive. Cosy nights in reading by the fire, dark evenings that would give
him an excuse to stay inside. But late January was not the type of winter he liked. The cheer was gone and the skies were an endless
expanse of grey. Slush gathered at the kerbs, piling into icy clumps. ‘Don’t panic,’ he told himself as he hurried across the
frost-speckled cobbles to his school. Eight years he’d being
attending The Perp (or Our Lady of Perpetual Suffering as the
school was officially known) and not once had he been late. Not even when he’d stayed up till two in the morning to watch a boxing match he’d had no interest in just so he’d be able to talk to
his classmates about it. But now he was properly late. All because the stupid summonstone in his pocket wouldn’t let him sleep. 13
The Doomsday Club: Bog Bodies
The school door creaked as Conan heaved it open. He stepped
out of the chill air and unzipped his yellow puffer jacket only
to find that their ancient school building wasn’t much warmer. Noise echoed from behind the doors of busy classrooms but the
corridor was quiet. Conan scurried along, hoping to avoid the
gaze of the principal. He arrived at his classroom door and took a deep breath before knocking firmly.
Ms Murphy’s no-nonsense voice rang out from inside: ‘Come
in.’
Conan opened the door and stood, looking mournfully at
his teacher and classmates. Ms Murphy was standing in front
of the interactive board, clearly mid-conversation with the class. Jack and Yash exchanged a slight smirk at Conan’s apprehensive
face and Jerry seemed to be measuring the depth of the slush by examining how wet Conan’s boots were.
‘Miss,’ said Conan, launching into the speech he’d prepared on
the way over. ‘Words can’t express how sorry I am for my lateness. It’s not at all the standard I expect for myself, nor is it …’
Ms Murphy held up a hand to stop him. ‘Conan, I’ve no doubt
this is a great speech but it’d be less disruptive if you just sat down.’
Conan nodded and tried to ignore the sniggers as he made his
way into his seat beside Jerry.
Ms Murphy scanned him up and down. ‘Are you okay, though?
You look a little … peaky.’
14
Daydreamer
Conan took a gulp from his water bottle and plonked it on his
desk with a clatter. ‘I’m fine, Miss. I just didn’t sleep right.’
He pulled off his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair.
Beads of sweat gathered on his brow. He tugged at his shirt collar to let some air in.
‘Why’s it so hot?’ he whispered to Jerry.
Jerry turned up a lip. ‘Is it?’ He gazed out the window at the
slowly falling sleet. ‘You must be sick, bud. It’s Baltic in here.’
‘As I was saying,’ said Ms Murphy, ‘I can’t stress how lucky you
are. We’re one of only two schools chosen to go. I really didn’t think we’d get to do the transition programme this year after the last place shut down. Plus, Camp Eclipse is surprisingly affordable.’
Conan wiped his forehead and looked at the display behind
Ms Murphy. ‘Camp Eclipse’ was scrawled in a horribly old-fash-
ioned tribal font, along with photos of smiling kids on ziplines and trailing through forests. Conan’s stomach fell. ‘Wait, what’s happening?’
‘The transition programme, Conan. Sixth class do it every year
to prepare for secondary school. But this one is special. Two nights at an adventure camp, team-building games, confidence-boosting activities.’
Conan blinked. ‘Is there ziplining in secondary school?’
Ms Murphy sighed. ‘It’s about building character, Conan. And
it’s fun.’
She emphasised fun like it might be an alien concept to Conan. 15
The Doomsday Club: Bog Bodies
Now the screen showed a girl cannonballing into what looked like a pool of mud, and a cabin filled with flimsy-looking bunk
beds. It didn’t look fun to Conan. It looked like his worst nightmare. He glanced at Jack, who was smiling at the screen, his blue
eyes gleaming with anticipation. It suited kids like him. Hell, it suited Ms Murphy. This all sounded like a dream for these sporty types, the ones that said things like ‘Get after it’ and went for
runs in the morning. The only runs Conan had were after dodgy curries from the local chipper.
Yash leaned back in his chair, every jet-black hair on his head
gelled into place. ‘And you’re coming with us, Miss?’
Jack, sitting beside him, smirked and nudged Yash. ‘Aw, will
you miss her if she doesn’t?’
Yash matched his smirk. ‘No, I’m just wondering how she’ll go
two full days without murdering you.’
Jack laughed. They were close now, which Conan supposed was
a good thing. Yash tempered Jack’s anger and Jack loosened Yash
up. Conan wasn’t quite sure where he fitted in. At least he had Jerry.
‘Yes,’ confirmed Ms Murphy. ‘I’m going with you. Mr Costello
too.’
His name was met with groans, which in turn were met
with a glare from their teacher. Conan actually quite liked Mr Costello, but even he could admit that their old fourth-class teacher’s rambling stories were incredibly boring. 16
Daydreamer
Jack raised his hand. ‘Can I be in charge of hiding Mr Costello’s
guitar if he tries to sing for us?’
A smile twitched at the edges of Ms Murphy’s mouth. ‘Careful,
Jack.’
‘Sorry, Miss,’ said Jack, smiling. Then his smile died and he
placed a hand on his chest. ‘I mean, words cannot express the depths of my sorrow …’
Jack winked at Conan and the class erupted with laughter.
Even Ms Murphy seemed to be struggling to suppress a smile. But Conan had better things to worry about than the class laughing at him. He blinked the sweat away from his eyes and
nudged the summonstone through his trouser pocket. It was never this hot unless something … peculiar was happening. It
had burned when he used it to open the portal and send Rucht home, and again when they’d tried to bring Rucht back and
accidentally summoned a needle-toothed pooka who’d nearly bitten off his hand.
And it had burned under his pillow for the last three nights
when he’d woken in a sweat, screaming at the horrible things he’d seen in his dreams.
‘And you can be sure,’ continued Ms Murphy, her features
serious once more, ‘that anyone misbehaving will be sent on the first boat home.’
Her eyes lingered on each of them: Conan, Jack, Yash and
Jerry. They’d already had more than their fair share of trouble this 17
The Doomsday Club: Bog Bodies
school year, given that it was only January. To be fair, the trouble had been supernatural and Conan liked to think they were the victims in the whole affair, though it probably wouldn’t have
happened had they not followed a shape-shifting creature into the house across the road from the school.
Ms Murphy had their back, at least. There weren’t many teach-
ers that would pick up a hurley to defend their pupils from a pack
of ravenous hellhounds and a hundred-eyed, tentacled monster. Not many that Conan knew, anyway. They didn’t talk about it any
more. It was like the four boys and their teacher had come back
from war and were blocking out the traumatic memories as they readjusted to civilian life.
‘Wait,’ said Jerry, turning his attention back to the whiteboard.
‘The first boat home?’
Ms Murphy nodded. ‘Inis Fola is an island.’
‘But I can’t swim,’ blurted Conan, immediately reddening.
Ms Murphy’s eyes narrowed in confusion. ‘We won’t be
swimming to the island, Conan.’
Another chorus of laughter from the class. Conan’s cheeks
flushed. Sweat clung to his forehead and the room became blurry
and out of focus. Sleet gathered at the corner of the windows, piling into little mounds against the thin wooden frame. The boys
sitting next to the radiator were all pressed against it, while others rubbed their hands for warmth. So why was Conan so hot? Why did it feel like flames were licking his temples? 18
Daydreamer
Ms Murphy had moved the conversation on to specifics: what
time the bus would pick them up, what to pack, that sort of
thing. But her voice sounded like it was coming from under-
water. Conan blinked to clear his vision and clutched the edge of the desk. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on slowing his
breathing. He counted to three, opened his eyes and his whole body jerked in shock.
Mud, thick and brown, slid from the ceiling and down the
walls. It drooled over the interactive whiteboard, over Ms
Murphy’s cork-board of notices and timetables, over the jackets hooked on the wall. Conan stared in horror, watching the mud creep like lava to the floor. Heart hammering, he twisted his body
to see if anyone in the room was reacting to what he was seeing. But those who weren’t daydreaming were looking at Ms Murphy, who was still speaking and gesturing to the whiteboard that was now concealed in thick, gloopy muck.
That was until they started to stare at Conan, who was clasping
the edge of his desk, eyes bulging, chest heaving.
‘Conan,’ said Ms Murphy, eyes narrowed in concern. ‘What’s
wrong with you?’
‘How long do you have, Miss?’ guffawed someone.
Conan closed his eyes and wiped both palms down his sweaty
face as if rebooting himself. When he opened his eyes, the mud
was gone, but the feeling in the pit of his stomach was the same. Almost without thinking, he slid from his seat and staggered to 19
The Doomsday Club: Bog Bodies
the front of the class, feeling every eye trailing him. He faced
Ms Murphy, his mouth opening and closing lamely. Ms Murphy turned an ear to him, waiting for Conan to say something. ‘Toilet,’ he managed.
Ms Murphy eyed him closely and then nodded. Conan stumbled
out the classroom door, along the corridor and pushed through the double doors into the crisp, fresh air of the playground. Sleet
hit his cheeks as he crossed the playground and up a slight ramp to
the toilets. Not being part of the main building, they were freezing, which felt like sweet relief to Conan. He went straight to the sink
and gripped the ceramic bowl, heaving deep breaths as he looked in the mirror. Conan had never exactly been tanned but the face that stared back at him was so pale it made his stomach twinge.
‘Now I know what they mean by beauty sleep,’ he muttered to
himself.
Something moved in the reflection of the tiles behind him.
Something dark, trickling along the grout between the tiles, spill-
ing like blood down a drain. Soon, the dark trickle broke its banks, flooding across the tiles until the whole bathroom wall was a waterfall of deep brown mud.
Conan let out a long, low whine. ‘No, no, no, no, no.’
This is what he’d been seeing in his dreams each night, why
he hadn’t slept properly in a week. And now it was invading his waking hours.
20
Daydreamer
Worse, he knew what came next. He could picture it even before
it appeared.
His stomach clenched. Through the mirror, he saw a set of spin-
dly fingers cut through the wall of mud behind him. Brown and
leathery, like a corpse left out to dry. Crooked, yellow nails topped
each finger. The hand twitched, reaching for him. Ready to drag him in.
Conan hit the tap and hurriedly cupped some water into his
hands. He lashed it onto his face and slapped his cheeks. ‘It’s not real,’ he breathed. ‘It’s. Not. Real!’ ‘What’s not real?’
Conan blinked through wet eyelashes. Jack stood in the door-
way of the bathroom. He looked, as usual, a little confused and a little annoyed.
‘I …’ began Conan. His eyes flicked to the mirror. A wall of bare
white tiles stood behind him. No mud. No reaching corpse hand. He turned back to Jack. ‘Did you come to check on me?’
Jack leaned against the doorframe, his face sour. ‘I was asked
to check on you. Ms Murphy thinks you’re having a mental breakdown.’
‘She said that?’
‘Her eyes said it. And maybe I said it, too.’
A silence passed between them. Conan leaned on the sink.
‘So go on then,’ said Jack. A tinge of worry had crept into his
voice. ‘What’s the problem?’
21
The Doomsday Club: Bog Bodies
Conan felt the summonstone burn in his pocket. He fished for
it and held it out in his palm. It looked so small and yellow and innocent.
‘This is the problem.’
Jack fixed Conan with a glare. ‘I thought I told you to get rid
of that thing?’
‘I couldn’t, Jack,’ said Conan, biting his lip. ‘But I haven’t been
using it, honest. I just keep it at home under my pillow. I only brought it today to check something.’
Jack shifted on the spot. ‘To check what?’
‘I wanted to know if the stone was the reason I feel like I’m
losing my mind.’ ‘And?’
Conan inhaled sharply. ‘And I think we need to speak to
Bernie.’
22
CHAPTER 2
Bog Bodies
Jack The stone steps to Marsh’s Library were frosted white and
glistened in the soft January sun. A cushion of slush capped the
portico. Jack always stood for a moment before climbing the steps, usually by pretending to check the time or scratch a fake itch. He liked taking it in. Looking back on his first time here, Jack found
it hard to believe how much comfort this place now gave him. For the Doomsday Club, Marsh’s Library had become a retreat, their
place to step away from the world, to gather without the rest of
their classmates or families. If nothing else, it was worth it for the
look of disbelief on his mother’s face each time he told her he was late home because he’d been at the library.
‘Want us to carry you up the steps, Conan?’ asked Jerry, smiling
good-naturedly.
23
The Doomsday Club: Bog Bodies
Conan’s face was still pale. He shook his head and trudged up
the steps towards the main entrance.
‘Maybe he has PTSB,’ pondered Jack, watching Conan
disappear inside.
‘That’s a bank, Jack,’ said Yash. ‘But yeah, he seems a bit …’
‘Deflated,’ finished Jerry. ‘Like a balloon a week after your
birthday.’
Jack climbed the steps, keeping his stance wide to prevent
slipping, and followed Conan inside and up a set of stairs to the
library proper. A cream carpet led the way through imposing oak bookcases, each shelf stuffed with ancient leather tomes. Light
filtered in through large, latticed windows in the reading alcoves between each set of bookcases. From a few paces ahead, a mild but firm voice called out.
‘I hope you’ve wiped those shoes.’
Jack froze, looking down at his sodden runners. Conan, a
couple of steps ahead of him, had stopped too and was looking with panic at the trail of wet footprints on the carpet.
‘We’re not wearing our shoes, Bernie,’ said Jack, gesturing
impatiently for the lads to take their shoes off while he tugged his
own off his feet and tossed them back towards the door. Conan hopped on one leg, yanking at his left shoe. Once he had both
off, he tossed them too, but they arced to the right and clattered against a bookcase. Conan winced and Jack glared at him.
At the sound, Bernie’s tiny frame appeared from behind a 24
Bog Bodies
bookcase. She gazed out over fragile-looking spectacles at the trail of wet footprints and scattered shoes. ‘Subtle,’ she said.
Jack smiled awkwardly. ‘Alright, Bernie?’
Last October, when Mr Kilroe, the old man who had lived
across from their school, turned out to be possessed by a two-
thousand-year-old demon on the hunt for a newer, fresher body
to call his own, Bernie had been the one to help them solve it. She’d figured out what he was and, even though she’d warned
them not to try to get rid of him alone, they had. But they’d never have managed without her help. So now Jack was friends
with a woman in her seventies, which was definitely a new one for him.
‘Sorry about the mess,’ added Jack, looking at the damp marks
along the cream carpet. it.
Bernie gave a wave of her hand as if to say not to worry about ‘So what brings the Doomsday Club across the city right
before clos–’
‘We have an emergency,’ blurted Conan, his eyes wild and
forceful.
Gently, Bernie took off her glasses and let them hang around
her neck on their silver chain. Jack blew air. If Conan, whose greatest of many fears was an adult being mad at him, was interrupting Bernie, something was seriously wrong with him. 25
The Doomsday Club: Bog Bodies
Jerry patted Conan on the head. ‘Conan’s a bit stressed, Bernie.’ ‘I’m not stressed!’ said Conan. His chubby cheeks were flushed
red. ‘I’m losing my mind.’
Bernie folded a crimson ribbon inside the ochre pages of the
book and closed it carefully. ‘Well, that’s not good, Conan,’ she said, her calm voice a balm. ‘Tell me everything.’
Conan’s shoulders rose and fell as he sighed. Then he crossed
to an alcove between two bookcases, plucked something from his
pocket and placed it on the small narrow table in the centre. The summonstone (as Conan had christened it) was bright yellow
with a tiny swirl at its centre. This was what Mr Kilroe had used to summon all sorts of creatures from the distant past, and what they’d used to wake the real Mr Kilroe’s son from the dead and split the connection from the demon once and for all.
‘I can’t sleep,’ began Conan, looking at the small yellow stone
as if it was to blame. ‘Every night for the past week, I dream I’m sinking in mud. Like, properly swallowed up by it. And it’s hard to breathe. Sometimes it’s so hard I wake up gasping for air.’
His eyes were wide and, as he spoke, tears began to form in
their corners. Jack always felt a scathing comment on the tip of
his tongue whenever Conan spoke. Nothing bad (not any more,
anyway), just some gentle ribbing. But now didn’t seem the time. Conan seemed genuinely terrified.
‘Sounds pretty scary, bud,’ said Jerry. ‘I sometimes have
nightmares of–’
26
Bog Bodies
‘It’s not a nightmare!’ shouted Conan. He blinked and his eyes
became apologetic. ‘I’m sorry, but it’s not. It’s more like … a vision or something.’
Yash’s eyebrows twitched. ‘A vision?’ Jack could tell he was
working overtime to keep his eyes from rolling.
Bernie sat against the window frame. ‘Why do you say that,
Conan?’
Conan’s lip trembled. At his side, he clenched and unclenched
his fists. ‘Because I see it during the day, too.’ ‘That’s called a daydream,’ said Yash dryly.
‘No!’ insisted Conan. He closed his eyes and exhaled sharply.
‘I knew you’d say that, Yash, but it’s not a daydream. It’s not my
imagination. It’s something else. Don’t ask me how I know, I just do. And after everything that’s happened since October, you shouldn’t find it that hard to believe me.’
Yash curled his lip and said nothing. Conan had a point, and
they all knew it.
Bernie reached out and grasped Conan’s hand. ‘Whatever it is,
it’s real to you. So let’s take a breath and assess the situation. First, what else do you see in these … visions?’
Conan blinked a few times. ‘Um, hands. And arms. Reaching
out of the mud like zombies. And sometimes when I sink deep enough, there’s a tunnel. It’s built of old stones.’ He stopped, fear dancing in his eyes.
‘What’s at the end of the tunnel, Conan?’ asked Jack. 27
The Doomsday Club: Bog Bodies
Conan shuddered. ‘A face. More like a skull. Leathery skin
stretched across the bones. Long, silver hair, and blue flames where the eyes should be. And he asks for it.’ ‘It?’ asked Yash.
Conan nodded at the small yellow stone on the table beside
them. ‘For the summonstone.’
Silence lingered for a moment, awkward and tense. No one
seemed to know what to make of what Conan was saying. On
the one hand, they had experienced stranger things. On the other, Conan was maybe the most dramatic person Jack knew, with a dangerously overactive imagination. ‘Right,’ said Jack. ‘Easy solution.’
He snatched the stone from the table and spun it between his
thumb and index finger. Conan took a sharp intake of breath, his fingers twitching in anxiety, as though he thought Jack might swallow the stupid thing or toss it out the window.
‘Relax,’ said Jack. ‘I’m just going to hold on to it for a while.
Give you a break from the nightmares.’ Conan frowned.
‘Sorry, visions,’ said Jack, waving his free hand in the air.
The jut of Conan’s lip told Jack that he was mulling it over.
As much as Conan wanted relief from whatever was really
happening to him, Jack knew he was wary of parting with the stone. Jack was beginning to regret climbing onto the school’s
roof to dig it out of the gutters for him. He, Yash and Jerry had 28
Bog Bodies
moved on from their adventure last Halloween. As much as you
can move on from nearly being possessed by an ancient demon. But Conan was clinging to it. Not the fear and the whole ‘nearly
dying a horrible death’ bit, but the excitement. And the feeling of purpose, Jack supposed. Nightmares or visions, the lad could
use a break from obsessing over an ancient artefact none of them should be anywhere near.
Bernie smiled. ‘That seems like a very sensible idea, Jack.’ Jack stretched. ‘I’m full of them.’
‘Weird dream, though,’ mused Jerry. ‘Mud and zombie arms. I
dream about some mad stuff, but not muck.’
Conan stared at the stone in Jack’s hand, fear and longing
raging in his eyes. As much to snap him out of it as anything, Jack pocketed it.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘you’ll be dreaming about fairies and kittens
tonight. Might lose those dark circles too.’
‘If it is a vision,’ said Yash, ‘then it must mean something. A
grave, maybe? And skeleton arms trying to pull you into it?’
Conan shook his head. ‘They’re not really skeleton arms, though.
They’re more … leathery. As if a person just dried up like a grape.’ ‘Raisin people,’ joked Jerry.
A flash of recognition crossed Bernie’s eyes. ‘That’s it.’ ‘Really?’ said Jack. ‘Raisin people?’
Bernie shook her head. ‘The leathery texture, the dried skin. It’s
not a grave. It’s not quite mud either. It’s peat.’ 29
The Doomsday Club: Bog Bodies
Jack frowned. ‘Who’s Pete?’
‘Not p-e-t-e,’ said Bernie with a chuckle. ‘P-e-a-t. Honestly,
you boys should really get out of the city once in a while. Peat is decayed organic matter. You find it in a bog.’
‘Like turf?’ asked Conan, looking a little perkier now that
they were getting somewhere.
‘No,’ said Yash, who obviously had a file on this somewhere
in that big head of his. ‘That’s what you call it when you leave it out to dry and use it for fuel.’
‘So why’s Conan having visions of arms in a bog?’ asked Jerry. ‘His ma is from Sligo,’ said Jack, snapping his fingers. ‘The
culchies are calling him home.’
‘I might remind you,’ said Bernie, smiling sardonically, ‘that
I am also a woman of the west. And his visions are not of skeletons. They’re of bog bodies.’
‘Gross,’ said Jerry. In the silence, he looked at them all in turn.
‘What’s a bog body?’
‘Exactly what it sounds like,’ said Bernie. ‘The bodies of people
long buried in a bog. The peat preserves them far better than
regular soil does. They end up with exactly the same shrivelled, leathery look that Conan has described.’
Something buzzed in Jack’s pocket and, for a moment, he
thought that stupid yellow stone had come to life. But no, it
was just his phone. As he pulled it out, he saw that his mother was calling.
30
Bog Bodies
‘You guys keep talking about the raisin people,’ he said, step-
ping away down the aisle of the library.
He tapped the screen to answer. ‘Yeah?’
‘Where are you, pet?’ said his mother’s tired voice.
Instinctively, Jack looked over his shoulder for fear that some-
one had heard his ma call him ‘pet’.
‘Just in the library with the lads,’ he mumbled, walking to the
end of the aisle and into the adjoining wing of the library. A desk-like display cabinet stood before him and he drummed his fingers on the glass.
‘Which lads?’ his ma pressed, her tone souring.
Jack began to fiddle with the summonstone in his pocket.
‘Conan and them.’
She exhaled in relief. For a long time, Jack had chosen to
spend his time with Darren and Tom, which hadn’t been good for his attempts to stay out of trouble. He still spoke to them, of course (they were in his class after all), but it was kept strictly
to school time. As Ms Murphy was keen to remind him, he had
less than six months left in that school. He didn’t want to mess anything up.
‘Okay, good,’ his ma said. ‘I need you back here by–’
‘By six, I know,’ said Jack, rolling his eyes. He pulled the
summonstone from his pocket and began a game of tossing it in the air, switching hands with the phone, and catching it. ‘I’ll be there, Ma. Stop stressing.’
31
The Doomsday Club: Bog Bodies
‘And there’s dinner in the fridge for you and Lucy, just heat it
up in the microwave.’
‘In the microwave?’ said Jack in mock-astonishment. ‘There
was me thinking I’d heat it in the dishwasher.’
He brought the summonstone close to his face, examining the
swirl at the centre. Was it his imagination or was it pulsating? ‘You’re hilarious,’ said his ma. ‘Text me when you’re on–’
‘Aaargh!’ hissed Jack. White heat scorched the fingers that
held the summonstone. Flinching, he let the stone and his phone slip from his hands. Both fell flat with a soft thud to the carpet
below. His mother’s muffled voiced called his name from the phone speaker. Jack bent to his hunkers, staring at the swirl in
the centre of the summonstone. It was pulsating. Like it had
grown a heartbeat.
‘Ma,’ he called. ‘I’ll ring you back.’
He tapped ‘end call’ and reached for the stone. His fingers
flexed around it, fearing the heat. It hadn’t marked or scarred his
skin and he’d heard Conan say that the heat was an illusion, like a test of strength.
With a deep breath, Jack snatched the stone.
A shadow swept over the room as a cascade of mud gushed
from the ceiling. It thundered down the walls, blotting out the
light from the window and painting the walls brown. In seconds, no trace of Marsh’s Library remained and Jack stood in a sea of
wet earth. His feet were planted in it. It streaked up his school 32
Bog Bodies
trousers, rising as the torrent from the ceiling continued.
Heart hammering, Jack shut his eyes and focused on his
spitfire-rapid breath.
It’s not real. It’s not real.
He opened his eyes. The ocean of mud remained. Soon, he’d
be drowning in it. But then, that wasn’t possible. He knew this
wasn’t real. If he touched the flow of mud nearest him, would he feel it?
He reached out a hand to it, then paused, some corner of his
brain screaming at him to stop. As his hand grew closer, something started to move within the mud, poking out from it. His heart nearly stopped.
Fingers. Human fingers. Ragged nails and dry, leathery skin
reached forward and seized Jack’s wrist. He screamed at the icecold touch and yanked his hand free. Then another hand grabbed him, this time on his shoulder. Jack spun, ready to fight, but froze when he saw Yash’s shocked face.
‘Jack, what the hell is up with you?’
Panting, Jack gripped Yash’s shoulders, clinging on for dear
life. As his breath steadied, he stared around the room. There was no mud. Late-afternoon sunlight peeked through the trees out-
side and in through the polished glass, illuminating the library in golden-red light.
‘There was …’ started Jack. Whatever words he needed, he
couldn’t find them.
33
The Doomsday Club: Bog Bodies
‘What’s going on?’ called Conan from further back the aisle.
Yash examined Jack’s face, his mouth taut and serious. Then he
turned back to the others. ‘It’s nothing. Jack just nearly texted his mam a rude joke meant for someone else.’ ‘Oof,’ came Jerry’s voice. ‘Been there.’ Jack sighed. ‘Thanks.’
Yash nodded. ‘So are you going to tell me what happened?’
‘It’s this thing,’ said Jack, holding up the stone. ‘Conan’s telling
the truth.’
34