It was a surprise as the ghost train suddenly leaped towards them. They turned and ran. "It looks like you, Wabbit," shouted Skratch as an icy wind blew at his fur, tearing lettering from his fur. The letters span in the turbulent air. A hideous scraping noise tore along the rails. A wind blew rattling bursts of machine gun fire. The Wabbit caught one of Skratch's letters. "It's hardly me is it?" he sulked. Lapinette caught another letter. "Don't worry, it's much too tacky to be you." The thing heaved and chattered as if insulted, but still it bore down on them. Now they could feel an icy blast, as chilly as the last gasp of an old deep freeze that held its breath for 50 years. Lapinette shrugged and pouted, "Special effects," but she kept on going. "Tunnel bends to the right!" yelled the Wabbit; "so maybe it'll derail." They scampered round the bend but so did the ghost train. Now they were enveloped in a blue pulsing light and the train was at their heels. Everything seemed hopless, as the train had suggested. But the Wabbit looked ahead into the darkness and thought he could see something. "It's always darkest before the prawn," he muttered, "and I think I can see one just ahead." Lapinette tried to find the prawn without success, but the edges of the tunnel flickered pink ...
