Mum gave me one of her looks.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Just don't,” she whispered, “I'll tell you when I can.”
There was a grunt from the darkness, accompanied by the clanks and thuds of unseen property being rudely pushed away.
“Edward?” Mum shouted again
“Mary?” Dad shouted back. “I'm trapped down here.”
Oak, halfway down now, paused. “What has you trapped?”
“I'm not sure, a box of some kind. It has my sleeve.”
“This box,” Oak asked quickly, “Does it have teeth?”
“I can't tell, why?”
“It may be a chatterbox!”
