Roy’s tiny breaths sounded like milkshake fighting its way up a very thin straw. His eyes were closed. ‘Rory,’ I said. ‘Don’t die. Don’t die.’ His eyes fell open. They flicked wildly around. ‘The goat,’ he shouted. I didn’t bother looking behind me. I knew there was no goat. And I knew Rory wasn’t dying. Not yet. It’s WICKED! It’s the end. But you’ll never forget it.