The cat in a bag wriggled. Its legs were all tied, forming a triangle with a sausage body—that convulsed in alarm intermittently. The little boy with red freckles knocked timidly on the door of the Haunted Hotel.
On the third timid rap the door opened abruptly, revealing a smile on a face, its eyes welcoming, beckoning. Hello, it said; its body presenting itself after the congenial greeting.
The head connected to the neck. What can I do for you? The happy head queried.
Mr Shingle asked for this, and the boy held up the velvet bag as he told the head this.
“Ah! Yes,
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