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December 24, 2001
I have no idea why I wake up, but the first thing I see is Argyle staring intently out the window. I hold my breath and listen carefully. There's a tiny sound, the movement of stunted feet through the long dewy grass. Then I hear the strange, perverted, lulling song of the Minions, drifting like a poisonous gas on the night breeze.

Argyle doesn't move a muscle. 'Get down on the floor,' he whispers. 'Stay low.'

I slide out of the bed and lie under the window. Argyle slinks down from the dressing table and lies flat on the stool.