Return to Little Cemetery (The Little Cemetery Series Book 2)

Welcome Back to Grisley Manor — Where School Is a Nightmare

One month after the chaos at Little Cemetery, Tom Midd and Pete Night find themselves back in the thick of it—this time at Grisley Manor, a school so cursed its curriculum includes Nightmare Execution and Eyeball Extraction. The teachers? Long-dead asylum inmates. The playground? Features a working guillotine. And in the cellar? A talking pit known only as the Mouth of Hell.

As students are summoned to midnight classes and townspeople begin to vanish, Tom and Pete uncover a sinister plan: an army of doppelgängers, nightmare-fueled invasions, and scarecrows collecting eyeballs. Together with the grumpy Mr Block and a new ally named Hickory Alcock, the boys must silence the Mouth, survive the undead faculty, and save Little Cemetery—before the town is lost forever.

Return to Little Cemetery is a darkly comic, fast-paced sequel packed with grave-digging ghouls, apocalyptic mayhem, and just enough horror to keep you up at night.

Get your copy now—before the bell rings and detention lasts forever.

Excerpt from the book

It was October in Little Cemetery.

Mr Phelps stood in the precise centre of the stage, looking like a scarecrow in a tattered blue suit and battered old shoes. His threadbare hair clung to his yellow old scalp like moss to a cliff face. The headmaster’s features were heavily lined and bleak; his eyes were a cold, faded grey. His gaze swung across the room from right to left and, beneath it, every child shrank slightly in alarm.

“So!” Mr Phelps croaked. “A new term, a new school, new staff.” He raised one dishevelled arm and gestured limply towards the left of the stage. Confused, every child gazed in that direction, but there was nothing to see except a big dirty curtain and a couple of pairs of feet protruding from beneath it. Mr Phelps’s arm remained horizontal for a shaky moment before returning to hang vertical at his shoulder. The headmaster smiled dismally, and his frozen stare swept back and forth across the assembly like a lighthouse beam. “Same children,” he observed with something approaching distaste.

“Where did they find him?” muttered Tom Midd.

“Where did they find them?” replied Pete Night. He gestured at the dirty curtain.

“Now it is my fervent wish,” the new head carried on, “that we all put the events of last month well and truly behind us and get on with the business of getting educated.” He paused and his mouth once more cranked into a rough semblance of a smile. “That is to say, you should be getting on with getting educated. I and my colleagues, of course, already are.”

The children glanced around at each other and variously yawned and rolled their eyes. Still, the summer holiday had continued on into October – it had to end some time. Didn’t it?

“As you head to your classrooms in a few minutes’ time,” Mr Phelps grated, “and greet the new staff, remember those poor souls who used to teach you but who lost their jobs – and indeed their lives – during Evangeline Poppard’s reign of terror. We must all carry on in their memory. They did not die in vain – they died so that you could come to school.”

“Even if school is actually a disused lunatic asylum,” whispered Tom.

Mr Phelps’s hearing evidently worked better than the rest of his body, for his cold, grey gaze settled on Tom and Pete. The boys shifted uncomfortably.

“I see Mr Midd and Mr Night down there,” said Mr Phelps. He nodded vaguely to himself. “We all understand – and appreciate – the very great role you two boys played in saving our town from certain destruction at the hands of a reanimated witch, her insane son and a horde of marauding demons.”