Oliver Strange and the Ghosts of Madagascar. Dianne Hofmeyr

head torch. Bugs and moths swarmed by the hundred towards the light and batted his face and scratched across his eyelids and cheeks. He switched it off again.

      In front of him his father and Malingu were swinging their torch beams like miners looking for gold. Shadows leapt forward, then shrunk back. Creepers turned into writhing snakes, then became creepers again. Glossy wet leaves bounced back light and made the shadows seem blacker. Sudden pinpoints of light flashed back orange and green fire. Then they were swallowed again by darkness as whatever it was slunk silently away.

      They were not alone.

      The darkness breathed hot air down his back. He switched on his torch again and swung around quickly. There was nothing. Yet as he turned forward, he felt as if something was creeping up behind again.

      The hairs on his neck prickled. The ghosts of Madagascar were watching.

      And then he saw it. The biggest snake he’d ever seen in his life. He caught it in the beam of his torch, its green-grey coils going on and on forever in a tangled clump as it wrapped itself around a branch. Its head poised, stretching straight into the air, looking down at him. It was a monster.

      “Ahhh …” no other sound got past his lips.

      His father swung around. “Lucky find, Ollie! A Madagascan tree boa! Well spotted! A really big one. Must be at least nine feet of it in those tangles. This guy’s just waking up for his night prowl.”

      Lucky! He didn’t feel at all lucky. Lucky was being as far from a tree boa as he could imagine.

      At last Malingu pointed and smiled triumphantly. “We’re on track!”

      Far in the distance through the trees Ollie saw a light flicker. Then a glow. He smelt wood smoke. Human sounds drifted through the dark. People laughing. Pots banging.

      He let out a deep lungful of air.

      The camp lay ahead, glowing in lamplight between the trees. He felt he was walking towards something out of Pirates of the Caribbean or Robinson Crusoe. It wasn’t a single tree house, but a series of tree houses all linked by bridges and platforms that seemed to float above the ground, with a myriad details that were too much for him to take in.

      Zinzi was standing in a clearing ahead with the lamplight flickering across her face and laughing.

      “You look a sight, Ollie. What took you so long?”