The moon disappears once more, and I move my torchlight towards Kyla’s bench, but before I can take it in, my phone dies. Now, apart from the faraway glow of the farmhouse, everything is black. I can’t see a thing.

I pull myself up, and lean against the tree, squinting into the darkness. I have to move soon or I’ll die of exposure.

There’s a rumble in the sky – a helicopter overhead, getting closer, beams of light searching the area, rotary blades stirring treetops. Snow falls to the ground in heavy clumps.

But something else stirs in the cold air – closer, much closer – and my heart leaps as the beam from the helicopter highlights a figure sitting on Kyla’s bench. Whoever it is wears the mask of the young boy with the bright pink face and the too wide smile – the dead eyes.

I’m shaking with cold and terror, when whoever is sitting there raises their arm and reaches out to me through the darkness. Their arm drops down; their head slumps to one side.

Within seconds, adrenalin pumps through me. I’m running. Stumbling. Tripping. Falling. I scramble back to my feet, the bright lights of the helicopter guiding my way. My pulse thumps in my ears, as I head for the farmhouse. Finally, I glance behind me. But there’s nobody there. Nobody is chasing me.

I’m almost at the farmhouse, and haven’t dared look back again for fear of slowing my pace. The helicopter, after appearing to land on higher ground, has gone, taken off towards the coast. I desperately hope it’s the police.

When I finally reach the front door of the farmhouse, I bang my fists against it. ‘Help!’ I cry. ‘Help me! Julia! Finn! Let me in. Please!’

I steel myself, and glance back once more, but there’s still nobody behind me, only a vast expanse of muffling snow, the perfect sheen ruined by my anxious footprints.

It seems like an age before the door swings open. It’s Julia in her pyjamas, hugging the cat. She tilts her head. ‘Amelia. What is it? I was about to watch TV.’

‘Let me in,’ I cry, and she steps back startled. I storm into the house out of breath, and she closes the door. ‘Lock it,’ I yell. ‘Lock it for Christ’s sake!’

She puts down the cat, and turns the key slowly. ‘What the devil’s the matter with you?’

‘Where’s Finn?’ I call after her as she heads away, my voice husky. ‘Where the hell is Finn?’

‘He’s not here, Amelia,’ she says over her shoulder. ‘He went out about an hour ago,’ she goes on, disappearing into the lounge, where I hear the TV blaring out. ‘What’s this about?’