Nate snapped open the ring-pull of a Red Stripe lager, passing it to Dimi before taking a swig. ‘Want a tinnie?’ he said to me. ‘One last drink?’

I tried to speak but no words would come. My hands shook as I held them out at my sides. Tears ran down my cheeks. Finally, a whimpering plea of, ‘Please don’t,’ was all I could squeeze out.

Dimi repeated the phrase in the same shrill vibrato I’d delivered it. The three of them laughed and slammed their beer cans together.

I took one further step towards the opening and grasped at the frame in an attempt to steady the spasm that ran through my body.

Nate reached a hand under the box of beers. ‘And what have we here?’

The hooked plastic handle emerged first, cut away with finger grips. Nate continued to draw it out, revealing the wide blade centimetre by centimetre. Fully uncovered, he raised the enormous knife until it was level with his nose. ‘Check out this bad boy, Morcombe.’

He dabbed his index finger along the serrated edge. A machete almost the size of a pirate’s cutlass, the weapon looked familiar to me. It was identical to the one photographed on the Knife Amnesty posters dotted round our school.

‘Why are you doing this?’ I asked, the sentence breaking up as it left my trembling lips.

All three of them stared at me in silence. The sound of the flowing river below filled the cabin.

‘Because you’re worthless,’ Joey said finally.

‘Because it’s fun,’ Nate added as if it was obvious.

Dimi still blocked the doorway. Unarmed and silent, somehow I felt the most hatred towards him.

Nate stood and pointed the machete at me. ‘Grab the rope, Morcombe.’

Joey took up position in the centre of the floor, the crossbow still trained on my torso.

‘Please,’ I begged.

‘Do what you’re told,’ Nate snapped.

I stared at the bolt’s tip. Any second it could leave the gun and pierce my heart. I had no choice. Leaning out with one hand gripping the door frame, I dragged the rope inside.

‘Tie a noose in it,’ Nate ordered.

‘What?’

‘Do it!’ yelled Joey, thrusting his weapon forward.

‘Higher than that,’ Nate said, pointing the knife at the correct place on the rope. ‘It’s no use if your feet reach the ground, is it?’

I did as best I could given the violent tremor in my hands.

‘Head through,’ Joey ordered.

‘Why?’ I said, a string of snot leaping from my nose.

Nate brought his face close to mine. ‘Why not?’ he whispered.

It was Dimi who started laughing first. He pointed at my crotch. The brothers both looked down.

‘Fucking hell, Morcombe,’ Joey crowed. ‘You dirty bastard.’

‘He’s only pissed himself,’ Nate said through his laughter, stamping on the floor in delight.