“Allen…” said the haunted whisper. “Allen, for God’s sake…”

There was a bursting, explosive sound from within Toby’s bedroom. Neil crossed the landing, took hold of the doorknob, and forced the door open. Immediately, there was another explosion, and he was sucked by a rush of freezing air into the darkness of the room itself. He fell against the opposite wall, jarring his back, and he lay with his hands protecting his head while the air screamed and howled all around him with a hideous cacophony of sound. Behind him the door slammed shut.

He opened his eyes. The room was quieter now, but still dark. The sounds died away to whispers. He strained to see what was happening, but it seemed as if the moon had died, as if the stars had gone out.

Then, gradually, he became aware of a faint white phosphorescence on the other side of the room. He couldn’t make out what it was at first, but as his eyes grew more accustomed to the darkness, he could make out the shape of a human head and human shoulders.

He said, in a voice that was much more off-key than he had hoped, “Is there somebody there? Who is that?”

There was silence for a long time. He listened, but he couldn’t hear anyone breathing. There wasn’t any doubt, though, that what he could see was a human figure. It was sitting on the chair beside Toby’s wardrobe, and he could even see the glimmer of its eyes. It only occurred to Neil after several tense, hushed minutes that the wardrobe had been returned to its usual resting-place.

He said, “Is there someone there? I want to know who you are.”

The figure appeared to move, and as it moved, it creaked. It was a sound that terrified Neil beyond anything. It was the sound of wood, under stress. It was the sound of a man whose limbs were made out of varnished timber. It was the sound of a demon come to life in the form of a human, but in the substance of the forests.

“You are interfering in the schemes of the gods,” said the figure. “You are meddling with the past and with the future.”

Neil swallowed, although there was nothing in his throat to swallow except the dryness of his fear.

The faint phosphorescence wavered, and Neil saw the shine of a cheekbone of gleaming walnut. The flicker of eyes that were wood, and yet saw. He glanced toward the door of the room, but he knew that even if he tried to make a run for it, the wooden man could get there first.

“Who are you?” he said.

There was silence, and then that horrendous creaking sound as the figure rose to its feet. It slowly stepped toward him, its wooden heels clattering on the floor, and then it stood over him, tall and dark and menacing.