‘You promised you wouldn’t run!’ Jeremy shouted. When Jeremy emerged from the dense wood into another small clearing, Rave had stopped, his hands on his hips. This time, instead of the moon being the focus, it was a small broken-down wooden cabin. Rave walked up to its rickety door, took a key out of his pocket and opened the padlock.

‘What’s this?’ Jeremy said.

‘Home, sweet home.’ Rave pushed open the door.

Jeremy stood on the threshold, his mouth wide open.

‘Come in.’ Rave took a lighter out of his pocket and lit a few candles resting on a wooden shelf, then a bigger, fatter one in the centre of a large table by the window.

It was a tiny room with a small, antiquated wood-burning stove. To the right, a sleeping bag and a pillow lay on the floor and a big wooden bench stood against the window. Hooks had been screwed into the wall, with rusty tools on them, and it was dotted with long nails sticking out. Rave’s clothes hung from a line he’d made with old nylon rope. He kept a pair of boots and runners tucked neatly side by side underneath. Jeremy closed the door behind him and took it all in.

‘I think the nails were used to hang animal heads – you know, like game hunters. It definitely belonged to a hunter,’ Rave said.

‘Or a psychopath,’ Jeremy said.

‘Either way he’s not coming back. I put that lock on it over the summer. No one’s been here. It’s all mine.’

In the corner there was a case with Rave’s toiletries and underwear in it. The clothing was folded neatly, the toothpaste, mouthwash, soap and sprays stored in separate clear plastic bags. There was a black plastic brush in the corner opposite. His stereo was on the floor near the sleeping bag and beside that there was a stack of books, CDs and a stash of batteries to last a year.

‘Jesus,’ Jeremy said. ‘You’re serious!’

Rave smiled. ‘I can do it up. There’s even running water over there.’ He pointed to a tap. He had placed a plastic basin beneath it and beside that he stored cleaning products. The place was old and tired but it was as clean as Rave could possibly make it. He must have scrubbed it for weeks, Jeremy thought. He could smell furniture polish. Rave had polished every single surface over and over again. The smell was ingrained in the wood. ‘It’s good, isn’t it?’ Rave said, and he looked to his friend for validation. Jeremy didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t even sure what he thought. ‘Yeah, it’s deadly.’

‘Come on, I’ll make a fire,’ Rave said, grabbing some firelighters from beside the stove and pulling out his lighter again. ‘Sit down.’ He pointed to the sleeping bag. ‘Make yourself at home.’

‘This is totally nuts but OK.’