I hear myself scream as I drop the torch and see, in ghoulish green light, the shadow of a tall figure.

I stand motionless as it comes towards me. I should get the hell out of here but my legs have turned to stone.

‘No,’ I cry as it bears down on me. ‘Please … don’t hurt me.’

I drop to my haunches and cover my head with my hands, waiting for the blow to come, but nothing happens. I look up and see Joe standing by the door, the blanket still draped over his shoulders.

‘Joe, run downstairs,’ I say. ‘Run. Quickly!’

Then I feel a hand on my shoulder and a low, familiar voice calls Joe’s name. I turn to see Mark, his face half in shadow. He’s wearing a black winter coat with the collar turned up.

‘Get out of my way, Lisa,’ he says, his voice thick with hatred.

‘No,’ I cry as he pushes past me and scoops Joe up in his arms. ‘Please, Mark, no.’

‘Daddy,’ shrieks Joe delightedly, shrugging the blanket off his shoulders. ‘Daddy come.’

‘Yes, my darling,’ Mark says, clutching Joe tightly to his chest. ‘Daddy’s come. You’re safe now. I’m going to take you home.’

‘Mark, please,’ I say as he walks towards the door. ‘Don’t take him. Please. I beg you.’

I lunge for Joe but Mark pushes me away. I fall backwards and land in a heap on the floor. As I struggle to my feet I hear the door close with a thud and the sound of a bolt sliding.

‘No,’ I scream, running for the door. ‘Please, Mark. No.’

36

Grace

It’s so cold I can see my breath floating on the air in front of me like a will-o’-the-wisp as I sit writing this. When I was a kid he used to tell me that things lived in this wood that were beyond explanation – sprites and goblins and the like – and I believed him. When we came out hunting he’d walk behind me through the trees and do this silly voice. ‘Is that you, Grace?’ he’d say, all high-pitched and squeaky. ‘Have you come to see us?’ And being a daft kid, I would fall for it and answer, ‘Yes, it’s me. I’ve brought you some scran.’ Then I’d lay some bits of stale bread down on the ground and look around me to see if they were coming. ‘Thing you gotta remember, Grace,’ he’d say, coming up behind me, ‘is that they’re shy, the little people. They won’t come out while we’re here.’ And I was such a silly little kid, I’d just buy that rubbish. I’d walk off with him back to the house and that night I’d lie in my doss bag and imagine some goblin sitting on a toadstool eating my stale bread. I did that because he told me there were spirits in that wood, magical things beyond my imagination, and I trusted him. He told me I had to have faith and that just because I couldn’t see something with my own eyes didn’t mean it wasn’t true. So I kept faith in him and all the things he told me. I mean, why wouldn’t I? He was my father and he would never lie to me. At least that’s what I thought back then. Now I know it was all nonsense, every bit of it.