‘I’ve never heard of the Midnight Man.’ Elliott’s chin dipped onto his chest.

‘Interesting,’ Sarah replied with a smile. ‘Third and final answer is to me.’

She followed Elliott’s gaze to the window, but the curtains were closed. Was he worrying about the Midnight Man? In Slayton, monsters were no longer confined to under the bed.

‘Remember,’ Sarah said, regaining his attention. ‘You can trust me.’ She felt a sharp pang of guilt as she spoke. Should she be doing this? But this wasn’t police questioning. Sarah was asking as a friend. Elliott was a troubled little boy who needed to get something off his chest.

‘I don’t know.’ His chewing came to a halt. Sarah was about to tell him it didn’t matter, when he continued. ‘He’s wearing a hood. It’s dark inside and he’s cross, very cross.’ His voice dropped low. ‘Maggie doesn’t like me saying this word, but it’s like he hates everything. In here.’ His hand rested on his heart. He looked at Sarah, awaiting her response. The look was so innocent, so trusting, that for a moment, Sarah was lost for words. How did this odd little boy cope with the rest of the world? She imagined him in school, and the years that lay ahead. No wonder Maggie was protective.

‘I think you gave me the truthful answer, am I right?’

Elliott nodded.

‘You can ask me a question now if you want.’

Elliott seemed to like the sound of this. He smiled a little before cocking his head to one side.

‘Where’s Libby?’

Shifting on the sofa, Sarah met his gaze. ‘Your mummy said she was on curfew, didn’t she?’

‘Yes,’ Elliott said. ‘I had a bad feeling, because Libby played the game.’

‘Wait, what?’ Sarah interrupted. ‘She played the game? When? With who?’

‘On Halloween night.’ His long lashes blinked as he looked at her with sincerity. ‘But she’s OK. Maggie brought me to see her. We bought her a candle …’ His words faded as he stared into the artificial flames. ‘Fire. There’s fire.’

‘Elliott,’ Sarah said, as he stared, open-mouthed. ‘Are you OK?’ No response came. ‘Elliott?’ she said again, touching his arm. ‘Do you know who else she played with? What about Jahmelia?’ But the little boy offered no response. Eventually, he shrugged, his gaze becoming vacant. ‘It was just a dream.’ He followed up with a yawn, stretching his arms wide.

Sarah checked her watch. ‘We should get you to bed.’ She thought she was helping him, but maybe she was wrong bombarding him with questions. Was she doing him more harm than good? Elliott needed a child psychiatrist. She was out of her depth. ‘Sweetie,’ she said, as the television played a game show on mute. ‘Would you like me to read you a story?’