Mr Stevens lowered himself to a crouch. Tom heard his knees pop. He looked at Tom for a moment, then smiled and removed his glasses.

‘What are you doing to my son?’ He asked the question pleasantly, as if they were still sat around the campfire and talking about the weather.

For one horrible moment Tom didn’t think he’d be able to get any words out – he felt dazed, as if none of this was really happening – but he swallowed and licked his lips and they finally came.

‘Tim’s got… Tim’s got Gary’s watch,’ he said.

Mr Stevens frowned, then turned and looked up at his son.

‘Is that true?’ he asked.

‘Dad, I—’

‘Answer my question.’

‘Yes, I’ve got it.’

Mr Stevens’ frown deepened. Tom thought for a moment he looked angry. Then the frown broke and he sighed and shook his head. ‘And you let him see you with it just now?’

Tim didn’t say anything. Mr Stevens sighed once more, then looked back at Tom.

‘I want you to know, Timothy, that you did this,’ he muttered.

Tom heard Tim scream, and as his head turned automatically towards the sound Mr Stevens reached down with his right hand and clamped it around Tom’s throat.

Tom gasped in shock and managed to pull in a half-breath. He kicked his feet and pushed himself back across the grass, feeling the rock beneath his right thigh tear across his skin. He could taste sweat in his mouth. In the background, the stream gurgled.

Moving with the speed of a much younger man, Mr Stevens scampered forward and dodged Tom’s kicking legs. Keeping his right hand on Tom’s throat he jumped to one side, then moved his left leg over Tom’s waist so he was straddling Tom’s stomach. Tom bucked and thrashed from side to side, but Mr Stevens was much too strong. He shifted his weight, dropped the walking pole, then brought his left hand down and fastened it around Tom’s throat along with his right.

Tom tried to breathe in again, couldn’t, and squeezed his eyes shut. He opened them again and saw Mr Stevens’ red face straining above him. The hands around his neck felt like a metal collar. His vision was starting to swim. Tom closed his eyes, desperately trying to pull in breath, but it was like trying to breathe through a straw. His chest throbbed and his eyes stung with tears and he tried to drag some air into his lungs, anything, but Mr Stevens was crouched on his stomach like some giant bird and his hands were metal talons, and surely all of this was just some sick dream anyway? Surely it wasn’t happening?