Fergus gave a gaping open-mouthed grin, and Elspeth turned from the stench of his breath. He leaned forward, planting a wet kiss on her cheek.

‘I’ll be back soon. Try not to miss me.’

Meggy ran and ripped the lamp from the wall and blackness fell. In two footsteps, she was at Fergus’ back, throwing the electrical cord over his neck, crossing the ends over and pulling them tight.

‘Help me!’ she screeched at Elspeth.

Elspeth let out a strangled cry as Fergus let his body fall backwards, toppling onto Meggy, who went down beneath him. He grappled with the cord uselessly then went for Meggy’s face instead, behind his back. Elspeth was feeling in the dark for his hands, attempting in the chaos to disable him so Meggy would have the time to cut off his air supply.

There was a soft whoop as Fergus brought up his knee and smashed it into Elspeth’s stomach. She cried out and flew off him, clutching her body and retching.

‘Elspeth?’ Meggy called out, terror and exhaustion slackening her grip on the cord.

Fergus seized the moment to lean to the side, the electrical wire tightening for a moment as he hammered a fist back to where the girl was, connecting with her face in a satisfying series of crunches and thuds. Fist – face – head – floor.

Elspeth was still crying a few feet away, her breath whistling as she gasped for air. Meggy was crawling towards her, when he caught her ankle and dragged her backwards.

Death, apparently, had made him stronger.

‘Teach you a lesson,’ he muttered, pulling his penknife from his pocket. ‘So you don’t forget.’

‘No!’ Elspeth found air and a voice from somewhere. ‘Don’t you hurt her!’

‘You’re going to stop me?’ he asked.

‘Please, I’m begging you,’ Elspeth cried.

‘You or her. One of you has to learn. Which?’

Meggy was crying and clawing at the floor in vain to get away.

‘Me,’ Elspeth said. ‘Teach me the lesson. That way we’ll both remember.’

The chink of light from the miniature bulb in the microwave, crossing the hallway and entering the lounge, shone off the edge of the blade.

‘Hand,’ he told Elspeth, letting go of Meggy’s foot.

Elspeth began to cry. Meggy cried with her, climbing into her lap. The woman reached her hand out in the dark. There was no fight left in her.

As he pressed the tip of the knife into her little finger above the central knuckle, she called out for her own mother and Meggy howled. The blade pressed home, through the skin and tendons, cracking the bone and severing the digit.

As Elspeth thumped to the floor, Meggy cradled her head and called her name. Fergus grabbed a thick handful of the girl’s hair.

‘Don’t be naughty,’ he said, spittle flying through the dark into her eyes. ‘See what you made me do to your mum.’