Sam sat up with the terror of complete bewilderment in his racing heart, eyes boggling at the source of the voice. A tall figure, in the gloom, sitting on Katie’s cane chair by the wardrobe. It laughed. A deep throaty sound that was like a drunk coughing on bile. And the voice again. This time trilling and mocking, imitating a woman’s like a burlesque player.

‘Did it make you shit your pants this time? Huh?’

Sam could see it now. The face in the crowd again. It was here. In his own bedroom, sitting on the chair laughing at him with those blue eyes that were so poorly drawn, the pink mouth that was so inexpertly realized. At least to Sam. For he could see the machinations behind the pretend skin, and his body and soul were paralysed with fear in the face of it. It moved its mouth again, although the speech seemed driven from elsewhere.

‘Smells like it from here. But then who could mistake the stench of Kinchuinick vermin?’

The house. Was it empty? Sam’s mind raced, praying that the children and Katie were gone as he’d assumed. The face in the crowd caught his thought as though he’d tossed a ball.

From the next room there was a wail.

‘Daaaad! Help me! Please! Dad!’

Billy. Then the crying of Jess, that high sweet burbling cry.

Sam jerked in instinctive response, but the thing was grinning and he knew it was false, knew that his family was not here. It was a poor trick. An obvious one. He remained sitting upright like a gaping fool, naked to the waist, vulnerable and nearly out of his mind. His guest crossed its legs.

‘Harder to find in these modern times, aren’t you? Even though the reek of losers carries across centuries.’

Sam’s back teeth were grinding.

‘Did you think that you could hide, all you little shits? Hide amongst white men?’ It laughed again. ‘Oh but I’ve enjoyed the search. So much misery. Such lost and useless lives. What has become of you, my fine noble people?’

The laugh again. This time the unmistakable sarcastic, bitter laugh of Moses. Heh heh, heh. Sam wanted to close his eyes, put his hands over his face and open them to an empty chair, but his senses would not let it happen. There was real danger in the room and his animal fight-or-flight instinct was in charge. His mind could tell him all he wanted that what he saw and heard was not real, but his body was not prepared to listen. His eyes remained staring and wide, his ears listening to every sound, and his body ready to spring. But at what?

The thing stopped its mockery and there was a flash of anger in its eyes, that Sam could also see as a whorl of oily black beneath the disguise. ‘Did you think to trick me perhaps?’