It was the singing that had first caught his attention – a soft, cheerful tune, interspersed with whispers and chuckles from a youthful voice. Had he believed in woodland fairies, he could have put it down to that. Blinking, he’d adjusted his vision as he took in the sight. The young girl seemed like an angel, dancing on tiptoes, the material of her cotton nightdress billowing in the balmy air. Oblivious to his presence, she had been playing in the clearing beneath a shaft of moonlight. He stared in quiet awe, struck by the sight of her. She could not have been more than seven or eight. What was she doing out at this hour, alone? She didn’t appear scared – quite the opposite; she was completely enamoured by her surroundings.

He blinked, focusing on her image. How much had he drunk today? He took a step closer, entranced. Had he been fully lucid, he would have taken the little girl into his protection. But there was something about this situation that gave him pause. There was beauty to her movements, which were made without a care. This child was not neglected. She didn’t appear afraid. He watched her wander barefoot, the glint of the moon catching the blonde filaments in her hair. Taking another silent step, he strained to hear her voice. She was humming, the lilt of a song playing on her lips. He froze as she moved through the forest, as if he were watching some exotic creature venture into the night. Her steps were gazelle-like, her mouth falling open in awe as she gazed at the heavens, free from pollution and littered with stars.

Lloyd leaned against the tree as he recalled that night. Why hadn’t he made himself known? Because back then, he wasn’t entirely sure if the vision before him was real. He remembered checking his hands to see if they were steady, mentally calculating how many times he’d refilled his hip flask. He’d started at eleven that morning and had drunk steadily throughout the day. No more than usual, but enough to keep the shakes at bay. His small team of officers knew about his habits but seemed happy to turn a blind eye. Nobody volunteered to work in Nighbrook. They had been transferred to his department as a punishment for some misdemeanour or another, so they weren’t going to judge him for taking a nip from his flask.

That night, when Lloyd had shifted his gaze from the stars to the clearing, he’d been disappointed to see the girl had gone. Had she been a ghost? A trick of the light? Was the booze pickling his brain?