“Mum,” he hissed, “is that you?”

No answer. Nat hesitated; if it was his mum, maybe she wouldn’t like it if he barged in on her. He wondered if he should just go back to bed. But the weeping continued, and Nat forgot about the glass of water.

He crept down the corridor to the scullery, opening the door onto the light of the moon. It lit up the garden so brilliantly that Nat could see as well as if it were daylight.

The crying sounds stopped abruptly. There was a movement in the corner by the washing machine.

“Woody?” croaked Nat. The spit he needed to talk with had almost dried up. “Come on, boy.”

There was a shuffling noise, like cloth being dragged, but what came out of the shadows was nothing like a dog. Nat’s mouth dried up completely.

Wrapped within Woody’s red, striped blanket was a boy. A boy of about Nat’s own age. They stared at each other.

“Wh … wh … who are you?” stammered Nat. “And where’s my dog?”

The boy shook his head, sniffling. Nat noticed that underneath the blanket the boy appeared to be naked. His eyes went as wide as they could without popping out of his head.

“I … look, excuse me, but where’s Woody, and … hey! Why are you naked?”

As soon as Nat had spoken, something clicked in his brain. He looked hard at the stranger, noticing how his cheeks were stained from crying. There was something odd about his eyes. They were an unusual light golden brown. In the dark shadows, they appeared to glow.

Noooo, thought Nat, confused. It can’t be … can it?

“Are … are you who I think you are?” he stammered.

The boy just stared, his eyes glimmering golden light.

A purely selfish thought popped into Nat’s head. Just when he thought he had a dog, this happened!

At last the boy spoke, in a halting, gravelly voice that sounded as though it wasn’t used very often.

“You can … call me Woody,” he said quietly. “But I’m not … a dog.”

Nat’s legs gave way, and he slid to the floor. All this was too much. This was Gary the Unicorn territory. Whoa. He wasn’t ready for this! The boy sat down, too, wiping his eyes on the corner of the striped blanket.

Suddenly, Nat slapped himself, hard, across the face: THWACK! The boy jumped at the sound and looked at Nat in alarm.

“Why did you … do that?” he asked, his curiosity stopping his tears.

“Because I’m dreaming,” said Nat, shaking his head. “That’s it. I must be! The moonlight’s turned me mental! I’m really still in bed, and you are still a dog, so good night to you.” He got up to leave.

Suddenly, the strange boy grabbed hold of Nat’s pajama sleeve. “I’m not a dog,” he repeated.