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It’s Ralph who suggests a game of Monopoly. Some of the pieces and money are missing but Jaime sets it up anyway, using the cuff of her sleeve to wipe away the dust as she spreads out the square board. For a while, she’s ahead – the first to collect a street, the first to start buying property. But Jesse is the one who catches her up – stealthily building up his own portfolio, plus cash reserves, until he is sheepishly stripping her of money when she consistently lands on his fully developed Park Lane. She groans in pain as she hands over her money and concedes to selling him two hotels.

It’s Willow who checks the time and declares she better get back for lunch. Mr Finnis appears just then, looking bright-eyed as he passes up a tray of food for Jesse. Roast chicken, potatoes, Yorkshire pudding and carrots. Jesse’s eyes grow wide with hunger.

‘Mr Finnis,’ Jaime says quickly, a bright smile filling her round face. ‘You don’t happen to have any Latin translation books for sale do you?’ Her smile stretches further when she registers the curiosity in his eyes. ‘It’s for a school project.’

‘I don’t have any for sale, but I do have one you can borrow.’

Jaime clasps her hands together. ‘Oh thank you! If you’re sure you don’t mind?’

‘Not at all. One minute.’

He ducks back down the ladder and is only gone for a few minutes before returning, pulling a small book out of his back pocket and handing it to Jaime.

‘Thank you so much!’

‘I want it back, mind!’ He smiles.

Ralph helps Jaime carefully push the Monopoly board to one side.

‘We’ll finish it tomorrow after school,’ she nods with certainty and they all nod back.

Mr Finnis winks then climbs back down and Ralph pauses to marvel at the change in the man. He seems somehow hopeful again and Ralph can’t deny he feels the same. Despite the danger, the missing boy and crooked, inhuman policeman, Ralph feels safer and braver than ever before and he knows it’s because he’s been spending time with the others. He feels somehow full up inside, drowsy with something he can’t pin down. As they climb down one by one, he sees Willow go back and turn Jesse’s head gently to one side. She parts his hair, leans closer then she lets him go and joins Ralph, climbing down.

He dares to wonder if he has found the best friends he will ever have.

They pause on Black Hare Lane outside the bookshop. They are all still smiling, still feeling something different, something better than before. Ralph hates to destroy it but his face falls when he sees the poster pasted to the nearest lamppost. He reaches out and touches Jesse’s black and white face.

JESSE ARCHER: WANTED!

‘Look guys,’ he says in a hoarse whisper. Jaime and Willow gather around him. ‘It says he’s wanted for escaping police custody.’

‘Jesus,’ Willow snaps angrily. ‘That’s ridiculous. They might as well put a reward on it too.’

Ralph’s gaze shifts to the poster beside it.

PADDY FINNIS: MISSING!

‘Makes it look like he’s guilty…’ Ralph gulps.

Willow rolls her eyes and turns away. ‘This goddamn town. There’s something wrong with it.’

Jaime reaches for her, touching her arm. ‘Do you really believe what Jesse said? About Mayfield? And about the hare?’

‘I don’t know what to believe.’ Willow shrugs wearily. ‘I just know we have to do something.’

Ralph nods. ‘I’ve got to go and meet my mum at the new house. Do we try and talk at school tomorrow or what?’

Jaime packs her bag, now containing the Latin translation book Mr Finnis lent them. ‘Yes, and I’ll get started on this tonight. See what I can do.’

‘Meet behind the bike sheds,’ sighs Willow as she strides away. ‘I’ll see you then.’

‘Good luck at the new house.’ Jaime turns to Ralph with a smile.

He grins. ‘Thanks, Jaime.’

‘How do you feel about it? Moving house?’

He grimaces. ‘Mayor Sumner being our landlady? She was already. She owns the caravan site too. Most of the land on that side of the valley actually.’

‘Oh.’ Jaime frowns. ‘What about the other side? My side?’

‘A mix, but most of it is owned by Bob Rowan, I think.’

‘Bob Rowan?’ Jaime taps her head. ‘The man with the Holloway on his land?’

‘Yeah, he’s a recluse, but like, a real one,’ Ralph tells her. ‘He never comes into town. My mum always said to stay away from his property because he hates children.’

‘Hmm,’ says Jaime, ‘and yet Mayor Sumner seems to like them. You know, helping your mum out, trying to take care of Jesse. Weird.’

‘Yeah,’ Ralph agrees, his mouth dry. ‘It is weird. Hey, I better go.’

‘Me too,’ she says brightly, tapping her bag again. ‘Lots to keep me busy!’

Ralph sighs uneasily as he turns and heads the other way. He crosses over Black Hare Road and automatically feels more vulnerable, like the hairs are being gently and teasingly lifted from his neck. He swallows and walks faster. He’s sure it’s nothing, just paranoia after hearing Jesse, but he quickens his pace anyway, breaking into a smile of relief when he sees his mother waiting on the doorstep of the cottage on School Lane, dressed in cargo shorts and an old t-shirt.

Her bike is propped against the brick wall and she’s brushing the doorstep with a long-handled broom. Her long brown hair is tied in a low pony-tail and it dangled over one shoulder as she swipes the broom back and forth. As Ralph approaches, she looks up and gives him a huge but weary smile. She might be tired as she so often is, but her eyes are sparkling and she pops the broom inside and jumps and down as he draws near.

‘I was starting to give up on you!’

‘Sorry I’m late.’

She clutches his shoulder, still jumping. ‘Oh Ralphie, it’s so exciting!’

‘Please don’t call me that,’ he groans.

She steers him towards the front door. ‘Come and see! I’ve been super busy but there’s loads to do.’

He leans his bike next to hers and follows her up the front path. The front garden is tiny, surrounded by a red brick wall and with small evergreen shrubs taking up most of the space. They enter a narrow hallway and coming down the stairs directly in front of them is Mayor Margaret Sumner.

Ralph’s next breath catches in his throat and time seems to slow down. She’s careful and neat and considered in her appearance and in her movements. She wears dark blue jeans tucked into brown leather riding boots. Her scarf today depicts a series of golden hares racing across an emerald green landscape.

‘Ralph! How lovely to see you! I was just leaving.’

‘Hi Mayor Sumner.’ He nods and smiles what he hopes is not a nervous smile. ‘How are you?’

Pleased with his good manners, Charlotte pulls him in for a side hug and uses one hand to ruffle his thick curls.

‘I was just about to show him around.’

The mayor’s eyes crinkle up along with her gracious smile. She sidles neatly past them and stops in the doorway.

‘I am very well indeed, Ralph, thank you for asking.’ She tips him a wink then gestures to the stairs behind him. ‘Now you go on and enjoy yourselves. I’ll let you both get on.’

Ralph watches her go, his stomach queasy. His mother sees the mayor out, thanking her again, then closes the door and drags Ralph into the lounge that sits on the right side of the entrance hallway. She’s gesturing to the furniture: an old green sofa, a faded brown rug over a blue carpet, and she’s telling him what colours she wants to paint which rooms, but all he can think about is Mayor Sumner calling Jesse’s name as he tried in vain to escape the town.

His mother clasps his hand and pulls him into the small kitchen at the back of the house. ‘Can you believe we have this much space, Ralphie? Just you and me!’

‘It’s amazing,’ he says, nodding enthusiastically but inside he feels anything but. The kitchen is decorated in old-fashioned cream and green wallpaper – a patten of teacups and teapots repeated over and over. He steps out of the back door and peers up the garden. It’s long and narrow like Paddy’s, but he knows his mum will make the best of it like she does with everything.

‘Check out the garden!’ she enthuses behind him. ‘You’ve never had a garden before!’

He nods and wonders if that’s what she does at work too – makes the best of it. Or does she really like working there? Does she really like the mayor? Does she trust her? Again, Ralph considers sitting his mother down, telling her everything that has happened but something stops him, something tells him he can’t. Fear, paranoia maybe… and something else. It would sound so silly, so absurd. What evidence did they have for any of it?

2

When Jaime returns home she runs right into a tense argument between her mother and step-father. They are in the pub kitchen, coffee mugs in hand, while the gentle hustle and bustle of Sunday afternoon orders commences on the other side. She can hear Mr Hewlett’s girlfriend, Tahlia, laughing as she works.

‘Everything okay?’ she asks cautiously, swiping a green apple from the fruit bowl on the side and making her way towards the stairs. She is desperate to start translating the words in the photos.

Her mother looks anxious, her brow is furrowed and her lips are tight. She shoots a look at Mark and then comes to Jaime, sliding an arm around her shoulders.

‘Everything is fine, honey. Where have you been?’

‘Just out,’ she shrugs. ‘With Willow and Ralph.’

‘What about Jesse Archer?’ Mark asks, his tone hard, a muscle twitching in his cheek. ‘Have you seen him too?’

‘No.’ Jaime shakes her head and looks at her mother, if only to avoid the intense look in Mark’s eyes. ‘Why? What’s wrong?’

Her mother smiles but it’s shaky and thin. ‘Nothing, sweetheart, it’s just Sergeant Mayfield was here earlier and he’s looking for Jesse Archer. I think he’s in a spot of trouble.’

‘Resisted arrest after breaking in to the policeman’s house, then escaped custody,’ Mark corrects her with a quick roll of his eyes and a sneering tone to his voice. ‘That boy is just like the rest of the family. They’ve always been trouble. I used to be friends with his old man when I was a kid. Soon worked out that was a waste of time. Bloody criminals, the lot of them! Mayfield said he saw you and the others on Taylor Drive where they live. Is that true?’

‘Mark.’ Catherine is staring at him, her head slightly tilted, her tone soothing.

‘We were just in the area,’ Jaime shrugs, hating how fast she can feel her cheeks turning red. She can’t bear the sharp, accusing look in Mark’s eyes. He’s never looked at her that way before. She feels like she is being interrogated or suspected. He’s staring at her as if she is a stranger. ‘Just passing by,’ she adds. ‘The sergeant said he was looking for Jesse but we hadn’t seen him. Honest.’

‘That’s okay, darling.’ Her mother turns her gently towards the hallway and the stairs beyond. ‘Go on up now. I expect you’ve got homework to do.’

‘Yes. Okay.’

‘Jaime.’ Mark’s voice is hard. She looks back at him. His eyes narrow. ‘People have seen you with him. You and the others, so please don’t lie to us.’

‘I’m not.’

‘If you see that boy again, if you know where he is, you must tell us, all right? No messing about. This is serious.’

‘She knows,’ Catherine says with her back to him. ‘Go on now, love. Go on up.’

Jaime hurries breathlessly up the stairs away from Mark’s accusing glare. She closes then locks her bedroom door behind her and sits on the bed, close to tears.

She doesn’t like to be in trouble – hates to think that she has let anyone down or disappointed anyone. She feels personally attacked by the angry accusation in Mark’s eyes. The distrust wounds her deeply. And she feels scared. It feels like the whole town is out to get Jesse and if he is telling the truth about last night, that means he is in serious danger.

Jaime can’t quite process it. It’s not reality yet: boys turning into hares, men turning into monsters, voices in the mist… It’s all just theory, a mystery to be unravelled. Her logical mind believes the answers must be out there somewhere.

She comes back to Iris Cotton.

And the name of the townsfolk, the ones who go back generations. She comes back to the book and the words. She breathes in then out, controlling herself. She will tackle it methodically like a real journalist would. Words first. Then ancestors, the town’s history in an organised timeline. Then, Iris Cotton.

3

When night falls, Jesse sits on the edge of the platform in Paddy’s borrowed clothes with his belly still full of roast dinner. There is a chill in the air and a low mist has crawled across the garden below.

He sits and listens to a tawny owl hooting. Then, a sudden beating of heavy wings. He sits, restless and on edge, like a caged bird and he wonders why Mayfield has not come for him. Why he has stalked around town, listening and demanding, but hasn’t come here. It doesn’t make sense. Nothing does. He sits and drums his legs back and forth and stares out at the darkness and wonders what will happen if he enters it again.

4

Willow diverts to Taylor Drive on her way home but she doesn’t have to go inside again, as Billy and Wyatt Archer are outside the building, fiddling with a dirt bike. Wyatt is leaning on the wall, smoking a joint. The sweet smoke circles in the air above his head as he watches Willow approach through hooded, suspicious eyes.

Billy drops a wrench to the ground with a clatter and strides quickly towards her. ‘You seen him?’

‘Yes,’ she says quietly, her eyes darting around. ‘He’s in Paddy’s treehouse, in the garden behind the bookshop. He’s okay.’

Billly exhales, tilting his face briefly to the sky with his hands on his hips. ‘You sure?’

‘Few injuries,’ she shrugs with regret. ‘But he’ll be okay. Mr Finnis knows he’s there and he’s feeding him. He won’t tell anyone.’

‘Mayfield and Sumner want to take him into care,’ Billy leans in and whispers to her. ‘We can’t let them do that.’

She shakes her head firmly. ‘We won’t. I promise.’

He straightens up, eyeing her warily. ‘Good.’ He looks back at Wyatt.

Willow starts to turn away, but something stops her. She feels tight in her chest, anxiety thrumming through her. She can’t take back telling Billy where Jesse is hiding but how does she know they can trust him? She doesn’t know what to say, or how to put it.

He’s frowning down at her, as if irritated. ‘Something else?’

She examines his face carefully. ‘I don’t know. Just, Mayfield… He’s…’ She glances away, struggling with how to explain it. ‘He’s…’

‘Not right in the head?’ Billy demands, hands on hips. ‘Creepy as fuck?’

She looks down, smiling. ‘Yeah.’ She looks back at him. ‘Billy, we think he might have done something to Paddy.’ She swallows and waits while he thinks this over. He rubs two fingers across his unshaved chin.

‘Nothing would surprise me. That’s why you’ve got to make sure he doesn’t find Jesse.’

‘I know. But…’ She trails off again, wincing as she eyes him in hope. ‘It’s just, if we need any help…?’ She shrugs at him.

Billy looks her briefly up and down, a half-smile pulling at his lips, before he winks and turns away. ‘Just let me know.’

He walks back to Wyatt without another word. Willow breathes out in relief and heads for home.

5

A few more hours have passed and Jesse still feels restless. He appreciates the safety of the treehouse. He doesn’t understand it, but he’s grateful for it. But he also knows he will eventually go crazy if he stays here too long.

He can’t stop thinking about Paddy – where he is, what happened to him, what’s in the book. And he can’t stop thinking about Jaime’s words: ‘doesn’t that mean she’s missing too?’

To his horror and shame, Jesse has never thought about it that way before. He frowns at the garden below and tries to work out why. Perhaps it was because she left a note saying she was leaving? Or because she was obviously unstable even before that? Because she was mentally ill? Because he’s felt betrayed and furious with her ever since? He finds himself looking back on his childhood, which is something he actively tries not to do, but now that he allows it, he sees his mother and all he can remember is how nervous she always was.

How she used to chew her nails until they were bloody, how she used to twist her hair around her fingers and sometimes pull it out strand by strand. How she struggled to do even the most basic and mundane things, like going shopping or cooking meals. He looks back and sees her as a ghost. She was there, but not really.

And now it tortures him; Jaime’s words. Doesn’t that mean she’s missing too? And what about him? If they had taken him last night, what then? Would he be missing himself?

Before he can talk himself out of it, Jesse swings down to the ground. He’s wearing Paddy’s grey jogging bottoms that are too short in the leg for him and a black cable knit jumper that’s too small. On top he wears a dark grey duffel coat which must belong to Mr Finnis. He flips up the hood and breathes slowly. Nothing happens.

He thinks about the black hare. The utter beauty of it – zipping through the mist, staying close enough to lead him to safety. Would it do it again? Would it help him again if he needed it? He swallows nervously, his throat tight and dry as he walks stiffy to the gate.

He knows it’s crazy. Dangerous. But he can’t just sit here and do nothing while Paddy is still missing. He can’t just leave it all to the other three. He can’t be that useless. And he’s never been very good at sitting still. Jesse takes a deep breath that sends shivers all over his body. He opens the gate and creeps out.

Darkness.

He gulps, reminded of the night before – the solid black of the town without power. He looks down and sure enough a silvery mist hovers just above the ground.

‘Hope you’re still around, buddy,’ he whispers then dives down the alley between the two shops.

He pauses at the other end – then spots the WANTED sign under Paddy’s MISSING poster. Holy shit, he thinks with a gasp – they’ve made it look like I did it…

He runs along Black Hare Road, hood up, head down. He passes a few people but no one stops him. He turns onto Fort Lane and picks up speed. There is no one about, though he expects to see a few still mingling on High Street as the shops start to close. At the end of Fort Lane, Jesse pauses again, gazing up and down the wide road for any sign of a prowling patrol car.

He makes his move, scurrying briskly across the street and heading down Taylor Close. He sees two more WANTED signs and almost laughs out loud at them. It’s so ridiculous, he thinks, it’s crazy. Why doesn’t anyone question it? Why have they all given up so easily on Paddy?

He grits his teeth and moves quickly onto Taylor Drive. It’s anger that drives him now. Anger and recklessness, feelings he is familiar with, feelings he can live with. He hurries up to his block of flats then pauses when he sees two figures descending the last steps inside. He dashes around the side of the building and waits. Moments later, he hears raucous laughter and peers out to watch Dominic and Steven walking away, passing a drink between them. Up to no good, he thinks, with a wry smile. He wonders if they’ll run into Mayfield and whether, if asked, they would hunt him down too.

Satisfied they’re far enough away not to see him, he rounds the corner, wrenches open the bottom doors and starts quickly up the stairs.

Jesse’s instincts are telling him to be careful, to be wary. That Sergeant Mayfield could be behind any corner, could even be inside his flat, waiting for him. But his angry reckless side, the part of him that has been encouraged the most, fights back and wins. It pushes him forward towards his front door and seconds later he is standing on the other side of it, leaning back, breathing fast, weak with relief.

There’s a stupefied grunt from the lounge and Jesse can smell that his father is home. He breathes in, then out, closes his eyes briefly to steady himself and then forces himself to move. Jesse never knows which version of his father he will encounter. More often than not it is the absent version. He feels like most of the last five years have been shaped by an ever-growing motherless and fatherless hole. She left a hole so big and dark that his father toppled in and has barely been seen since.

But Jesse knows it’s not all her fault. His father was always a drinker and a moody bastard. It’s just that his wife going crazy and running off have given him the excuse to be even worse.

Tonight he finds the truly sozzled version of Nick Archer and it is somewhat of a relief; the sozzled version is usually weaker and slower and can sometimes be quite amusing. But he can also be unpredictable, his moods switching in an instant from raucous and lively to sombre and self-pitying, to pure fury.

He’s lying on the sofa – the one he’s moulded to – in ripped and muddied blue jeans and grubby white socks. He’s wearing a white vest and an unbuttoned red and black shirt. He’s got his favourite belt on, the one with the sheriff’s badge, the one he used to pretend was a gun holster when they were little kids and still thought playing cowboys with their boozy dad was fun.

Around the room are framed stills from his favourite movies, all westerns of course. The Good The Bad and The Ugly, Pat Garret and Billy The Kid, A Fistful of Dollars. Clint Eastwood and John Wayne. Manly, swaggering heroes, gunslingers, spitting and shooting. Jesse sighs at them, thinking that half of Nick’s trouble is he has never truly grown up. Never worked honestly, never paid a bill on time, never cooked a decent meal, never kept a promise. He’s a man-child, petulant and pitiful, expecting everything but not prepared to do anything to get it.

Jesse is embarrassed to be related to him and winces in disgust when his father raises on one elbow to see who has come home. His expression darkness.

‘Oh, it’s you! Where the hell have you been?’ He’s struggling to sit up now, using both elbows, digging them into the cushions behind for leverage.

Jesse thinks he may as well be honest because the chances are his dad won’t remember any of this next time he wakes up. Besides, he is here to talk, he is here for answers, and he mustn’t lose sight of that.

‘In trouble,’ he says, lowering the hood as he comes closer. ‘Broke into Mayfield’s house and got arrested. I got away but now he’s looking for me, so I’m hiding out.’

Nick Archer absorbs the information slowly, his face scrunched up in concentration as he tries and fails to follow it.

‘What?’ he mutters, finally sitting up. ‘What you saying? What you on about? Trouble?’

‘Yeah, big trouble,’ nods Jesse. ‘I need to talk to you about Mum.’

‘Mum? Mum?’ Nick Archer stands up, wobbly on his feet. He lurches forward and plants his hands on the coffee table to steady himself. ‘Mum?’ he yells now. ‘What the fuck you talking about? What you fucking been doing?’

‘I told you.’

Nick turns to face him, rubbing his hands across his mucky vest. His eyes are bloodshot. His dark hair is lank and greasy and thinning on top. ‘What?’

‘I just told you. I’m in trouble, Dad and I need to talk to you.’

Now his father grips the back of the sofa and uses it to walk his way around. He’s shaking his head and muttering under his breath and Jesse knows the main thing on his mind is another drink.

Jesse moves away instinctively, just in case. ‘Dad? I need to talk about Mum.’ The trouble is he doesn’t know what he needs to ask.

‘What the bloodyhell you wanna talk bout that crazy bitch for?’

‘Was she crazy?’ Jesse asks. ‘Was she, Dad? How do you know that? What kind of things did she say?’ He moves around to the front of the sofa just as his dad makes his way to the back. ‘Why did everyone think she was crazy, Dad?’

‘Why you asking?’ Nick Archer barks at him, spittle splattering his vest. ‘What you wanna know for? She’s gone. She’s long fucking gone, that’s all you need to know. Why you trying to make trouble eh? You bloody boys, always in trouble!’

Jesse sighs. This is going nowhere. ‘Maybe because you are,’ he says darkly. ‘Have you looked at yourself lately? We never stood a chance and you know it.’

Nick lets go of the sofa, staring at his son with nothing but confusion. ‘What? What you sayin’ to me?’

‘You heard me! Who the hell are you to have a go at us? Eh? Look at you! Always drunk, always in jail, never there when we need you!’

‘You come ‘ere!’ Nick lunges for him and misses. He nearly falls over but grabs the back of the sofa just in time. ‘Little shit!’

Jesse moves again, but knows there is little chance of his dad catching up with him. ‘Maybe you drove her crazy,’ he taunts, looking him up and down in disgust. ‘The state of you! Why would she stay? Why would anyone stay with you?’

Nick burps then lunges again, growling, but Jesse side-steps him and he staggers against the sofa instead.

‘I tried to leave too,’ says Jesse, pacing again as his father shakes his head and turns groggily to find him. ‘I tried to leave last night but it didn’t matter which way I went, Dad, I couldn’t get out of his goddamn shithole town! It wouldn’t let me leave!’

Nick’s eyes flick open in interest and for a moment he side-eyes his son, frowning. Then he comes forward again, still dark-faced and reaching and muttering but he’s slower now, stumbling and staggering into the coffee table. He knocks it over and tumbles with it, swearing in pain.

‘This goddamn town,’ Jesse goes on, staring at his father. ‘It won’t let me leave, and it did something to Paddy, Dad. He’s gone. And Mum too. How did she get out, Dad? Do you even know for sure that she did? Why isn’t she on a missing poster, like Paddy?’

Jesse approaches the fallen man who sits slumped against the wall on the other side of the coffee table, looking around himself in bewilderment as if he can’t understand how he got there. His chest is heaving, his face is paler now, as if close to vomiting. He reeks of whiskey – cheap beer and cigarettes and stale sweat. His smells are permanently entrenched in the walls.

Jesse stands over him. ‘Dad, I need to know. Just help me with something for once in your life, please. Did she ever contact you again after she left? A phone call? A letter? Anything?’

Nick Archer appears confused and distressed but he shakes his head from side to side at his son, who is taller than him these days.

‘Nothing,’ he snaps, looking away. ‘Who the hell are you, talkin to me like this…’

Jesse feels like he has him cornered. Weak. He squats in front of him. ‘Dad, I just need to know because it might be connected to Paddy, don’t you see?’

His dad won’t meet his eye, as his face suddenly crumples with confusion. He rests his head back on the wall. Jesse risks touching his arm.

‘Dad, can you tell me about Mum. Anything, please? I need to know. I’m in real trouble, Dad.’

Nick turns his gaze to the side. His hands rest in his lap. ‘Wha’ you wanna know? I met her in school…’ he mumbles, slurring his words.

It’s not much, but it is something. Jesse leans closer. ‘Yeah? Did you?’

His father shifts a bit more and rests his cheek on the wall. His arms move, reaching around to hug himself. ‘I don’t feel well…’

‘Dad, tell me. You met at school? How old were you?’ Jesse looks around wildly, desperate to keep him talking. He gets up and runs over to the dusty TV cabinet, where he kneels and wrenches open the bottom drawer. He’s sure there used to be a thick photo album in here amongst the old western films, and spent batteries and broken remotes. He finds it buried under junk and yanks it out, blowing the dust from the surface. He hasn’t seen it in years but he remembers looking through it not long after his mum left. He takes it over to his father and crouches next to him, flipping through it. ‘How old?’ he asks again.

His father yawns. ‘Fourteen, or fifteen…’

‘My age? Wow, I never knew. Look, here she is!’ He’s nervous about showing photos to his father but he needs to get him talking somehow. He rubs dust from the first plastic sleeve. It’s an old sepia toned photo of his mum as a teenager. She looks small and nervous but pretty, with long dark hair and shy eyes. Nick Archer’s lower lip juts out as he gazes at it but he says nothing.

‘About this age then?’ Jesse prompts, tuning the page. ‘This is you and her together. How old?’

‘I dunno,’ Nick groans, running one trembling hand through his short dark hair. ‘Sixteen maybe. She was happy when I met her.’

‘Yeah? Was she? She liked school? Her family?’ Jesse doesn’t know anything about her family, only that they moved to the valley before she was born then moved away again before she married his father.

‘Didn’t get on with her folks,’ Nick frowns, his hand stealing slowly toward the album. He lays it, still shaking, on the photo sleeve. ‘They were too strict. But she loved her sister!’

‘Sister?’ This is news to Jesse. He has never heard of a sister before, an aunt. Intrigued, heart racing, he leans closer. Their heads meet above the old photos hidden behind the dusty smeared plastic sheets. It’s the closest Jesse has been to his father in a long time. His stomach tightens and contracts.

Nick Archer frowns, his eyes sharpen as his gaze focuses on the photo of himself and his wife.

‘Angie,’ Jesse whispers, speaking her usually unspeakable name. ‘Angie had a sister? What was her name?’

‘Carol-Anne.’ His voice is soft, wondering, confused.

‘Younger?’

His father nods unsurely. ‘Few years. We all used to hang about together…’

Their hearts beat against the photo album. Panic trickles between Jesse’s shoulder blades. He knows he doesn’t have long before the spell breaks.

‘Did you? Who else?’

Nick runs a hand through his hair and grips it. ‘Me, Ange and Carol-Anne, Lizzie and Frankie.’

‘Lizzie?’ Jesse is certain he has heard that name before. ‘The only Lizzie I know is Willow’s mum.’

Nick gives a slight nod. ‘Yeah, her. We all hung about, til it happened, and then… We couldn’t after that. Nothing was the same.’

‘After what happened? What happened to Carol-Anne, Dad? Where is she?’

Nick’s frown deepens, his face stretching and crumpling and stretching again as he tries to sieve through old memories dulled by years of drink.

‘Went missing,’ he splutters suddenly, his tone more certain, his voice a little louder.

Jesse feels his eyes widen, his pupils dilate, his scalp tighten. He feels like he is on the edge of something – something deep and dark and never-ending and any second now he is going to topple in.

‘Like that other kid,’ his father says, a reedy whine now to his voice. ‘She went missing. Fourteen years old, Jess. No one ever found her again.’

Jesse sits back on his knees then moves back again, onto his backside, his legs in front. He pulls up his knees and hugs them. His father is still holding onto the album.

‘Like Paddy…’ he whispers.

‘Drove your mum crazy…’ Nick sits up a little now. He pulls up one knee and leans over it, his head heavy. ‘She was never the same after that. Couldn’t live with it. Said it was our fault. We’d made it happen.’

‘What? Why?’ Jesse looks him in the eye. ‘What did she mean? Why did she say that?’

His father’s head snaps up and their eyes meet. ‘She was crazy, that’s all you need to know. You remember what she was like, son, eh? All fairy circles and curses and witchcraft. She never grew out of it.’

‘I remember, but what did she think happened to Carol-Anne?’

A cold look passes over Nick’s face. He slams the album shut and scowls. ‘What’re you playin’ at messin’ around with all this? Raking shit up? You trying to wind me up, or what? Make yourself useful and get your dad a drink.’

Jesse holds up his hands. ‘No, Dad, not yet. Can you tell me anything else? About Carol-Anne?’

‘I don’t wanna talk about Carol-Anne.’ Nick pushes away from the wall. He’s on his knees, his eyes narrow and cold. ‘That’s what drove your mother nuts, that’s why she ran away from us. That’s all there is to say. Why the hell would I ever wanna talk about Carol-Anne?’

‘Because it might be important! Because I didn’t know about her! Because no one ever talks about it! Why doesn’t anyone know a kid went missing like this before?’

Nick’s nostrils are flaring now – in out, in out. He throws the album across the room and leans closer to his son.

‘I don’t know what you’re going on about and I don’t bloody care. All I know is I got three useless sons and none of them got taken. Why is that, eh?’ He tilts his head slowly to one side, then reaches out a shaking hand, that settles on Jesse’s coat and pats methodically at his pounding chest. Then suddenly the fingers close tightly around the material and he drags Jesse closer. ‘Why?’ he asks again. ‘Why a nice good boy like Finnis? Eh, Jesse? Why not you? I always thought it would be you.’

Jesse pulls away from his grasp and shuffles backwards. It’s time to go. ‘Never mind. I gotta go, Dad. I’ll see you soon.’

‘No, no, no, no, you say right there, Jess, you’re not going anywhere!’ His dad is shaking his head, his eyes lit up no in sneering hunger. ‘I heard you’re wanted now, is that right? Like a real life outlaw, eh Jesse? Jesse James, eh? That what you think?’ His dad laughs and it’s a cruel, cold sound.

Jesse gets to his feet as his dad uses the wall behind to get up. Nick leans there, eyes narrow, lips snarling.

‘Go on then go, if you’re going.’ He waves a hand at Jesse. ‘You know where the door is. I need a drink.’ Nick shrugs violently as if shaking off a bad dream, then he stumbles around the sofa and stamps into the kitchen with a loud belch.

Jesse watches him go – relieved, horrified, hurt – he doesn’t have time for any of it. He’s got some new information, he’s got news, he’s got something that might help. He feels a surge of pride, of hope. He didn’t just sit around the treehouse moping and being useless. He didn’t just let the others run around doing the hard work.

Jesse finds the album out in the hallway. With his dad in the kitchen, Jesse slips out the photos of his mum as a teenager, dumps the album on the floor and leaves.

Invigorated, Jesse tears through the town; through the darkness, back towards the treehouse on Black Hare Lane. He feels afraid and exposed but he also feels brave and fast. He runs with the unique belief of the young, that nothing bad can ever happen and he will live forever.

He doesn’t feel watched until he’s running up the alley between the two shops and then it comes out of nowhere. A thick heavy crawling feeling that hungry eyes are suddenly upon him, but he doesn’t know where. Behind, in front, above, below. In the air all around him. But he can feel it all right. His hairs stand on end like the air around him is electrified.

He tries to breathe but the air won’t come. He tries to run but his legs won’t work. The darkness wraps around him like a cloak, swirling, tightening and stealing the air.

Jesse makes it to the gate but then something impossibly big and heavy knocks into him from behind, emerging suddenly from a deep pocket of darkness where he did not see it lurking.

It rakes sharp claws deep into his back and Jesse throws back his head and howls at the skies.

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Thanks for reading!

Please feel free to leave a comment letting me know what you thought of this latest chapter.

NOTE: Please remember this is NOT the finished version of Black Hare Valley Book 1. This book has not been to my editor yet or even my beta readers. There will be typos, grammatical mistakes, and sentences that need rewriting.

COMING NEXT THURSDAY: Chapter Seventeen “The Beast”