u/Hokons

Outside the restaurant, away from the din of cutlery against plates and idle-minded catch-up chatter, I took a drag of my cigarette and decided to leave the family gathering.

I hadn’t seen them for years, save for my mum, and I hated the faux closeness we all had to show. No, Michelle, I don’t care about your Bible group’s opinion on global warming. Little Davey (who was no longer little, but a six-foot couch surfer) walked out on his kid? Colour me surprised.

I dropped the cigarette and stamped it out with my boot. To hell with them. I’d rather spend time with my buddies playing video games. I started down the sidewalk, fishing for my phone in my jeans. I messaged Hayden: Wanna play a round of duos in thirty? He reacted with a thumbs-up.

I passed a bus stop, one of those sheltered ones with glazed glass. I could just make out the figure of someone waiting, but it struck me as odd. They were wearing all pink—which would’ve been fine if it were a robe or coat (winter was cold)—but there was a slimness to their form that made it look like they were naked.

None of my business, so I ignored it and kept walking, growing more excited to get home, smoke a bowl, and chill online. I’d made it about another block when I heard a strange flapping behind me, like a scuba diver walking in flippers. When I turned, the figure from the bus stop was following me, about twenty meters back.

He stopped when I stopped, standing stark naked in the cold. He had no hair, even on his head, and looked like a man-sized baby with a pot belly. His hands stayed at his sides, but his fingers were wriggling, like the skin was too short for the bones.

I’d grown up around this area and dealt with my fair share of loonies.

“Best be leaving now, eh buddy?”

His lips moved, whispering something under his breath.

“Why don’t you go catch that train you were waiting for?”

Then, barely audible, I heard him giggle.

“I’m gonna get you.”

His fingers writhed more manically than before, like a pianist miming the keys to a sonata. Despite the cold, a fresh chill ran through me. My feet itched to move.

“Piss off,” I said, and started walking the other way. I knew better than to give the loonies attention. That’s what they wanted. It’s like trying to tear away a toy from a dog—it just thinks you’re playing.

As soon as I turned around, I heard the flipper sound again.

Slap, slap, slap, slap.

The baby-man had broken into a full-on sprint, his bare feet clapping against the pavement. I kept walking. My left hand slipped into my pocket, fingers wrapping around my keys, holding them between my knuckles.

The feet-slapping grew closer.

Ignoring him wasn’t working.

This guy must’ve been full-on tweaked out.

I held my breath and turned, ready to fight.

But he was no longer there. All I saw were his bare feet slithering into a drain about five meters behind me.

For a few minutes, I just stood there, gawking at the drain, wondering what the hell I had just witnessed. Drugs. What else could it have been? But with his size... there was no way he should’ve been able to fit down the drain.

When I got home, I explained it all to Hayden.

“What a rort! You expect me to believe that?” He laughed.

I wasn’t sure I believed it myself. No, I didn’t see the baby-man again. But whenever I passed a drain at night, ever so faintly, I heard the giggling.

Jake held the bottle with two fingers. The other three rested on the steering wheel. Every bump, they’d lift off, and I waited to see if they'd find their way back. Twice I'd reached for the wheel. Twice Jake had palmed my hand away.

"This isn't drivers ED, mate. Hands off."

"Assholes," I muttered. I checked the map. "There's no road here. It just shows trees."

Malcolm leaned forward, sticking his head between the seats. "They don't always update these things. You think they give a shit what goes on in little old Flockton? Maybe if they'd put a McDonald's here it’d get a road on google maps."

"I could so go for a McGriddle," said Harry. I'd seen him eat four pot brownies in the smoke room with Michelle. I had no idea how much of this he was following.

Jake's free hand kept drifting out the window, cutting through the air. He hadn't seemed this drunk when we left.

"Guys, we didn't drive down a dirt road on our way here," I said.

"Yeah we did," said Harry. "At the house, ey?"

"That was their driveway." I enlarged the map and flipped the phone around for him to see. "That big splotch of trees? That's where the GPS puts us. There's no roads."

"It's the middle of nowhere. Of course there's no roads."

"Precisely, moron."

Jake made a sound—a gurgle-burp. Beer and vodka hit me. His eyes narrowed. "Bankstown? Where the hell is Bankstown? That's the second time I've seen that sign."

The car hit a divot and lurched right. Jake yanked the wheel and the car jerked back. The rear wheels slid, caught on a smooth patch of dirt, and hummed on.

Hadn't we already passed Bankstown? I remembered the sign too. Green and white. Metal. Filthy. I'd been too focused on Jake's driving to clock how far back it was. I returned to the map. If we'd really found an unmarked road, I had no idea where we were going. Deeper, I supposed. Further into the woods. Farther from people.

The car bounced as we hit a root, weeding itself into the dirt. The trees were encroaching on the road now. There was just enough space to pullover and let another car pass. With the window down, the gap was almost small enough for someone to reach out and grab your neck.

One of the trees had fallen over and Jake had to swerve around it. I jostled in my seat, finding the sensation oddly familiar. That’s another tree on the road. There hadn’t been a storm, had there? Autumn had been bone dry, soft far

Harry, somehow finding more alcohol in the backseat, lobbed an empty bottle out the window. It shattered against a metal post.

“Take that, Bankstown!” He flipped off the sign.

I grabbed Harry by the waist and tugged him back inside. A branch racketed off the window, barely missing his head.

“Idiot, you’re gonna take your head off doing that.” I yelled. Then, “Bankstown again? How far away?”

Harry shrugged. “Shwaz all scratched off.”

I tilted my head against the window and looked at the stars. I couldn’t read them, but it felt important to try. Look for the star signs you recognise. Follow the trees which have moss growing on their northern face—or was it south?

"We should stop," I said.

Malcolm caught a sneeze in his elbow. "What? No. It's freezing."

"We're lost. We've been driving on the same road for twenty minutes now. I could see Michelle's house from the main road. Now all I see are trees. Do any of you remember seeing trees?"

"No." Jake wetted his lips. "I don't recall any trees at all."

His face went sharp. He brought his other hand in and turned the wheel. The car slowed to a stop.

Harry opened the door and dropped to his knees in the wet grass. I patted his back. His shoulders hitched, then loosened. Brown, nose-burning puke spilled out.

"Get it all out, mate," I said.

Harry was usually our designated driver. I guess he took the opportunity to make up on all the lost drinks. Malcolm muttered something about people being sick making him sick and walked around to the other side.

"I'm gonna go piss," Malcolm said. He pinched his cardigan shut. "I suggest you all do the same. We're not stopping again."

I waved him off. "Thanks for contributing. Maybe you can read the map if it's so cold."

Jake stayed in the car fiddling with the dashboard. He turned a large dial. "What the hell's wrong with the radio?"

The radio hissed static. I strained to hear anything beneath it—maybe music, maybe a voice. I pushed my hair back and pressed my hand to my forehead. These idiots. All of them assuming I knew how to get them home. I'd never been here before. Jake was Michelle's friend. He should've known the way back.

"You've been here before, haven't you?" I said.

His eyes stayed on the dashboard. "I don't recognise anything. I thought you knew where we were going."

"I've been telling you I don't know where we are. You must have missed a turn. We left by the same gate."

Harry hurled another pint of beer. The radio kept cutting in and out—static, warbled voices, Jake pushing buttons. The motor idled. Cold nipped at my fingertips. I pulled them into my sleeve and sat with the door open, feet on the dirt.

Ahead of us, through the foliage, I could see another sign. The word Bankstown glowed white in the headlights. A long, silver scratch marked its right side. I'd seen that scratch before. Same sign. Same scratch. We were driving in circles.

A flock of birds flew from the tree tops. I buried my face in my hands. Jake and Harry were far too inebriated to help, and Malcolm was Malcolm. Pointing out everything wrong. Never helping. Wandering off on his own to go—

"Woah! Woah! Oh my god!" I jumped to my feet. Malcolm was running back toward the car, pointing behind him. "There's people here. Watching me piss." He dove into the back seat. "Get in. Go. For real—go!"

I grabbed Harry's collar and yanked him into the car. I turned back to the passenger door. Between two trees, the head of an iron axe retreated into the darkness. If it were just leaning there, I'd have assumed it was nothing. But it'd moved. It'd been hidden from view.

Jake disengaged the handbrake. I dropped into my seat and pulled the door shut. Jake floored it and the car lurched forward. The headlights caught a large, naked man with a bag over his head. Just standing there. Just watching us. I laughed—a short and stupid sound. We were on the wrong road, alright. The wrong road entirely.

"Go! Go!" Malcolm shouted.

Harry wriggled in his seat, half passed out. Jake floored it. Harry tumbled to the floor and got himself wedged between the seats. I turned to watch the masked man disappear in the dust. Before it swallowed him, I saw his leg step forward.

I checked the map one more time. It had us in the middle of Yarnsby River. I put my phone away. We just needed to drive. The road would take us somewhere.

"No. Uh-uh, no." Jake ducked toward the windshield. "Bankstown again? That's the same sign. It's the same fucking sign, Callum. Not the same type. The same sign. It's got a scratch on it, did you see?"

"No," I said. I'd seen the scratch. I'd seen it the time before that too. "Keep your eyes on the road."

The radio popped and static filled the car. My hands flew to my ears. Jake scrambled for the volume knob but it just kept spinning. Harry threw up over himself. Malcolm was on his knees at the back window.

"He's still there," Malcolm said. "He's not moving. He just keeps being there. Look—behind the sign."

I watched the Bankstown sign fade into the darkness. For a second, the ground caught the moonlight and a small shard lit up. A piece of a broken beer bottle. Harry stirred in the back. More bottles clicked together.

“Guys,” Jake yelled. Harry started asking what was going on. Malcolm pushed his head away. “Guys. When did we pass under a bridge?”

“We didn’t.” I said, looking out the front. Ahead of us a tall, stone bridge crossed the road. It tunneled through a section of mountain. “That’s new. We haven’t seen that before.”

The car jostled. My phone slid from my pocket.

"Shit." Jake turned the wheel hard.

I was thrown against the window. The car bumped into something and rolled over it. Malcolm screamed that we'd hit someone. Harry hawked phlegm onto the floor mats. My head went light. I didn't realise we'd stopped until Jake's door opened.

Jake's door flew open and he was pulled out. For a moment, I thought good. The cops were here—or a paramedic. Someone must have seen the crash.

"No—no!"

There was a wet crunch. Jake's body dropped. His head hovered where the hand held it. I reached back for the door handle.

Malcolm found his handle first and stumbled out. "We're sorry. We're sorry."

The masked man turned toward him. Malcolm's words broke apart and he ran into the woods. He'd forgotten all about the cold. He didn’t even bother to pick a direction.

I got my door open and dropped onto the dirt.

Behind me, Harry asked. "Mate, we stopped for a pisser, yeah?”

Fwump

Something small and ball shaped rolled against my shoes. I ripped at the roots and pulled myself to my feet. The archway loomed ahead. On the other side, a sign. Not the Bankstown sign. A new sign. Wauchope, 2kms on.

My knees ached from the crash. My face felt hot and puffy where it’d hit the airbag. I broke into a run.

“Sombody, help!”

The axe scraped on the pavement. Like he was spelling it out to me. I hit the tunnel’s shadow. Entered its cool darkness. The headlights cast shadows on the wall. Both of ours.

I heard another fwump.

The back of my neck split open. Heat trickled down my back. I remembered my dad, who’d raised chickens as a kid, telling me they could live a few minutes after losing their head. Maybe they didn’t know–couldn’t feel it once the connection was severed. I couldn’t feel mine but I kept running. My boot twisted on a rock. I found my footing in the next step.

I ran through the tunnel.

Out the other side.

A streetlight warmed the Wauchope sign. I turned back, feeling safer in the light. The man with the bag on his head was gone. There was just Jake’s car.

And what was left of Jake and Harry.

I didn't always live alone.

After Paul and I separated, I kept the house. A modest four-bedroom, mortgage paid off. Three months on and half his furniture was still piled in the living room, waiting for him to collect.

"How many times do I have to tell you," he'd yelled over a phone call. "I'll be back, you can count on that. And God help me if there's so much as a scratch."

I changed the locks the next morning. There was a lot I didn't know about Paul.

This was the first time I'd truly lived alone. No Paul, no flatmate. Just me and three empty bedrooms. Even in a gated neighbourhood, break-ins happened. I'd chewed my nails down to stubs over it.

I researched smart home technology. If I was doing this, I was going all the way. Smart bulbs, door sensors, automated security. I found a service that met all my needs and ordered with express delivery. It was all tied to one app that logged everything. Every light switched on, every door opened. Logged.

There was a shortage of security cameras. The packages would arrive within four to six weeks, they said. That was two months ago.

I'd have emailed the courier for an update, but I forgot all about it once I started skimming the logs.

I'd been having a problem. Lights would switch on in random rooms. The manual warned it might. But this was consistent. Daily.

I'd be eating a salad in the living room and the gap under the laundry door would light up. The laundry leads to a back door—a rat, possibly. Something had gotten in and was triggering the sensors.

Then it started happening more often. The laundry. The garage. Even the living room while I was cooking in the kitchen.

I opened the app to check the logs.

Bedroom Door – Opened – 2:14am

I stared at it for a long time. My bedroom has an ensuite—I don't leave the room at night.

Bedroom Door – Closed – 5:58am

Just before my alarm goes off.

False positives. That's all they are — same as the lights. I locked the bedroom door and called my lawyer, Greg Duggins.

"Are you sure he's still in San Francisco?" I asked.

"Yes, positive," said Duggins. "He'll be in the States for another week."

"Okay," I said. "If you say so."

I set the phone down on the bedside table and looked at the door. San Francisco. Right. I turned the handle once to make sure it was locked.

I returned to the app and scrolled further down the logs.

Laundry Door - Open - 11:00pm

Laundry Light - 11:01pm

Entryway Light - 11:03pm

Hallway Light - 11:03pm

Second-Floor Hallway Light - 11:04pm

From then until my bedroom door opened at 2:14am—nothing.

I called the cops to report a break-in.

While I waited, I kept looking at the timeline. What were they doing on the landing all that time? None of the rooms had their lights triggered. The only place to hide was the linen closet—but there was no space for anything other than a small critter. A rat, like I'd thought.

I chewed my lip and opened the bedroom door. The linen closet was within arm's reach. I reached for the handle—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Jesus."

I let go of the handle and rushed downstairs to let the police in.

"Afternoon, ma'am. We're responding to a call for a break-in."

"Yes, come in."

I showed them the logs. They agreed it was strange.

"Just me. New locks," I said.

"Well, there's no sign of forced entry, but there are a few scratch marks around the keyhole. If you've got a new lock, it's not uncommon to scratch the keyhole while your muscle memory adjusts."

"But it's possible someone broke in, right?"

"Well, the door was locked from the inside when we got here, so I doubt it," he said, chewing at his overgrown moustache. "Show us the rooms and we'll have a look over. Ease your mind."

I showed them all the rooms on the first floor, and the bedrooms on the second floor. There wasn't much for them to do—they noted the break-in and advised me to follow up on getting those cameras installed.

I dusted Paul's junk and made dinner. I didn't eat much—just poked at my food, scrolling through my contacts. I had four friends who would pack an overnight bag and be here within an hour, but I hadn't spoken with any of them since the divorce. They'd bring up Paul. And all I wanted was to forget about him and all his shit he kept promising to pick up.

I locked up and went to bed. After an hour of flipping my pillow to the cool side I gave up and checked the logs. No new alerts. Part of me wished I'd never installed the app. I'd be sound asleep by now.

To calm myself down, I opened Google and started browsing apartments in my area. Units–suites. Something with a lobby and a night guard.

Light flashed under my bedroom door.

A notification blipped on my phone.

Second-Floor Hallway Light - 10:58pm

I gripped the bedsheets.

"Hello?"

The light switched off.

For a second, I thought I'd seen two shadows, spaced about a shoe-length apart.

I refreshed the page. No new logs. No other lights triggered.

I got out of bed and pressed my ear against the door. Nothing. I used the app to turn on the hallway lights and looked under the gap. The shadows were gone.

"No one is there," I told myself.

If someone were there, they'd be in the hallway—I'd see their feet—or they'd have gone to another room, which would have triggered the light. The only other area on the second floor was—

The linen closet.

An arm's reach from my door.

Did I ever check it?

I gripped the bedroom door handle. Open, reach, grab, open.

I cracked open the bedroom door—

Bzzt.

"Fuck." I slammed it shut.

Bedroom Door – Opened – 11:05pm

"Idiot."

I opened the bedroom door and peered through the crack. Floorboards. Wall. No shadows. I opened it further, looking at the linen closet.

Grab, open. That's all. Then I can go to bed.

I gripped the handle.

"I've got a gun and I'll shoot," I lied.

No answer. I'd been hoping there would be one—then I wouldn't have to open the door.

"Alright, it's your funeral."

I ripped open the closet door.

Sheets. Blankets. A vacuum cleaner.

A gap next to the vacuum that hadn't been there before. I looked closer. Something wet pooled in the corner. I sniffed the air. Ammonia—urine.

Light beamed up the staircase.

Hallway Light - 11:07pm

A shadow moved down it. Quick steps echoed off the walls.

Entryway Light - 11:07pm

Laundry Light - 11:08pm

Laundry Door - Open - 11:08pm

My heart was in my throat. I moved toward the noise—as if I'd convinced myself I really did have a gun.

I stopped at the landing. "Hey. I saw you."

I went down. All the lights were still on. Paul's furniture cast long shadows across the living room. The shade on his lamp turned slowly.

Both laundry doors were open. I could see through to the side yard.

They'd left.

I stood in the laundry doorway and looked out at the side yard. My phone burned in my hand. I'd been squeezing it.

No way of knowing who was in my home.

I moved to close the door. The smell hit me again—stronger. I looked back toward the stairs—to the linen closet, right outside my bedroom. I hadn't checked it earlier. I had my hand on the handle…

I thought about the hours where nothing had triggered.

The time I spent lying in bed.

The time they spent crouched in the linen closet. Right outside my door.

Listening.

Waiting for me to go to sleep.

Have you ever told your child to go play somewhere else?

They tug at your clothes while you're making dinner. They chant your name while you're sorting through bills. They poke and prod you, suckling on your attention.

So you tell them to go play somewhere else. Just for a bit, until you're done. It’s not even a decision. Its just something that slips out.

Go play in your room.

Go watch TV.

Go outside.

Staying late in the office on a Friday night, stirring sugar into my tasteless paper cup of coffee, I groaned as Tyler knocked over another stack of papers.

“Can you please sit?” I said.

He pulled a face, like I’d blown out his birthday candles. “But I’m bored.”

I took a breath and, for a moment, just listened to the office. The steady churn of the printer from finance. The dull clank of tools in the service hatch where the elevator technicians were working. The low hum of a vacuum somewhere down the hall.

“Mommy’s working, sweetie,” I said, crouching to gather the papers. “Just a little longer and then we can go home.”

“But when?”

“The less I’m interrupted, the quicker I can finish.”

“You said we’d play hide and seek.”

“That was before I knew I was working late.”

“But you promised.”

“We can still play later—”

“But you promised!”

“Tyler,” I said, a little sharper than I meant to. “Keep your voice down. There are other people here.”

His face crumpled, right on the edge of tears.

I softened a little. “I promise. I’ll be done soon. We’ll play when we get home. You’ll just have to find something to do until then.”

He hesitated, watching me like he was waiting for me to give in. Then he turned and wandered off between the empty desks.

I stretched my fingers and opened another spreadsheet. One more. I’d be finished by eight o’clock. If the shops were still open, I’d pick up a rotisserie chicken and some bread rolls for an easy dinner.

For a while, I worked in a flow. Numbers, tables, formulas. The soft tap of keys marching me forward like a conductor.

The elevator techs’ toolbelts rattled as they walked around the office.

The hum of the vacuum lowered to a dull drone.

Doors clicked shut as the last of the managers filtered out for the night.

I’d only been distracted once—by a loud thud that rattled my desk—but I’d chalked it up to a car hitting the wall in the underground parking. It’d happened before.

An hour passed before I looked away from my screen.

“Tyler?” I called.

No answer, but that wasn’t unusual. He liked to explore.

I stood up, stretching. He was probably under a desk or rifling through the stationery cabinet for anything he could use as a toy.

I walked over to the desks where he’d been playing. I crouched, checking underneath them. “Come out, Tyler. Mommy’s not playing.”

I straightened, a small knot forming in my chest. He wasn’t there.

I checked the manager’s office next, even though I knew it would be locked. The handle didn’t move.

He must have gone down the hall.

I walked faster, heels tapping against the linoleum floor as I crossed into finance. He might’ve come to investigate the sounds of the printer… but their department was just as empty. No Tyler. No printers running. The office had fallen almost silent once the cleaners had gone home.

“Tyler,” I said, a little sharper this time. “That’s enough.”

Voices drifted from the break room. For a moment, relief flickered in my chest, but it was just the two elevator technicians standing by the sink, filling their bottles, heads bent over a sheet of paper.

“Sorry,” I said. “Have you seen my son walk by in the past hour?”

They shook their heads.

“No, ma’am. We’ve been here the whole time.”

I passed through the break room, wondering if he’d gone all the way downstairs to the lobby. He knew better than that, but knowing didn’t always mean doing as he was told.

Before I placed my foot on the first step, a red and white sign fixed on the service hatch door caught my eye.

Danger: Confined Space. Enter by Permit Only.

The elevator technicians were still talking behind me. Their tool bag lay on the floor.

The wooden cover was shut.

I stepped closer. The keys were still in the lock.

I swallowed. He wouldn’t have come in here. He had no reason to.

You said we’d play hide and seek.

I stared at the hatch—at the keys dangling from the lock.

I expected the wooden cover to be heavy, but I could lift it with one hand.

But you promised!

I stood before the open hatch, recalling the thud that had shaken my desk.

The car that had bumped the wall—the sound stirring up from somewhere far, down below.

I’d parked on the street. The cleaners and elevator techs too—all the after-hours services did.

Because the underground parking lot was closed at this hour.

We’ll play when we get home. You’ll just have to find something to do until then.

I didn’t want to look inside.

But I did.

And I screamed.

At 8PM, the automatic doors slid open, and a kid with a snotty nose wandered into the pharmacy alone. It was a Thursday, which meant late night shopping. The store wouldn’t close for another hour. I didn’t find it too strange. My mum had been an avid smoker and would burn through two or three cigarettes while I ran off and explored.

I was stocking bottles of Blackmore vitamins in the lifestyle aisle, and his presence caught me off guard. To tell the truth, vitamin prices were getting insane, and I’d taken to swiping a bottle or two, then fudging the sheets. The kid just stared at me and after a stretch of silence, trying to determine whether or not he understood what he saw, he simply said,

“Hello.”

“Uh, hi.” I replied

“What are you doing?”

He seemed like a polite kid, so I explained what vitamins were and why our bodies needed them. He stuck by my side while I refilled the shelves, and after a while I started handing him a few containers. Kids jump at the chance to feel useful.

“Mind putting this down the bottom there?”

He read the label. “Does fish oil taste like fish fingers?”

"Not at all. Want to try?" I asked, jokingly. I wouldn't actually give a kid medication he wasn't meant to have, even if it were harmless.

"I can't swallow tablets," he said, turning red.

At 9PM, the only sound was the hum of fluorescent lights. Everybody had left–gone home to their families. Everyone, except the kid. He still followed me up and down the aisle, asking questions. I had work to do–needed to lock the doors. But I couldn’t just send him outside in the dark.

"Where are your parents?" I asked. It had been a full hour by now.

"Bargo."

I’ve lived here for seven years, and I hadn't heard of a town called Bargo.

"Where's that?"

"Virginia."

That was two states over.

"Kid, who are you here with?"

“Dave. He’s my uncle?”

“Yeah. That’s what you call your mum or dad’s brother,” I said. "Is he here? Is he parked somewhere nearby?"

The kid shook his head. By this point, I was a little frustrated with him. He looked about 6 years old–maybe as old as 8.

"Does Dave have a number?"

"I'm not supposed to use the phones."

I sighed, knowing what I’d have to do next. If no one showed up by 9:30PM, I’d have to contact the police. Wait for them to show up–and how long would that be? Nights are busier for cops. That’s when people stumbled home from the bar and got into trouble. 

After about 20 more minutes, a portly, mid-forties man in a red sweater pulled up to the store window and was looking inside.

"Callum? Callum, are you there?" he called.

I went to the front and unlocked the door, Callum in tow.

The man gripped my hand. "Thank god for you, sir. I almost had a heart attack. His parents would kill me if they knew where he was."

"He's a good kid, I'm glad I could help." I said, and I had enjoyed my time with Callum. He reminded me of myself when I was a kid, but softer in his curiosity.

The man put his arm around Callum's neck and yanked him into a hug. "He's a little nervous when he thinks he’s low on his prescription meds. I keep telling him we still have a whole sleeve of tablets left at home."

Callum and his uncle left together in his car. The man had seemed so kind, but as he opened the door for Callum he smacked the back of his head.

It wasn't until I was twisting the key in the padlock, closing down the store, that the thought occurred to me. Callum couldn't swallow tablets.