Tucked up in bed, Hannie couldn’t stop thinking about the woods. How it felt to be out there, alone in the dark.

She could hear her parents murmuring downstairs. They had been so worried, her mother said when she came in with the tray of hot tea and toast. She certainly seemed happy to have Hannie home, as she fluffed the pillows, smoothed down the duvet and clutched Hannie’s small pink hand between her own.

But in spite of the warm welcome, and the comfort of her big soft bed, Hannie was starting to feel an itch. Go back, a voice in her head was whispering. There was a tingling that started in her toes and hummed along her limbs.

Like a sleepwalker, she peeled away the covers and got up out of bed. From the window, she could see the woods, awash with shadows. Go back, the voice said again. Hannie’s fingers gripped the window sill. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against the cool glass. There was something moving down there. A dark shape. It moved again. Two burning eyes stared up at her.