The monster stops. Its eyes narrow. It looks round my bedroom uncertainly. Then slowly, smoothly, it withdraws, pulling back into the panel of light, vanishing gradually until only its red eyes remain, staring out at me from within the surrounding blueness, twin circles of an unspoken evil. Then they're gone too and I'm alone again, just me and the light.
I should be wailing for help, running for my life, cowering on the floor. But instead my fingers relax and my fist unclenches. I'm facing the panel of blue light, staring at it like a zombie transfixed by a fresh human brain, distantly processing information. Normally, the patches of light are transparent, but I can't see through this one. If I look round it, there's my bedroom wall, a chest of drawers, toys and socks scattered across the floor. But when I look directly at the light, all I see is blue.
The voice says something crazy to me. I know it's madness as soon as it speaks. I want to argue, roar at it, tell it to get stuffed. But, as scared and confused as I am, I can't disobey. I find my legs tensing. I know, with sick certainty, what's going to happen next. I open my mouth to scream, to try and stop it, but before I can, a force makes me step forward - after the monster, into the light. Next thing I know, I'm on the floor of my bedroom, my baby brother Art cradled to my chest. Mum and Dad are shouting at me, crying, poking and clutching me. Dad gently takes Art from my arms. Mum crouches beside me and hugs me hard, weeping over my bald skull. She's moaning, calling my name over and over, asking where I've been, what happened, if I'm all right. Dad's staring at me like I've got two heads, only looking away to check on Art, his expression one of total bewilderment.
There's no panel of blue light. No monster. And no memory of what happened when I stepped through after the snake-hearted creature.
I learn that I've been missing for several days. Mum and Dad thought I'd been kidnapped, or wandered out and got lost. The police have been searching for me. They put my photo in newspapers and questioned all the people who knew me. Mum and Dad were frantic. Mum keeps weeping, saying she thought I was dead, that she'd lost another of her babies. I don't like the way she refers to me as a baby, but this isn't the time to correct her!
I can't remember what happened. Up to the moment I took that step forward into the blue light - total recall. After that - nothing.
Mum and Dad don't believe me. They think I'm lying or in shock. They ply me with hot chocolate in our kitchen and quiz me ruthlessly, sometimes gently, sometimes harshly, neither of them in complete control of themselves. They pass Art back and forth, asking me questions about how he ended up with me. I guess he must have gone missing too, after I did.
"Can I hold Art?" I ask, during a brief lull in the questioning.
Mum passes him to me, watching us suspiciously, perhaps afraid we'll go missing again. I had a younger sister once - Annabella. She died when she was a baby. I can't remember much about her - I was only four. But I'll never forget Mum and Dad's tears, the misery, the loss I sensed in the air around me. I wasn't much more than a baby myself, but I knew something terrible had happened, and I could see how upset Mum and Dad were. I guess they never really got over that. It's only natural that they're more upset and worried now than most parents would be.
I bounce Art up and down on my knee, cooing to him, telling him everything's OK. "You're my little brother. I'll look after you. It's fine." He doesn't take much notice. He looks more sleepy than afraid. Too young to catch the bad vibes.
Mum and Dad stare at each other wordlessly then leave us alone for a while, going out into the corridor to discuss the situation. They don't shut the door behind them, and call out to me whenever I stop talking to Art, making sure we're still here.
They let me go to bed at one in the morning. Their faces are strained and red. Mum tucks me in and lets Art sleep beside me. She rubs his face tenderly as she pulls the blanket up around him. Starts to cry again. Dad tugs her away, kisses me, then takes Mum back to their bedroom, leaving me and Art to sleep.
I wake in the middle of the night. Mum and Dad are arguing. I don't know what about. Mum's saying, "Let's give it a few days. Watch. Wait. If nobody says anything, or looks for him..." Dad shouts, "You're crazy! We can't! It's wrong! What if the police...?"
I drift back to sleep.
Morning. More questions. Mum sits Art on her lap and feeds him, smiling and laughing wildly every time he gurgles at her. It's a good job I'm not jealous of my little brother as she hardly notices I'm here.
Dad's upset. He keeps glaring at Mum and Art. Throws more questions at me. Tries to help me unlock my memories. Asks me to take him through the night I vanished, step by step. I tell him I was in my bedroom, I was playing and that's all I remember. I don't mention the lights or the monster. The inner voice that spoke to me that night tells me not to. Says I'd only get into more trouble if I told the truth.
"Did you go to bed?" Dad asks.
"No."
"Did someone come into the room?"
"No."
"Was there somebody at the window?"
A pause while I think back. "No."
"What about... Art? Can you remember where... how you got him?"
"No."
He curses and tugs at his hair with both hands. Looks at Mum and Art again. Mum stares back at him sternly, holding Art against her like a shield. I don't know what her look means, but I'm glad she's not looking at me that way - her eyes are scary!
Dad phones the police and they come round. He sits with me while they ask lots of questions. Mum stays in their bedroom with Art. Dad said there was no need to talk about Art with the police. It would only complicate things. Since Art's too young to tell them anything, they want to focus on what happened to me.
I tell the police the same things I told Mum and Dad. The police are nice. They talk softly, make jokes, tell me stories about other kids who were lost or kidnapped. They want to know if I remember anything, even the smallest detail, but my mind is a complete blank. I keep apologising for not being able to tell them anything more, but they don't lose patience. They're much calmer than Mum and Dad.
I don't go back to school. Mum and Dad keep me in. Won't even let me go out to the park. Things feel strange and awkward. It's like when Annabella died. Lots of crying, sorrow and uncertainty. But it's different. There's fear too. Mum's especially edgy. Hardly lets go of Art. Snaps at Dad a lot of the time. I often find her shaking and crying when she doesn't think I'll notice.
Days pass. The police come back, but they're not too worried. The most important thing is that I'm safe and back home. They recommend a good psychiatrist to Dad, and suggest he takes me to see her, to try and figure out what happened to me. Dad says he will, but I remember what Mum was like when Miss Tyacke suggested a psychiatrist all those years ago. I'm sure I won't be going for counselling.
That night they have a huge row. Mum's screaming and cursing. I'm in my room with Art. They think we can't hear them, but we can. I'm scared. I even cry a bit, holding Art tightly, not sure why they're behaving this way. Art's not bothered. He gurgles happily in my arms and tries biting a hole through the new bib that Dad bought yesterday.