The Hunter has left the boy behind; the one who tried to fight, even when his weak body was already dying. It was an exciting chase, briefly, but now the boy lies dead, and another victim awaits.

The Hunter begins to lay its path. It cannot smell, but it does not need to. Its victims leave trails stronger than any scent. Their own power is their undoing, calling the Hunter to them.

But something is different this time. The trail is confused. It flickers, coming and going too swiftly to follow. Something is hiding this one. Maybe this boy-child is even trying to hide himself.

Ah . . .

The Hunter cannot smile without borrowing a human face, but it feels the pleasure that goes with a smile. A challenge! It is time for the real chase to begin.

It is still hungry.

It didn’t seem possible that this was just another school day, as ordinary as any other. Same old steam on the cottage windowpanes, same old open fire in the grate, same old Gran frying eggs on the gas ring. Callum cupped one hand round his mug of tea, slowly stirring sugar into it with the other, and listened to the bored tones of the radio announcer relaying the morning’s news.

‘The mutilated body of a teenage boy has been discovered in a residential area of South London. The boy’s identity has not been released, but the violent nature of the death tallies with a number of murders reported in recent weeks in Newcastle, Glasgow, Birmingham, and two undisclosed rural locations in Wales and the south-west . . .’