“I was one of the first,” he muttered sadly, following her gaze.

“A life lived in fear is a life half lived. A life half lived is fear lived in half. A life half feared is fear half lived.”

Some people have a way with words, but Hoffman wasn’t one of them.

“What exactly is the Scissor-man?” asked Mrs. Hoffman, who found the idea of characters from cautionary tales made flesh and blood a little strange, as well she might.

“We call them PDRs,” explained Mary. “Persons of Dubious Reality. Refugees from the collective consciousness. Uninvited visitors who have fallen through the grating that divides the real from the written. They arrive with their actions hardwired due to their repetitious existence, and the older and more basic they are, the more rigidly they stick to them. Characters from cautionary tales are particularly mindless. They do what they do because it’s what they’ve always done—and it’s our job to stop them.”

“Are you sure the Nursery Crime Division is up to it?” Mrs. Hoffman added, mirroring a strongly felt suspicion within the community that the regular force wasn’t taking their concerns seriously.

“Of course,” replied Mary confidently. “Only two months ago we successfully detained a ghoulie, a ghostie and a long-legged beastie.”

“And the bump in the night?” asked Mr. Hoffman anxiously.

“What about that?”

“Ah,” returned Mary, scratching her chin thoughtfully, “no, the bump got away—but I’m sure you would agree a seventy-five percent success rate in that particular operation was a very good result indeed.”

Constables Charlie Baker and Gretel Brown-Horrocks were waiting in the back garden, covering the house from the potting shed in case the Scissor-man came from that direction. Unlike Ashley, Mary and Jack, Baker and Gretel were occasional members of the NCD, brought in only when the need arose. Baker had been designated a D-minus in “public social skills” owing to his acute hypochondria and was used only for internal duties within the Reading Central police station.