As they approached the road that led to their house, Frank saw Cindy visibly relax. Improbably, the horror of the afternoon, the harrowing impact of it, was already beginning to fade.

As he pulled onto the driveway, Frank closed his eyes, trying to remember the unfurling arm, the fingers extending towards his son. The image was still there but the degree of terror it had previously evoked had started to shift, to mutate into something almost manageable.

He opened his eyes and saw his family walking down the drive. A shadow stretched across them, cast by the comfort of home.

* * *

Much later Frank would look back on the next thirty minutes and repeatedly analyze every last detail he could recall. He was hoping to find something anomalous, something he had missed, but his memory of what happened that afternoon was no more exceptional than the actual event. He’d seen it a hundred times with a hundred different kids on TV. And each time it made him want to weep.

Every day he remembered the arm. Reaching for Jake through the trees. He pictured it stretching through the city, like a comedy prop, bending round corners, surging forward, looking for the boy it had touched. The boy it had forged a connection with. The boy it had no intention of letting go.

When Frank’s life changed and his son was stolen, he had already been warned. But he had disregarded the darkness. And the darkness, as is so often the case, had come back…

* * *

They entered the house and all three of them automatically headed for the kitchen. Cindy filled the kettle. Frank sat down and unfolded the newspaper. Jake was looking through the patio doors at the garden.

Frank saw him hold the doll up to his ear before turning to his mother.

“Joey wants to see my den,” he said. “The one Daddy made for me out there.” He pointed through the glass.

Cindy made to open the patio doors and Frank looked up from the paper.

“I’m not sure−”

Cindy stared at him. She looked exhausted. “Let’s get things back to normal, shall we? You’ll just be in the garden, won’t you, Jake?”

The boy nodded and ran outside laughing. He was flying Joey through the air like a superhero. Frank smiled and looked apologetically at Cindy.

Neither of them would ever see Jake again.

The next half hour passed uneventfully. Frank read the newspaper. Cindy completed a cycle of washing and prepared a salad for tea. Neither of them can remember the point at which Jake’s customary racket outside ceased. They remember hearing him run and laugh and play; and then they don’t. That’s how quickly it fell apart.

After thirty minutes, Cindy called in Jake for his tea. There was no response. She went to the patio door and called again. This time she noticed the silence.

“Can you go down to that den of yours and drag Jake away from his new playmate?” she said. She looked untroubled, Frank remembered later.