The last piece of wood splintered in Sarah's hands as she ripped it clear of the fireplace. She sat back on the floor and brushed her hands together.

"There. That's that done. Now, let's see what we're dealing with in here."

Peering into the open space, the black surround was nothing to get excited about. The dirty, brass fireguard was still intact and a large pile of ash and small coals remained in the bottom of the hearth. She leaned forwards and yanked on the handle of the ash collection tray, under the guard. It pulled out smoothly without spilling the contents.

After taking out the tray and dumping the contents in a corner of the garden, she returned to the living room to group together the cast off boarding and nails and brought them outside too.

On her next trip into the room she did a double take and almost tripped over herself at the state of the fireplace.

The brick surround was clear of dust and soot. The brass of the grate had become shiny and the back had been brushed clear of blackened ash, now showing a dull, matte brown.

"What the..!"

She kneeled down and ran her fingers lightly over the guard, it felt cold and smooth. She scratched her head. Was it a trick of the light? Had it always been this way and now that the daylight had got to it she was seeing it properly for the first time?

Her stomach gave a loud, bubbling groan and she realised that she hadn't eaten since this morning. Checking her wristwatch, the time was half past seven. Distracted away from her questions by her hunger, she got up and went to make herself some dinner.

Once she'd filled up on tomato pasta, she set the dishes in the sink next to the mug Luke had been holding on Saturday morning. She smiled at the memory of his socks with tucked in pyjamas that morning in the fields.

As she did the washing up, the light through the window started to deepen in its reddish sunset. Clara had always loved the sunsets. Here across the flat fen lands the sky gave an immense display of layers of colour.

It was at sunset that Luke had found Clara sitting on the steps of the hay barn at his farm all those years ago.

Of course Clara had told her best friend every single detail of her moment of lust with Duncan's friend. It had kind of crept up on Clara without her knowledge. She said that she felt sorry for the way Luke's brother treated him and that she thought he was super-hot. Also that after being fired up from her first couple of experiences with Duncan, her body was itching for more. Sarah had given her comment on the reason why Clara had done it - as a replacement for the lack of love from her mother. The closeness of sex, the total absorption of senses and skin. That was Sarah's take for the betrayal, but she secretly thought it could have been Clara's over compensation for her friend's hidden sexuality.

Clara had sworn her friend to secrecy, making her cross her heart and hope to die if she ever told anyone about her encounter with Luke. Even now, Sarah actually would rather die than let on to Luke that she knew, or far worse, tell Duncan.

Sarah and Clara had snuck into her bedroom and locked the door while Clara went over the event. Sarah had committed the image to memory and it often popped up at the most inconvenient times while she was in Luke's company.

Clara had told her that he'd been crouching down in front of her, then he'd brushed the hair from her face and looked deep into her eyes. He'd been working with the sheep all day and was fresh from a shower, smelling of soap and body spray. His fingers were rough on the surface but soft and gentle in intent. Clara hadn't been able to resist his lips, moist and waiting. She had just wanted to be engulfed by him. Wrapped completely by his body, taken and held.

Clara had slid her body closer to his, feeling the heat between them. She had put a hand on his chest, his heart thumping under her touch. Feeling his hard muscle underneath. Then she had kissed him. Not the passionate, tongue filled force as she'd experienced with Duncan, but an electric, tender touch of lips upon lips.

Luke had picked her up while she wrapped her legs around his waist and, still kissing, they had moved into the haybarn. As he had carried her over to a corner behind the bales, she had unbuttoned the front of her dress - desperate to feel skin on skin. He had knelt down with Clara still wrapped around him and they had quickly undressed each other. She had helped him to enter her, guiding his novice attempts.

She'd told Sarah, who was still a virgin at that point in time, that it hadn't lasted for very long. But that Luke had been very passionate and had known enough to have given her an orgasm. Afterwards they'd both felt extremely awkward and Clara had sworn Luke to go against his better judgement and keep it quiet from Duncan.

Sarah often wondered what it would be like to be on the receiving end of Luke's love-making. Would they be the same together? Or would the experience be similar to the fumbled, rash, heated passion of the time in the car with Duncan?

Finishing up in the kitchen, she looked out the window just in time to catch a glimpse of a fox, stealthily padding across the garden. It paused and stared up at Sarah, frozen in mid step with its front paw raised. She smiled and took in all the details of this animal's beautiful fur. The reflection of the kitchen interior, and Sarah herself, interfered with the outside view. Blending the two images into one.

For a moment it seemed that Sarah's hair and torso were surrounded by a mist of flame. Fox red. She shook her head, the movement scaring the fox away.

**********
Duncan crouched down on his haunches, his elbows on his knees, his hands pressing against the floor. The faint, weird vibration continued to pulse through the floorboards, sending little shock waves through his body.

He had lost all track of time and had no idea how long he'd been trapped here, watching the little boy appear before him, rush across the room, jump on the bed and stare out the window, but the sunset never changed.

I'm definitely going nuts, he thought as he sat on his bottom, bringing up his knees and hugging them.

As he did so, something shifted in the scene. The boy no longer moved from the bed. Instead, the child stood with his palms pressed against the window, a hum of music, like a brass band, played somewhere in the distance outside.

The music steadily became louder, as if the band were moving closer in the street below. Duncan saw pieces of brightly coloured confetti float past the window. There were strings of Union Jack bunting stretching from house to house.

The boy started bouncing up and down on the bed, giggling with excitement. As clear as day, Duncan heard him call out;
"Daddy! He's here. Mummy come and look. "

Duncan pushed himself up off the floor and attempted to force his feet to move closer. It was like he was stuck in a pit of quicksand, unable to move. Pins and needles pricked all the way down his legs and through his feet. Unexplainable tears were gathering at the corner of his eyes, bubbles of liquid which caused his vision to blur, as if he were looking into a goldfish bowl.

The little boy no longer replayed his run across the room, instead he repeated the bouncing and calling with the same few bars of music coming through the window.

Finally, Duncan's limbs accepted the connection with his nervous system and paid attention to the messages from his brain. He lifted his left knee, his foot raising from the floor. It felt like he was detached from his own body, watching his leg rise and move like a robot.

As his left foot set down one pace forward, his body lurched in an exaggerated motion to allow the right leg to follow. What is this? Puppet master playtime?

Those few bars of music, again and again, a crescendo of trumpets, tubas and clarinets, the tune becoming annoying like a record stuck in a groove.

His legs wouldn't stop. He realised with growing horror that now they had decided to work they were taking him closer to the bouncing boy! In rapid, jerky steps. He felt like he was trapped in a shell of mechanical parts. Christ! I can't stop.

A shiver of wind flew through the air from the window and the scene froze in time. The band no longer played. The boy no longer bounced. Duncan didn't move.

Only once had he come close to this kind of terror, the Ouija board moment with Sarah and Luke in that front bedroom. The time when they had thrown the game at the open window. The time when they had seen her there...

Duncan focused his cloudy eyes on the boy. Was this all in his imagination? Was it only one of those stupid, horrible waking dreams when everything seemed real but wasn't? He prayed that this was the case and he was going to wake up on the sofa, sweating and panting like an idiot, but he had a feeling that wasn't about to happen.

The boy kneeled down on the bed. Placing his hands on the window again. This time all he sighed was,
"Daddy."

Duncan was almost close enough to reach across the foot of the bed and touch the boy's shoulder. He could see tears running down the apparition's cheeks. The tone of the child's voice was sorrowful and tugged at Duncan's heart.
"Daddy."

The little boy slowly turned his head to Duncan. He stared full into the young man's eyes, as if he could actually see him there. Duncan caught his breath.

An expression of anger flooded the boy's face, red cheeks blazing in the sunset. Rage set in where tears had stood in his eyes. The next time he spoke a deep, guttural voice of a grown man said the word;
"Duncan."

Duncan fell backwards onto the floor. He grasped at his chest, shocked to the bone. The little boy smiled, baring his teeth and blood red gums.

Once again he jumped from the bed and this time ran back towards the phantom kitchen wall. He turned back to look at Duncan lying on the floor. When he spoke his voice had returned to that of a child's.
"Daddy's not coming home."

The boy smiled once more and his image faded away.

Duncan began to breathe easier as he watched the room gradually return to its normality. The curtains, the sofa, the kitchen, the feeling.

He crawled on all fours to the breakfast bar and fumbled around for his phone. Resting his hot forehead on the cool concrete of the kitchen divide, he dialed the only person who could make any sense of what he'd just been through. Sarah Laker.