I’ve got a good plan. When the door opens next time, I’m going to watch for that hairy skull and smash it with the kettle. Then I’ll run for my life and everything will be normal again. But it’s not a very good plan. What if I’m no good at killing? What if I die instead? I’m not very strong and this isn’t a made-up adventure story in a book. This is me. My life. My nightmare.

Although I don’t really have the nightmares in my sleeps any more. And I’ve slept a lot of times since I’ve been here; millions of sleeps, it feels like, though it’s probably not that many. No, the nightmares come to me during the day now, when I’m awake – knowing that I’m never going to see my family again or go to school or stroke Goose the dog or splash in the sea or bake a cake with Claire; not being able to choose my own clothes in a shop or ride my bike or play on the farm, even if I was always getting into accidents. Or adventures, as I told Mummy to make her not worry. But this is the worst adventure ever.

They always said that if I stayed good, then nothing bad would ever happen.

I must have been really, really bad, then.

Since then I’ve tried to be good, even better than good, so I can get out. I’ve even eaten the food that’s brought for me though some of it tastes worse than school dinners. I’d really like a school dinner now and I’d even sit still in history lessons and remember all the battle dates. My teacher called me a fidget. I wouldn’t be one of those any more.

I scream and yell for hours, but no one ever hears me.

I fall asleep, and when I wake, I make myself a sandwich. The bread is dry and dusty with green stuff. Before long, I hear familiar sounds – all that clattering and unlocking. Finally, the door swings open. I get ready to pounce, holding the heavy old kettle high above my head. But then those eyes… the way they look at me. I lower the kettle slowly and allow the breeze coming in to wash over my face instead, breathing it in. The hug squeezes the air from me.

‘Why are you eating lunch at night?’

‘Because I didn’t know it was night,’ I say, feeling stupid.

It reminds me of what Claire and Jason and I once did. It was just for fun and we called it our upside-down day. I know they only did it to amuse me because I was the youngest, not because they fancied eating pie and mash for breakfast. Mum didn’t grumble, but Dad kicked up a fuss because Jason was meant to be helping him clean out the barn. We ate our dinner at eight in the morning and then watched telly and went back to bed. But I never really slept and we were all up after a couple of hours. The plan was to eat porridge for supper and then stay awake all night. Jason liked the idea because it meant he could lounge around all day in his pyjamas and not help Dad.

When we got hungry at midday, Mum made us a tray of treats, telling us it was a midnight feast when really we all knew it was lunch. By midnight, I was a bit confused. Claire said we had to go outside to play. When we ventured into the dark yard, we saw a real live owl hooting in the tree beside the log store. We stopped in our tracks – all dressed up for daytime even though it was night – and listened to the bird’s spooky whoo-whoo, all dishy-eyed and wise. He was laughing at us.

‘Come on, Len.’ Claire dragged me by the sleeve. I was scared because it was so dark, even though I knew Mum was watching me through the window. She never let me out of her sight.

‘Do you think there are prowlers about?’ I asked, as Jason picked up a big stick.

‘No, silly. You’re such a baby.’

‘Am not. I’m nearly twelve. Practically a teenager.’ Everyone at school called me a baby, and that new girl was mean to me because I wore shoes with Velcro fasteners because I couldn’t do my laces. She laughed that my skirt wasn’t short like theirs. Mum said to ignore them. Dad told me to punch her and taught me how to make a fist. I didn’t do either.

‘Claire,’ I said, as she pushed me on the swing. The night whooshed through my ears. ‘Do you think I could swing by myself?’

‘You won’t be able to,’ she said, stepping aside. ‘You’ll just get your legs tangled again and fall off like last time.’ I kicked out my legs like I’d seen other kids do, but it never worked. I slowed down to a wobbling stop. Then Jason called out, so I leapt off.

‘Look at this,’ he said. I ran to the edge of the pond. ‘It’s having an upside-down day too.’ He was poking a spiky ball with the tip of his stick.

‘It’s a hedgehog,’ Claire said. ‘They always have upside-down days. They’re nocturnal.’ It was all curled up with only its grey-brown spikes showing. Jason rolled it along with the stick.

‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘It’ll be frightened. It’s only a baby.’

A baby, I thought, deciding that’s what I needed to do at school when those kids were mean. Curl up into a ball like the hedgehog. Though I didn’t have any spikes.