Roy Finch swung around and around in his chair. He’d never done a night shift before and he quickly realised why - because it was so incredibly deadly dull. Nothing ever happened except the occasional cat strutting along or an accidental car alarm so all he did was watch the street lamps get brighter or note down the cats he saw. But all this made everything all the more suspicious when a young boy turned up on London Road at 11:00pm.

Roy stopped swinging and fixed his eyes on the small boy of perhaps eleven or twelve. He was wearing a Boy Scouts uniform and holding a huge kayak paddle with David’s paddle written in massive letters. He had never seen this boy before or in fact anyone around this late. He turned the corner off the camera and onto another screen. Of course nothing was going to happen, he probably got a really late train and eleven wasn’t too late after all.

He grew impatient and bored and began swizzling around in his chair again munching on a doughnut despite knowing that he’d had plenty that day and watching the news.

Suddenly he noticed the kayak paddle splayed out in the street adjacent to London Road and right in the corner and foot that was laid on the ground and being dragged away quickly into the darkness.

Roy Finch was the last person to see the boy alive but the weirdest part was that no ones knew a boy called David who went to Boy Scouts and not a single family came forward to mourn him and the body was never found. Sometimes when Roy did the nightshift he would glimpse something one time it was a Boy Scouts hat, the next a rucksack with David written on it and occasionally the paddle again.

Then one night as he watched the news, a story came up about a body being found of a boy aged around eleven in a river that dated all the way back to the 1920s. Roy froze and his camera screens went black.