Michael always had, what could best be described, as an overactive imagination. He was always regaling us with some story about this or that. Magic and mysteries were his forte. Once he believed that the action figures in his bedroom were coming to life during the night while he slept. Another time, he was convinced that Mr and Mrs Wood, the elderly couple who lived opposite our modest terraced house, were practicing witchcraft. He was convinced they were brewing potions and lotions for some nefarious deeds undertaken after dark, out of sight from his watchful eye. This notion was only reinforced when our cat Lucky (perhaps poorly named) disappeared one stormy evening in October. It was not, therefore, surprising or out of character when he said he believed he was being followed.

It was a week after Lucky had failed to return home when he revealed his suspicions . He had spent every evening after school searching for her, hoping to see her emerald eyes peering out from under bushes or to hear her meow at him from some distant, secret location . On one such occasion he said he was searching down by the river when he heard rustling in the trees along the river bank. He clambered through the nettles and overgrown shrubs in search of his feline friend when, according to him, he felt an ice like shiver run down his spine. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and as he lifted his gaze from the undergrowth he said he saw a mysterious figure emerge from behind a tree. As it turned and looked at him it’s red eyes blinked once before it let out a blood curdling scream and disappeared into the woodland.

Michael was visibly upset when he returned home that night and described what had happened. Of course we listened with sympathy and tried to reassure him that our minds and our eyes can often play tricks on us in the dark. Especially when we are already upset or agitated. We all assumed this experience could be explained by Lucky’s disappearance and his determination to find her. When we went to bed that evening we believed this was the end of the matter. If only that were true.

As the days, and nights, went on he became increasingly more upset. He said that he was convinced he could hear someone walking behind him on his way home from school, only to see nothing and no one when he turned around. One evening as he walked home alone along the river bank he said he thought he could hear something whispering his name as the wind howled, twisting and bending the branches of the trees which lined his path. Of course we thought these “incidents” were nothing more than the product of an imaginative boy who was pining for his pet. Now, I’m not so sure.

Two days ago, he came running through the front door, almost hysterical. He was crying and struggling to talk. After he managed to calm down he told me that he felt the same spine chilling feeling he had experienced the night he saw the red eyes in the woods. He looked behind and saw nothing. As he walked he could hear other footsteps echoing his, still he could see nothing. His heart began to race and his breath quickened as he picked up his pace. That’s when he heard his name, whispered right into his ear as if someone or something was walking right beside him. He said he could feel it’s hot breath on his cheek. He started to run, other footsteps echoed all around him. His name swirling in the air. That’s when he felt something pull his hair. As he looked up the red eyes we’re starting down at him, directly above his face. He screamed and ran as fast as he could until he was at our front door. The whispering became laughter as it ascended into the night sky.

Yesterday, he was too afraid to leave the house. I told him he could stay home as long as he kept the doors locked and called me regularly. He said he was happy to do so. Mr and Mrs Wood were moving house (downsizing they said). He was fascinated by the removal men filling the van with furniture, ornaments, bits and bobs. The material possessions which are so often used to define a life. When I returned home he was gone…