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its back toward the window, the Hatchling, in near perfect darkness, almost vanished; would have if its eyes didn’t glow. A moment lingered in which the two disembodied orbs held Jack. Taught nerves thrummed through him like clashing cymbals. Paralysed with fear, he looked to Yang for help; his shadow remained apart, as watchful as the Hatchling on the desk. Slipping from behind a cloud the moon highlighted the Hatchling in silhouette, altering its long ears into horns. Jack had no idea whether a trick of light fabricated the illusion, or if the Hatchling had once more transformed. Its fingers took on the appearance of five cruel knives.
    Why couldn’t have Yang created a rabbit with his fingers instead of this monstrosity? Even if he had, Jack had to admit the same feeling of loathing, wriggling in his guts, would remain, his fear of the Hatchling was more than skin deep.
    Tired of the stalemate, Yang reached out to grab the creature. With a disgruntled grunt, the Hatchling dove off the desk to the dark floor, evading Jack’s shadow.
    Jack heard its running feet on the carpeted floor. It ran from the bed, not toward him as he expected. A large catapult he had made from wood and twine crashed to the floor, scattering a group of toy soldiers in its wake. Thankfully, he had closed his bedroom door before bringing the egg out; the last thing he wanted was for his mother to catch him. If it escaped outside it could hurt her. Alarmed, he moved to the edge of the mattress, determined to stop it. Anticipating the creature to head toward the door, he gasped when the noise came from another quarter. Looking high he listened to the sharp cracks punctuate the dark as the creature climbed up the wall.
    His mother always said if you gave fear a shovel it would keep digging. Fear sank deep into him as the demon scuttled up the white stone. He wanted to move, but where could he go? The room offered no protection, and to get to the landing meant he would have to pass the Hatchling, something that filled him with dread. Drawn away from the window by the climbing creature, Yang had first grown indistinct and then disappeared in the dark. Robbed of his only help, Jack grew more nervous, imagining the little demon attacking him from every side.
    Snick. Snick. The fingers gripping the mortar were loud, crunching the stone and sending piles of dust to the floor. In many ways, the soft sound of the falling dust disturbed him more than anything else. Perhaps knowing his mother would have to clean up the crumbs of broken stone made the nightmare more real.
    With the creature climbing toward him, Jack decided to move from the bed. Stopping beside Yang’s collection of grinning animals he listened to the Hatchling make its way across the wall. Along with his fascination with stuffed animals, Yang also managed to discover gruesome artefacts amongst the hedgerows. Stumbling blindly into the corner Jack laid hands an old battered sword. Lifting the weapon, he doubted the sword’s edge would cut paper, yet its weight gave him some much needed courage.
    Away from the light, the demon’s shining eyes had winked out, and it took time for Jack’s vision to accustom itself to the gloom. Casting about he noticed against the pale wall a dark smudge outlining the creature. Leading with the rusted blade, he closed the distance, wanting to confront the beast before it dropped back to the floor, where it would be much harder to track. Not for the first time he found himself wishing he had left the rosebush alone.
    ‘What are you?’ His voice came out as a throaty growl.
    The Hatchling turned its head in the dark to observe him. ‘You understand me, don’t you,’ said Jack.
    Perhaps the stillness that came over the creature as he talked convinced him of the Hatchling’s understanding, or the beast’s arrival had awakened a feeling lodged deep inside. This latter speculation disturbed him, how would he have some buried connection with the Hatchling, he