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machines that passed. Some even flew through the air, and for the first few weeks they all ducked down in case one fell on top of them. The children, though still wary of Black Jack, mostly ignored him. They adjusted well to their situation. Many of them had not known him in the other time. They didn’t fear him, even though his face was frightening. Strangulation had discoloured his skin more than the soil and its insects could ever have done. The loss of blood had turned it to black-blue. The pupils of his eyes were still as dark as ever, but, with every blood vessel burst, they could be seen at night, glowing red, all the way across the graveyard.
    Black Jack kept very much to himself, and for this they were all grateful. He, like Elizabeth, spent much time in thought. Sometimes, when he grew bored, Jack moved among the workmen and stroked the cheek of one of them. He watched with pleasure as the man shivered, drawing back, sensing his freezing touch, but unable to see what it was that had touched him. He was a fast learner and, after seeing Timmy’s performance on the day they first awoke, he knew there was a lot to master. One could reveal oneself to the living. Already they could feel his touch, and it wouldn’t be long until … Never mind, there was plenty of time.
    Soon, each roped site contained a building in progress. No one stayed long, although others soon replaced workers who left suddenly. The boss grew frustrated at the men’s unwillingness to see the job through, in spite of him offering inflated pay rates. But even he had to admit that there was strangeness to the place; a feeling of uneasiness, with a heavy, cloying scent in the air. He was not one to be frightened by ghost stories, and God knows Ireland abounded with them. Utter nonsense, these stories of whisperings and figures in the trees.
    Timmy hated the nights most. Even though he disliked the daytime roaring of the machines and the muffled shouts of workers, he dreaded the silence. When the men finished for the day, a gloom descended with the darkness. The noise made it hard to think, but the quiet brought memories. His throat tightened when he thought of his family. His mother, brothers and sister were not in this place. But there were others, like Martin, his best friend, who was there, but had failed to waken. Martin’s father and Mick were here. He had buried them, he could not be mistaken. Why could they not come to him now? Perhaps Elizabeth was right, maybe they were in hell.
    A stirring in the darkened field beyond the bushes interrupted his thoughts. Urgent whispering and the sound of running feet reached him. Soon a light appeared in the window of one of the buildings and the crackling of a fire could be heard. Elizabeth and the children had all returned to their dark sanctuary and there was no sign of Black Jack. The small fire lit up the night sky, outlining all the buildings. He really wanted to investigate these newcomers, to see if some weary travellers had chosen this place to rest for the night. Perhaps it was someone who would not be afraid and would talk to him. He was about to crawl through the bushes, when a movement stopped him. Black Jack was striding purposefully towards the light. His tattered frock coat waved about him as he walked, but his footsteps made no sound.
    Timmy started to follow and was only a few feet behind him, when Black Jack turned. ‘Stay out of my way, Walsh,’ he warned, ‘or I’ll crush you like the bothersome insect you are.’
    â€˜Oh and how do you think you will do that? You have no power here.’
    Black Jack hit out at him and growled with frustration, as his clenched fist encountered nothing but air.
    â€˜Give me time, Walsh. I’ll find a way; I always do, as you well know.’ He turned and walked towards the light, without noticing the look of fear that crossed the boy’s face.
    Timmy peeped through a window, as Black Jack marched straight