A stone wall encircled Truthsend Village and the winter had turned the unused path beside it into a quagmire.

Florence slipped for the fifth time, jerking backwards for a heart-pounding second before grabbing the Wall to regain her balance. She swallowed back a less-than-polite word, “Did we really have to come again today? Can’t we skip it just this once?”

Elliot’s figure – bulky from the layers of jumpers he was wearing – paused. He turned, his fringe drooping in the water-logged air to fall in front of his dark eyes. “No can do, Flower.”

She grimaced at him, but otherwise let the name slide as she let go of the Wall. Beyond it, the black trunks of Scots pines rose above them into the pewter sky.

“We’ll have to be quick. It’s going to get dark soon.”

Elliot raised his eyes to the sky and for once didn’t argue. They continued: Elliot in front, Florence trudging behind. The tiled roofs of the village behind them soon faded into the distance.

Water from the disturbed undergrowth showered down, seeping up Florence’s jeans and the clammy chill of the stone remained on her fingertips. A robin chirruped on a nearby holly bush; fog began to collect around the bases of the pines Outside.

They crested a slight ridge. The Wall continued in front and in the grassy dip to their right lay their target – the Abandoned Houses.

Using the Wall as a handrail, they descended the short bluff. Only the gap half way down, where the long slabs of sky-grey slate spilled out towards the pine forest – due to time, or sheep, or an unfortunate car accident – gave them trouble. Tentacles of fog crept in, obscuring the ground and Florence almost fell twice.

Once they reached level ground, they veered right, passing by the rusting front fences of the Abandoned Houses.

There were many Abandoned Houses in the village, but Elliot was only interested in one. He was weirdly particular about this. He was weirdly particular about a lot of things, but this was the one Florence understood the least and he refused to explain it.

The third house from the end wasn’t special. A picturesque cottage with a front door, three windows and a tiled roof - if you gave a kid a pencil, they’d draw this house. The only differences – the ivy spreading unchecked over the limestone walls; the chimney that tested the lower limits of gravity, tottering on the edge of falling – were the signs of decay. The lower windows were cracked, and the curtains upstairs were a shocking fuchsia.

Still, every weekend, without fail, Elliot would drag her out here (it was her duty as a good friend to be dragged) only to look at the cottage for a minute or two then turn away.

The same thing happened today. Two minutes staring, then a dejected sigh.

“Shall we go back?”

Elliot didn't answer directly, “Say, do you know how long it’s been empty?”

Florence frowned and peered at him, suspecting a trick question. “Forever?”

“Really?” He turned to look at her, his eyes staring deep into hers as if trying to catch her Lying.

Irritation tempered by anger flared in her chest, “Would I Lie?”

It was one thing to question her guess, but another to suspect her of knowingly stating a falsehood to deceive – a Lie.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. No need to go all Godzilla, okay? I was only asking.”

“Don’t know why you're asking such an obvious question,” she muttered – the houses had been abandoned as long as anyone could remember. She looked up, her eyes roving around the sky hemmed in by pines. It was getting dark. “Go back?”

He nodded.

Without speaking, they jogged back the way they’d come. Florence was fine, but by the time they were half-way up the hill, Elliot was panting.

“Let me... take a rest...” He gasped as he tugged at his coat buttons, his face flushed like a tomato.

“How many layers are you wearing anyway? It’s not that cold.” She laughed.

Elliot waved his hand, sitting down a few feet away from the gap.

A frigid breeze blew in through the opening and Florence’s legs felt like they been engulfed by ice. She took a few steps back, stamping her feet to get the blood flowing. A bird took off from a nearby tree, shrieking into the gathering gloom.

Beyond the Wall, the fog roiled, submerging the forest in nine feet of turgid cloud. It ebbed and flowed with the air currents and-

Florence blinked.

She... thought she’d seen something.

But that wasn't right. There was nothing outside the Wall here apart from the trees – not even the sheep grazed this area. Nobody apart from Elliot would come this way so late. The road into the village was to the south, half an hour's walk away, so it was even less likely to be someone from Outside.

The fog swirled in front of her. She stared, willing her eyes to penetrate the opaque whiteness.

Something seemed to move within it, carving the fog in unnatural ways.

“Elliot,” she said through numb lips, “Let’s go.”

“Hm?”

“Let’s go!” She grabbed his wrist and pulled him up.

“Wha-”

But she didn’t give him time to speak, dragged him behind her. She didn’t stop until the stitch in her side felt like her lung had been stabbed.

Holly trees surrounded them on three sides and the enclosed gave Florence a sense of security. Elliot collapsed on the ground, his coat half-off, gasping like a fish out of water. She sat down beside him, her legs shaking so much she couldn’t stand even if she wanted to.

“Why... did you...?” Elliot communicated the rest with indignant eyes.

“I think... I mean, I thought... I saw something. Something Outside.”

“Really?” Exhaustion apparently forgotten, Elliot sat up. “What was it?”

“I don’t know.”

“You just said you saw it.”

“No, I mean, it was, it was like it was hidden, or, or, I don’t know, the same colour as the fog...” She shivered.

Droplets of mud speckled the backs of her jeans and the damp from the leaf mulch leached into her as she sat. There would definitely be a wet patch when she stood up. Suddenly she felt like she was being stupid: there couldn’t have been anything in the fog.

“Do you think,” Elliot said, looking her straight in the eye and so close she could see the unhealthy green tinge to his skin, “It was a Shadowless?”

“What?” Florence almost thought she’d misheard him. “The bedtime story? Monsters under the bed and all that?” She said with a shaky laugh.

He shrugged. “Anything’s possible.”

“Right.” Whether it was his intention or not, she felt a lot better. Then she noticed another, very serious, problem. “Look at the sky! It’s already this late – your mum is definitely going to nag you.”

He looked at his watch, and groaned.

The Abandoned House was in a particularly remote section and it took them twenty minutes to get back to the village. The light was fading fast and they saw no one as they crossed Mayker’s Field to the small lane that led to the main road. The streetlamps cast dim halos on the pavements and darkened the shadows.

They half-walked half-ran down the deserted main road to the housing estate, squeezing through the bristly gap in the hedges and legging it over the community park – a sad square of grass that the council had long forgotten existed – and down Longfall Avenue.

“Good luck.” Florence cheered Elliot on as he tore down the front path to his house, the gate swinging wildly in his wake. She didn’t stay to witness the spectacle; she wouldn’t put it past him to drag her into it.

As she walked down the cracked pavement to her house (two down from his), his mother’s voice shattered the air, “Elliot Archibald Rider, how dare you come home so late!”

Thanks to this call, the entire estate knew his full name by the time he was five.

Smiling to herself, she lifted the gate to Number 15 out of its sunken hinges, strode down the moss-covered path and let herself in.

The warm light from the corridor spilled over her and banished the dark and damp. The tension in her heart eased.

“I’m back!” She shut the door behind her, bending down to untie her muddy trainers before going any further.

“Okay,” her dad appeared in the doorway to the sitting room, stooping slightly so he wouldn’t bash his head on the door frame – Florence had inherited his height and beanpole build. He tapped the rolled-up village newsletter against his thigh – a nervous tick. “Did you have a nice time?”

Thinking of the fog Outside the Wall, she shivered. Only after she dug out her slippers from the wicker basket by the door did she redirected the question, “Hmm, where’s mum?”

“Still at work. She called to say she should be back around five.”

Florence frowned. It was already dark outside now; it would be black by five! She padded into the kitchen to put the kettle on, saying over her shoulder, “Why are they making her stay so late? They know it gets darker earlier in the winter.”

Her father had a calm expression as he followed, but the rate he tapped the newspaper quickened, “She said it was busier than they expected – lots of last-minute bookings.”

“Hm.” They shouldn’t have accepted the bookings. The kettle came to a boil. “Do you want a cup of tea?”

Before he replied, she’d already hooked two mugs off the mug tree. She fetched the milk from the fridge and added three spoonfuls of sugar to his – her father had an indomitable sweet-tooth.

They moved from the kitchen to the sitting room. Her father sat in his arm-chair, an elbow resting on the threadbare arm-rest as he mulled over the weekly crossword. Florence curled up on the two-seater, her eyes flickering from the cluttered coffee-table (her mother always swore to tidy it up one day; it never happened) to the crooked painting of the Somerset countryside to the only-slightly-dusty porcelain figurines of girls dancing.

She took a sip of tea. Her eyes fell on the TV. She reached for the remote.

“It’s not working today.”

“Again?”

“You can try it if you like.”

She turned it on and static filled the screen. After flicking through a couple of channels to no success, Florence turned it off and flung the remote aside.

“I thought they said it was going to get better after they did the work?”

“I don’t know. They thought it was, but now they think it’s caused by something different. Something to do with the angles of the valley.” Her father said.

It seemed to her that the engineers from BT had no idea what they were doing. She sat there for a minute longer, but couldn't stand the quiet. She stood, “I’m going to my room. Call me when mum gets back.”

She loped up the stairs, past the locked room and into her bedroom. The bright striped duvet cover; the cramped desk covered with her half-finished homework in the corner; her dancing kit stuffed under the bed – each was like a friendly wave after the fright earlier.

Only the window was wrong. Normally by this time, her mother would have closed the curtains, but they were open, the black night squirming up against the glass. With an uneasy feeling in her stomach, she reached out to pull the patterned fabric closed then she threw herself on her bed.

There were no such things as monsters in the world.

She turned over.

The glowing alarm clock on her bedside table flashed 4:45.

She could call Elliot. But his mum might not be happy with her after this afternoon.

4:46.

She rolled onto her back and traced the swirls of plaster that made the stucco with her eyes.

4:55.

She walked over to her desk and shoved her homework into her bag for tomorrow morning.

5:00.

“I’m home!” Her mother’s voice drifted up the stairs.

Florence scrambled to her feet, bouncing out of her bedroom and down the stairs.

“Mum!” She flew into her mother’s warm embrace.

“Look at you, you big baby. I’m fine.” Her mother said, stroking her hair with difficulty as she was a couple of inches taller than her.

Florence pursed her lips, “They shouldn’t have kept you so late.”

Her mother laughed. “What could’ve happened?”