Harvest Festival

**Harvest Festival** by *Karl Drinkwater* Callum climbed down off the tractor and the engine rumbled out to nothing. The peace of the hills replaced low vibration. It was better. He closed his eyes, savoured it. A reward for a day in the mechanical saddle. The silence was complete. He took two deep breaths, was partway into a third huge lungful of cooling air when his breath hitched, and he realised what was amiss. He tilted his head, as if it helped to hear. Silence – but strangely so. Normally there’d be the calls of birds bedding down for the night. Proper silence wasn’t usual, unless the birds were spooked by a predator. Still, nothing seemed amiss, and peace is peace. But then there were shouts from the house, angry raised voices, and a bang. Door slam, probably. He narrowed his eyes in that direction. They were starting early. It was tempting to put off going in. Maybe spray weedkiller on the plants that sprouted from the courtyard’s cracked cement. Perhaps get the toolbox out and look at the springs under the tractor’s seat – the vibration was numbing his arse on every pass. The gate at the end of the drive needed raising again, it had dragged through the mud and got stuck. There was always work to keep hands busy round here. And to keep you out – “Callum!” his wife yelled, opening the side door a crack. “Are you eating with us tonight, or shall I give it to the chickens?” [[Answer]] [[Ignore her]]

“Just finishing up,” he said, quietly enough that she wouldn’t hear properly and would be irritated. But she didn’t ask him to repeat himself, and he was left feeling childish. [[Continue->last look at hills]]

Callum kept quiet. She called again, but he ducked behind the still-warm tractor and waited. Eventually she gave up and slammed the door. [[Continue->last look at hills]]

He took one last look at the silent hills. A place a man could get lost. A place a man could find peace. A place where he could be himself, and just be a man. But it was time to give it up. One last inhalation of the growing wind that messed with his hair, then he made his way in. [[Continue->kitchen]]

Cerys was shuffling things round in the oven. The hot smells reminded him he hadn’t eaten for hours, and his stomach growled like an idling engine. A sweetness to the smell – probably jacket potatoes to accompany whatever steamed in the pans, and baked apples for later. She banged things around in a way that suggested it wasn’t only food simmering in here. He sat at the table to remove his wellies, saw she was about to say something as bits of mud fell to the tiled floor, and cut her off with, “I’ll sweep up in a minute.” “See that you do.” “What’s eating you today?” He stuffed the thick socks into the boots and flexed his toes, giving them a wriggle to bring feeling back. If she hadn’t been in the room he’d have risked sneaking his feet up on the range where warmth could spread from heels upwards. But she bustled, and he made do with wriggling. “Can you put a box together tomorrow? Nice vegetables, nothing that looks like body parts.” “What for?” “Our donation for the harvest festival. The new vicar called while you were in the fields. I promised we’d do something. It's already (weekday:).” “What's the date?” “(monthday:). You would know that if you paid attention to anything but the tractor.” [[Insult the vicar]] [[Agree]]

“The beanpole with the red hair? He’s weird.” “He just speaks properly.” “He’s not suited to round here.” Cerys faced him. She was squeezing the oven glove in one tight hand. “You don’t like anyone religious. It’s petty. Just because you don’t go to church.” “It’s weird to give to others when things are a struggle here. And they’re so rude.” “Rude?” “Give us daily bread. Forgive us our trespasses. Where’s the please?” “I don’t want to argue.” “Fine by me.” [[Continue->more vicar]]

“Sure. I’ll do it in the morning. We’ve got plenty of pumpkins.” “You alwa–” She stopped, perturbed, as if she had expected him to argue. Fidgeted with a towel, then nodded. “Okay. Thank you.” “My pleasure. Anything else?” [[Continue->more vicar]]

“And she’s playing up. Said she doesn’t want anything to eat.” “She has a name.” Mud apparently. Same as his at the moment. “She’s not skipping food again. And not snacking upstairs either. This is the only family time we have. Here, in this room, at this table. Go and fetch her.” “A please would be nice.” “And Michael’s not done any of the chores.” “Okay! I’ll speak to them both.” “Before I serve?” “Yes. Just let me sweep up.” “Leave it. I’ll do it. You need to wash yourself first too, which takes an age, and I don’t want anything burning.” She turned her back on him, fiddling with plates and cutlery. He could see the rear of her neck, the jut of bone at the top of her spine. It seemed wrong. Normally covered with the long hair she used to tie back but had cut off last week without asking his opinion. She looked vulnerable as she stood with her back to him. Too thin. Flesh and bone, only a hint of the curves she had when they met. [[Kiss the back of her neck]] [[Go to Michael’s room->Michael’s room]]

An impulse. He bent forward and kissed the back of her neck. She flinched. But when she faced him there was a hint of a smile. “What was that for?” Callum didn’t answer. Just patted her arse and walked off, grinning. <+1 RELATIONSHIP WITH CERYS> [[Go to Michael’s room->Michael’s room]]

Callum knocked on Michael’s bedroom door below the sticker that said “Demon-free Zone” but had the word demon crossed out and the word sister scrawled above it instead. When there was no answer he just went in. “Oh, hi Dad.” Michael was sat at his computer wearing headphones. Sometimes it was like the kid himself was plugged into it. Callum gestured at his ears and the boy slipped them off. “What’s up?” “Food’s nearly ready.” “Okay. I’ll be finished soon.” “Your mum said you’ve got chores before eating.” “No, I’ve done everything.” “Homework?” “Uh-huh,” he said, which seemed to mean yes. “Bins?” “Didn’t need doing.” Callum glanced round the boy’s room. It was surprisingly tidy. Michael had always been a neat child. Horror and astronomy books in a straight line by the bed; the open box he stored some sort of collectable cards in neatly divided into compartments with not a card out of place; even the glow-in-the-dark planets were spaced out on the ceiling in their correct order and relative distances. “Put the chickens to bed?” That broke the coolness. “Oh. Shit.” “Shit, indeed. And watch your language. Your mother would skin and bake both of us.” “Sorry, Dad. And I did forget the chickens. But can’t Maggie do it? She hardly does anything, and I was busy. Like, actually doing work, not just putting make-up on and practising snogging in front of a mirror.” “She did it when she was younger. Now you’re old enough and the job passes to you. It’s called inheritance.” Michael muttered something incomprehensible and turned from Callum. “Right. I’ll do it.” He clicked on the mouse harder than necessary. Must be some behaviour that ran in the family. Words causing angry jolts in the extremities. [[Spend time with Michael]] [[Go and see Maggie->Maggie’s room]]

Music thudded from Maggie’s room. Always that thudding with the stuff she liked. Maybe it reminded her of her other favourite sound – doors slamming in temper tantrums. Again there was no reply to his knock. He even glanced at his fist to check it was still there and tried again. Miraculously, she heard it over the bass. “What?” “Can I come in?” It felt ridiculous asking a kid for permission, but it saved trouble later. “I’m on the phone!” It wasn’t an outright refusal so he opened the door and went into a room which was a total contrast to Michael’s. The walls were covered in posters for bands he’d never heard of, though for weeks Maggie had been in the process of taking them down and piling them in the corner with anything else she seemed to think she had outgrown. Her chest of drawers was covered in make-up, much of it left open, along with powder spills and greasy smears. He carefully stepped over clothes, noticing with disgust that some of it was underwear. Better to ignore it, he had enough of a challenge already. Maggie lay on her bed. Her tights were ripped, though it was style, not accident, and she wore one of her favourite T-shirts, with the bold slogan You can send me to school, But you can’t make me think. She pulled a face and turned her back on him, continuing to talk into her mobile as if he wasn’t there. Industrial noises that wouldn’t have seemed out of place in his machine shop came from the tablet computer she’d plugged into some round speakers, backed up by headache-inducing staccato basslines. “Yeah, well I’ve got loads,” she said into the phone. “But I’m sure yours still go from your ankles to your arse!” A laugh. “You’re more than welcome to try some on.” “Maggie, please put the phone down. I need to talk to you.” “Yeah. I’ll be out at seven,” she told her friend on the phone, ignoring Callum. “Chillax, I know. I keep meeting bloody weirdos.” “Maggie!” he snapped. He hated the kids having mobile phones. There was no way to yank a cable out of the wall when you wanted their attention. “At least you don’t feel like killing yourself every night,” she continued. [[Unplug the speakers]] [[Sit and wait, arms folded]] [[Snatch her phone and drop it in a glass of water]]

Callum was about to move on, mission accomplished, but something stopped him. Maybe there were ways to smooth out the family temper. It was always trickier than just giving a piece of machinery a clang with a wrench, but it could count as maintenance. Oil the machine to pre-empt breakdowns later. He pulled up a chair and sat down next to his son. “What were you doing that was so important? We’ve got a moment as long as the hens haven’t got out.” Callum nodded at the computer screen. “You can show me.” Michael’s face lit up, and Callum realised he’d got something right, even if it was only with the least prickly of the house’s residents. “Oh, it’s brilliant. An astronomy thing that’s on all the groups today – they’re picking up a blitzar, and some of the scientists think it’s in real time.” “They? Blitz? Real time?” Michael switched between images and screens of numbers and text, some of which he said were blogs, others chatrooms, others websites. Callum noted that Michael was speaking slower than usual, the patronisation of turning things into parent-speak. “Okay, there’s all these radio bursts in space, right, different types. One that’s really rare is a blitzar. It’s pretty new in astronomy terms. Like, since I was a kid.” “You’re only twelve.” “Exactly. Anyway, this is probably really far away, it’s still buzzing round, but it’s dead exciting because there’s these bursts and we don’t even know for sure where they come from, and it’s a millisecond pattern. Like, teeny. They say it’s a neutron star collapsing, or a solar flare, but I think that’s BS. I think it’s a signal.” “A signal?” “Yeah. Not natural. It seems too regular.” “When I was your age I was into astronomy too, but sometimes it’s like you’re not my son. Have you got an adult’s brain in there?” Callum knocked on Michael’s head, and was pleased that he still flinched and laughed like a boy. He hadn’t lost him yet. “You told me you learnt the names of the constellations off your dad! That’s not really astronomy.” “Oh. I thought it was.” “Don’t worry. It was probably still a big deal then. But nowadays we have the Internet.” The boy was gone again, replaced with the patronising young adult that would move into Callum’s home in the next year or two. Oh joy. “Chickens,” said Callum as he left. <+1 RELATIONSHIP WITH MICHAEL> [[Go and see Maggie->Maggie’s room]]

“Dad!” an urgency in Michael’s voice that suggested Maggie had done something to him already. So much for bargaining with the devil. Callum wiped his face dry with the towel, pulled the plug from the sink, and put on a clean checked shirt as the dirty water swirled away. “What’s she done?” Callum asked. But Michael’s face didn’t look annoyed. It looked excited. His eyes shone, genuine boyish excitement. The good stuff. “I was putting the chickens to bed and – oh, you have to see this! Mum too!” “What?” “Just come!” Michael didn’t wait, pounding down the stairs and jumping the last half dozen with a bang that made Callum think of broken bones. But the boy’s voice faded into the kitchen, trying to spread enthusiasm to Cerys. Good luck with that. [[Ignore him]] [[Go and see what Michael wants]]

“Driving lessons,” he said, softly enough she’d be forced to listen. “What about them?” “Give me a week of peace and quiet; a week where you’re nice to your mother, act like an adult; and I’ll treat you like one. Take you out in the car. Basics. And if you keep it up I’ll pay for some proper lessons after.” Her eyes seemed wider. Like when she used to curl up on his lap as a little girl while he’d tell her fairy stories of strange beasts that roamed the hills and forests of the night. “Done,” she said, and a smile took over, banishing clouds immediately. “I can drive a bit already.” “I don’t want to know,” Callum said. “Dinner. Pleasant conversation with your mother and brother. Five.” <+1 RELATIONSHIP WITH MAGGIE> [[Continue->shaving]]

A wise man knows when to retreat. Callum was wise. At least a shave would be peaceful. [[Continue->shaving]]

“I can’t believe you’re my daughter. There had to be a mixup at the hospital.” “And I can’t believe I got stuck with you as family.” Callum left before he throttled her. Let them all sort themselves out. He needed a shave. <-1 RELATIONSHIP WITH MAGGIE> [[Continue->shaving]]

“Dinner’s ready soon.” “I don’t care. I’m not hungry.” “And I don’t care that you’re not hungry. Your mother spent time preparing food for us all. The least we can do is sit and eat it like a family.” “Some family.” “I really don’t know what’s wrong with you.” “Maybe that’s the problem,” she said, sparking up to a new level of irritation. “Maybe you like living on a farm in the middle of nowhere. But it would be nice if I lived near my friends. Lived where something was happening. Not have to beg for a lift all the time.” “This is what pays for your clothes. This is what pays for your gadgets.” “So could a proper job if you got one.” That stung. There were times when he itched to throttle her. Tighten things until the septic tank stopped leaking sewage. Or to retaliate with words like she could. But that would just make her worse. And he wouldn’t win. She was better at it than he was. The last thing he wanted was more friction here, Maggie storming out angrier than before, Callum failing Cerys’ mission and leaving her mad too, and an evening surrounded by seething resentment. He didn’t have their sharp words but he did have his innate self-control. Perhaps the fact that it hadn’t been passed on to Maggie meant he had more of it for himself. [[Offer her something]] [[Leave]] [[Insult her]]

That was it. He went over to the speakers. Realised they were plugged into the mains and grinned with satisfaction as he pulled the plug and ended the noise. “What you do that for?” Maggie yelled at him. Then, quieter, into the phone, “Hang on.” “No, hang up.” She glared at him but did what he said for once, saying “Five” into the phone and putting it down before giving him full blaze. “Don’t touch my stuff!” “We bought it for you.” “But it’s mine!” “You should have paid attention to me. Next time I’ll drop it in the oil tank.” “You wouldn’t!” Of course he wouldn’t. It would get stuck in the filter. But he just stared at her calmly until she said, “You clotpole pleb!” A twelve-year-old boy he could relate to. A wife who closely resembled someone he fell in love with, he could deal with. But a fifteen-year-old girl was like an alien species. Different values, different looks, and even a different language sometimes. [[Continue->Maggie conversation]]

Maggie’s conversation went on and on, but Callum had patience. Even that began to wear thin. Eventually she finished, put the phone down, and asked “Well?” [[Continue->Maggie conversation]]

Callum snatched the phone out of her hand. She was too surprised to stop him. Then: plop! It sank into the glass, releasing a few bubbles like a drowning swimmer. “Now we can talk.” “TALK?” She started screaming and slapping at him, shoving; he retreated from the furious harpy’s attacks, and found himself outside the room, door slammed firmly in his face as the screeching continued. Not a success. <-1 RELATIONSHIP WITH MAGGIE> [[Go and shave->shaving]]

There was always so much drama. Callum couldn’t face any more in one night. He was exhausted. He climbed into bed and turned the light out. Everything would keep until the next day. He was asleep within a minute. [[Continue->Waking up]]

Callum headed down. He’d satisfy the boy. His own curiosity, too. Whatever had fired up Michael wasn’t threatening. It couldn’t be anything as banal as Beaky starting to lay again. What did that leave? Cerys and Michael were already outside, the back door ajar. Callum put his wellies back on, noting that they’d been moved and the muck rinsed off in the outhouse boot sink. He followed the wall of the house and workshop to join them at the back, and as he rounded the corner to face west with the whole hillside view in that direction open to him, glowing in the sun’s last blaze of orange as it said goodnight, he froze, genuinely surprised. “See, Dad! Ever seen one o’ them before?” “Can’t say I have,” Callum replied. Above the hills, and bordering Carreg Mawr, were discrete cloud formations. But rather than the way sunset clouds normally looked, painted flat and purple across the horizon, these had depth to them, piled up like huge funnels, inverted forms of the mountain. Whether it was that resemblance to something of known size, or just the way they shaded with depth, rounded, impenetrable, deceivingly solid in appearance, they resembled floating behemoths; giant drifting jellyfish of the darkening skies. “What are they?” Callum didn’t take his eyes from them as he asked. “I think they’re called lenticular clouds,” Michael replied. “Because they’re sort of made of layers, smaller round ones at the bottom, bigger at the top, all stacked. Like a pile of lenses.” “Like a spinning top,” Cerys added. Her hand found Callum’s, almost shyly slipping into place. He squeezed. “Well, the hills are full of surprises,” Callum said, sweating in the strangely humid heat. Then they just watched as the clouds moved slightly, wobbled in the high air winds, their size only seeming to grow in the spreading darkness. When they returned to the house Callum noted that the chickens weren’t making their usual satisfied prrp prrp prrp noises as they settled for the night. They just stared at him from the coop’s open door. “Don’t forget to lock them up,” he told Michael. <+1 RELATIONSHIP WITH MICHAEL> [[Time for bed ...->Waking up]]

Callum’s eyes flicked open. Cerys murmured in her sleep but it wasn’t that. He sat up slowly, careful not to disturb her. The furniture shapes were where they should be. It wasn’t that, either. It was too hot and his skin prickled with sweat. Humid, like the prelude to a big electrical storm. The kind of feeling that drove him indoors if he was out on the tractor. He’d get under cover in the barn and watch the sky for the tell-tale dark grey of a thunderhead, or a flash of lightning on a distant peak. There were no strange noises. Maybe it was just the heat that woke him. [[Go back to sleep]] [[Get out of bed and investigate]]

"Just a dream." Callum turned over and went back to sleep. [[Continue->Death by sleep]]

The dream was full of strange noises. As if chittering insects had merged with drills; growling dogs with tractor engines. Callum ran from things barely seen, but the ground was falling away beneath his feet. Suddenly a blinding flash of blue; and he didn't know if it was still the dream or real but he couldn't move; something strong grasped his ankle and dragged him from the bed. An unnaturally shaped being, hunched and jerky with a grip of steel that cut into the flesh, and he knew he was awake. The screaming from Maggie's room was real too. It was the last thing he heard as he was dragged down the stairs; his head hit the tiled floor at the bottom hard, and he blacked out. THE END (link-goto: "Play again?", "Introduction") (link-goto: "Continue from bedtime?", "Waking up")

He slid out of bed carefully. Picked up his jeans on the way out of the room, leaving the door ajar so it wouldn’t click, and slipped into them on the landing. Sleepy noises from the kids’ bedrooms. (Not really kids any more, he corrected himself.) Down the stairs in his bare feet. [[Go outside and watch the storm]] [[Search the house]]

He was wide awake, charged. Wouldn’t sleep for a while. May as well watch the storm arrive. Elements battling with each other might wear him out. It was so warm he didn’t need a top, would welcome any cool breeze on his upper body. He pulled the wellies on, sockless, and unbolted the back door. It was stifling outside, as close and muggy as any impending storm he’d known. The sky had a faint glow to it that illuminated dense clouds. He followed the house round to take in the view of Carreg Mawr. If it started anywhere, it would begin in that direction. And the heaviness in the air had to break. It was going to be a boomer. When he reached the chicken cage and looked out across the valleys the sky was different. The wobbling inverted mountains of earlier were gone. Instead the cloud lowered over his farm and the hills beyond, a single layer of murky deep sea, the way fog would settle in lowlands and have depth whilst hiding everything within. A heavy presence flickering with a blue that didn’t resemble any lightning he’d ever seen. It was … unnatural. No breeze. Just a heavy smell of ozone, or something else, which caught in his throat. If it wasn’t for the sweat running down his back he would have seriously wondered if he was still asleep. Another ripple of light, deep within the roiling mass, yet bright enough for him to cast a shadow for a second. It had to be a storm, but still … There was a clattering sound. Something falling over. In the barn, or the storage shed. Rats were a possibility. Cerys kept saying they should get another cat. He’d put it off because he resented the thought that it was more likely company for her than a practical consideration, and that reminded him of how their relationship had deteriorated, cracking up like the courtyard he never had time to repair. If rats were around he should make extra sure that food wasn’t left out to encourage them. A glance at the chicken coop, which would be a prime attractor with all the seed that got dropped in there. Perhaps he could – There was a hole in the fencing. [[Investigate the hole]] [[Leave it]]

Callum crept from room to room, but it was as quiet as it should be. Hot though. Sweat trickled down his back. He should go back to bed. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day. Then again, fresh air might cool him down. [[Go outside and watch the storm]] [[Go back to bed]]

He approached it. The chickens sometimes had the run of the farm, but mostly just this twelve by six yard fenced on the four sides and top. They were safely locked into the shed end of it now, but the fence hadn’t been torn earlier. He’d have noticed it when they were stood here watching the clouds. This had happened during the night. He crouched, touched the jagged wire. It didn’t look like a fox’s entrance, but it was possible. A smell again. More than something in the sky. Blood. Charred skin or meat. He saw that the hen’s night coop wasn’t closed after all. The door stood open. Maybe Michael had forgotten to close it, and a fox had got in, taken the chickens. Callum thumped the wire, rattling it, grinding his teeth at the thought of how severely he’d have been beaten if he’d made a mistake like that on Da’s farm. But the rattling was more than expected. Loose mesh. He pulled on it, and realised it was a large flap. A cut, right up the chicken wire. This was not a fox. The gash went up to head height. Human head height. His nearest neighbour was a mile away. No reason for Brinley to do something like this, they’d always got on well. Had to be a stranger. He glanced round. Nothing apart from the blue flashes. He slipped into the chicken area through the rent in the fence. Crept up to the hens’ night nest. The smell was stronger. He made comforting noises. No sounds from inside. He reached in and felt round, then quickly retracted his hand. Sticky with warm, coagulated blood. Pieces of feathers and skin hanging from it. A smell of charred bone. It was no fox. He glanced again in the direction where something had fallen and clanged, a new significance to the noise. [[Leave it]] [[Investigate the barn]]

It was so nice to slip back into bed. He ached from the heavy work of the day. Time to rest and rebuild. There would always be more work on the morrow. [[Sleep->Death by sleep]]

Probably nothing. He was a grown man and shouldn't be sneaking about his farm in the middle of the night. [[Go back to bed]]

From here he could sneak up to the barn. Peep inside. Find out what was going on; whether there was an explanation that made sense, a situation he could resolve. Only a peep, and he could run back to the house. He had to know more. Protecting his family might depend on it. Leaning against the house wall was a rake, used earlier for dealing with the autumn leaves in the back garden. One of the tasks Cerys nagged them about. He was grateful for once as he snatched it up. It wasn’t the most intimidating weapon on the farm but he was reassured by the pole of wood, and the metal spikes at the top. The blue flashes in the sky were irregular, not continuous. He waited until one had finished blooming in the clouds, then dashed to the side of the barn. No flash, no giveaway shadow. He pressed against the rough wall of the building. Edged towards the entrance. There were crackling sounds coming from inside. A smell that could be from the air, but seemed too strong. It resembled the hot metallic smell of welding. Another clatter. Far in, near the back. Good. Callum peered round the corner. Clear. He crept along the fronting to the open entrance. Darkness within, except for a strange blue flicker. Something electrical at the back. Someone using tools, maybe, though none of his should spark in that way unless it was faulty. Apart from that he could see the usual shadows: rolls of packing plastic; stacked pallets; his heavy machinery in the middle. The movement was beyond that. Another electrical crackle, another flash, and he saw a shadow cast for a brief stuttering second against a side wall. Distorted, maybe by the perspective, but humanoid. It had to be a person. And they were tall. But it wasn’t quite right. Too tall. Callum thought for a second of the new vicar, the way he seemed to look down on Callum (literally and figuratively). He’d never trusted religious people, with their strange ceremonies and festivals that didn’t make sense. What would the vicar be up to here? Were the chickens his doing? Sky flashes behind him, crackling blue sparks in front. He moved quickly to one of the massive wheels of the combine harvester. The sparking continued. From here he could see the person’s shadow more clearly with every static burst. It was all wrong. Perhaps it wasn’t human after all, just a random shadow made up of machinery shapes jutting out and in line with an electrical fault’s outburst. Maybe Callum’s pounding heart was wrong to be pushing him to the edge of panic. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been made into a fool. By now he’d reached the driver’s cab of the harvester. He moved more confidently to the corner, and had started to look round when there was an awful scraping screech and sudden movement towards him. His legs nearly buckled in fear at the brief glimpse of the thing – just enough for a mish-mash perception that included raw flesh, metallic parts, fused in some nightmare way that he instantly knew wasn’t make-up, or trickery – it was real, it was alive, and it shouldn’t have been. He was thankful he didn’t see it in full detail. And grateful he didn’t see it up close. [[Run like the wind]] [[Fight]]

He sprinted out of the barn. A crash behind him, things overturned. Don’t look back. It was hard to run with the rake, it almost tangled his legs as he ran across the courtyard. Scraping sounds on the cement, a feeling of warmth on the back of his legs, as if it was right on his heels, or emanated vast amounts of heat; either way it kept him running, focussing on the back door, within reach if he didn’t fall. He threw the rake behind him, aiming low without looking back, and the scraping and thudding did change in pace, fell behind fractionally; maybe not enough, but now his bare arms pumped away, legs lifting, hoping the wellies wouldn’t trip him; he saw the open door, knew he’d been a fool to explore, leaving his family asleep and vulnerable; and then it was over, and he plunged through the back door, slammed it behind him in the darkness of the kitchen, one bolt, two, something heavy smashed into the door; it held, but not for long. [[Run upstairs]] [[Use the fridge to block the door]]

Callum held the rake out in front of him, but his hands shook so much it wobbled around, inneffectual. "Stay back!" he said, hoarsely. The thing ignored him; with a roar of metallic hate and heat it lashed out, knocking the rake from his hands. It clattered away amongst the old baling equipment. Callum backed away but it was too late – some kind of serrated and spiked implement punched its way into his chest, tearing internal organs and throwing him to the ground. The heat and weight fell on him eagerly, but he was already fading away as his blood pooled on the cracked concrete. THE END (link-goto: "Play again?", "Introduction") (link-goto: "Continue from bedtime?", "Waking up")

Callum turned and sprinted across the kitchen; he'd only gone a few paces when the back door exploded inwards, bolt blown. Whatever it was knocked him down and began stabbing him before he even made it to the staircase. "Cerys," he gasped. THE END (link-goto: "Play again?", "Introduction") (link-goto: "Continue from bedtime?", "Waking up")

The fridge was next to the door so Callum grabbed it and heaved it over onto its side, bottles inside smashing, the fridge falling open, but it was an extra heavy barrier which he was grateful for when another huge thud rattled the bolts. He leaned against the door, hands planted on the wood, pushing, and after another crash it went silent. He tried to clear his mind of the image of machinery and flesh being fused together, fought the twisting in his gut, looked around instead. Nothing else to pile up nearby, and pointless with a fragile window above the sink just a few feet to his right. He backed away, listening for any noise, any scrape, but his heart thumped so hard he couldn’t hear movement out there, any moment expecting the glass to break. A blue flash outside the front made him jump, but he realised it was one of the deep cloudbursts, not the sparking of that thing. The chain was on the front entrance. He closed the inner kitchen door silently, backed up to the stairs, heard a creak from behind him, sensed a presence, raised his fist hopelessly at the shape, he’d go down battering; but then it spoke, his name, “Callum, what is it?” with fear in the voice, Cerys huddled in her dressing gown. “I heard the crash in the kitchen, what’s going on, is it burglars? The lights aren’t working and –” “Dad?” another voice called from upstairs, Michael. “Up. Get up the stairs now, get the kids.” “What is it?” A noise somewhere outside. Like a scraping on brick. Nails pulled out of an old board. [[Retreat upstairs]]

He pushed her ahead of him, no point trying to secure downstairs, it would take too long, he needed to get his family together, get his thoughts together, calm down the racing blood. “It’s okay,” he said, half to calm Cerys, but half for himself. Michael was on the landing in slippers and pyjamas, looking like the little boy he used to be. “Dad, I think there’s someone outside,” he said. “In the shadows when I looked out of my window.” [[Investigate what Michael saw]] [[Get him away from the window and gather the family together->Gather the family together]]

Callum whispered, “We’ll be safe in here. Michael – make sure Maggie’s awake. Fetch her here.” Michael nodded, went into Maggie’s room without knocking, murmured voices from in there. “It might be worse than that,” Callum whispered to Cerys in the moment they had alone, as she gripped his arm tightly. “I went out, and saw something I can’t explain. I think it’s dangerous." [[Ring the police]] [[Turn the lights on->Test the lights]] [[Look out of the window]] [[Tell the truth]] [[Tell them to close the windows]]

“Go into the bedroom, ring the police. Please do it now while I watch the stairs.” And Cerys didn’t argue. She let go of him and moved warily into their dark bedroom, despite her obvious fear. And he remembered the strength in her, the time she’d twisted her ankle but insisted on walking home, the way she dealt with the painful birth of the kids, her need to be doing things all the time – he remembered it and was grateful for it. He looked over the bannister. Stairs down to the hall. Empty. No noises from there. A door opened behind him. Maggie yawning. Michael at her side. “I can’t turn it on, Dad.” Callum realised his son held a mobile phone. “Battery?” “No. I charged it before.” Cerys joined them. “The phone is dead. Like I tried to tell you, with the lights.” [[Test the lights]] [[Look out of the window]] [[Tell them to close the windows]]

Callum stepped over to the landing switch. Flick. Nothing. “But there was electricity in the outbuildings … unless it was from another source.” “Another source?” asked Michael. [[Look out of the window]] [[Tell the truth]] [[Tell them to close the windows]]

They were all keeping their voices low. Maggie picked up on the tension, asked what was happening. Callum left Cerys to say something, to watch the stairs. He crossed the landing and looked out of the window into the backyard area. Apple trees. Piles of leaves. Bushes. A hundred hiding places. No movement. Michael joined him, said “Wow!” when he saw the sky, the way it tumbled low and heavy. Then it happened, an eye-searing flash different from the others, blue crystal lights shot down out of a cloud, exploded into sapphire spots then faded away just as quickly. Another, nearer, in the back garden. The light seemed to melt into the ground. Michael covered his face and moaned but Callum squinted through the watering eyes, watched the ground, needing to know more, what this new sign meant, what threat it might offer. It wasn’t lightning. Too straight; sparkles in it, unlike anything natural. Broken, crystalline. It was more like a beam, coloured torchlight through dust motes and glitter, somehow stretched, drawn. And near where the light had dissolved, there was movement. His eyes were still dazzled, so he couldn’t make it out clearly, but something merged with the shadows of the trees. [[Pull Michael back]]

Callum yanked Michael back, out of the view of the window. Out of sight of anything among the trees. “That was bright,” Michael said, uncovering his eyes. “It wasn’t lightning, was it, Dad?” “No.” “It was pixellated.” It was something worse than pixies, but Callum was torn between telling them how terrified he was, how much danger he suspected they were in; and trying to keep them from panicking. He took a slow breath. Cerys did yoga sometimes and said it helped. He normally rubbished it. Now he’d try anything. He looked at their scared faces and inhaled deeply again. [[Tell the truth]]

“I’m sorry to scare you. But I’m going to tell you the truth. I went outside to see the storm, there were noises in the barn. I looked and there was …” He was talking too fast. Slow down. “There was something there. And I don’t think it was human. I didn’t imagine this. I wish I did.” Cerys put one arm around each of their children’s shoulders. They didn’t resist. “It chased me. I got in the kitchen, barricaded the door. I think it’s still outside. There’s something wrong with the storm. The blue lights, it’s electrical, but not lightning. I saw some kind of flashes coming out of the clouds. Into the garden. And I think it’s more of them. Things, like in the barn. Like outside the house, now. ” “Were the lights teleports?” Michael asked, seeming to overcome his fear with wide-eyed interest. “You tell me.” “So they’re aliens?” “I don’t know that either.” “Maybe they come in peace?” Callum thought of the chickens. “I don’t think so.” “What are we going to do?” asked Maggie, a vulnerable waver in her voice he hadn’t heard since she hit her teens. [[Tell them to close the windows]]

“Make sure all the windows are closed, and shut all the curtains. Maybe they won’t see us. You three do the upstairs, I’ll go down.” “No!” Cerys said sharply. “We stick together!” “They’re outside. It’s okay. I’ll check quickly.” And get a knife, Callum thought. Or even better – go into the cellar where his gun cabinet was bolted to the wall. It would only take a few minutes to take out his shotgun and load it. Maybe the cellar would be a better place for them to hide, since there was only one way in? But then he remembered the feeling of weight to the thing that chased him; its speed and power. They’d be trapped in a dead end. No, just do what he had to do, get back up quickly. Michael was already pulling the curtains over the landing window, which prompted Maggie to go into one of the bedrooms. Good. Cerys’ face was pale. Callum’s was probably just as bloodless right now. [[Go downstairs]]

With the landing curtains closed it was darker, but enough of the blue light came from outside to see vague outlines. He crept down the stairs, which creaked under his weight. Old houses, old wood. Glanced over the bannister. The hall was as he’d left it. The hulking shape at the edge of his vision was just the coat rack. Sweat trickled down his still-bare chest. The heat was overwhelming. As unnatural as everything else this night. [[Check the front door]]

At the bottom he approached the front door. Good, solid wood. There was time for a glimpse through the peephole, see if anything was moving at the front. If they needed to make a run for the car he’d like to know there was nothing nearby. He had to force himself to breathe; he kept involuntarily holding his breath, ears straining for the slightest sound. He’d just begun to move his eye to the spyhole when the letterbox moved in front of him. The flap was lifting. [[Sprint for the living room]] [[Move to the side]]

He flung himself to the side, back to the wall, out of the line of sight, heart pounding. He prayed that Cerys and the kids would keep quiet, not call his name to ask if he was all right. The letterbox was now open, and something reached in … not fingers, surely; too long, and although there was a glisten of raw flesh, there was also a bluish shine of burnished metal, and some wire-like cords which twitched within and around it all. It seemed to pause, as if taking in the air; felt around, looking for a handle (though that would imply understanding), or just to assess the portal’s size; then with a jerky spasm it withdrew and the letterbox closed. No noise. It was either silent as it moved away, or it was still on the other side of the wall he leaned against. [[Get moving]] [[Stay still for longer]]

He didn’t want to move, but couldn’t stay there. The longer he waited the more chance that one of his family would call his name and attract attention, or it might try again, or the bastards could get in through a window. What if they could climb? The thought of them getting upstairs while he cowered here spurred him into action. Thankfully the rubber soles of the wellies made no noise as he crossed the hall to the cellar stairs, eyes scanning every doorway then back to the letterbox. Go down, get the gun first. Then check the ground floor if he felt like there was still time. [[Examine the living room on the way past->Examine the living room]] [[Check the cellar]]

Noises upstairs, curtains closing, light footsteps, that was fine. Blue light, like cold moonlight, revealing some shapes, leaving others as pools of darkness. Mystery that he could do without. He glanced into the living room. Okay. A clock on the wall. It had glow-in-the-dark hands and numbers. He spared a few seconds to investigate. It wasn’t ticking; hands displayed 10.52pm, but it was now the middle of the night sometime. The clock ran off a battery, so the problem wasn’t just to do with the mains. [[Check the cellar]]

He was opening the cellar door when there was a crash from the kitchen. Not a window – this was more like a glass or a bottle being knocked onto the tiled floor, a noise he’d heard often over the years. He thought of the sauce bottle on the kitchen table in the centre of the room. Yes, the noise had come from nearer the hall he now stood in than the back door. Something was in the kitchen already. [[Sneak upstairs]]

Forget the gun, the cellar. If the things could move that quietly when they wanted to, and there was one on the other side of the kitchen door he was staring at, then he needed to move his arse right now, and get up to his family. On the balls of his feet; he passed that door, staring, listening, but moving quickly. Definitely a noise in there. Dragging or scraping. “Callum?” It was Cerys, upstairs. Movement in the kitchen, a reaction to the sound. No point sneaking now, he pounded up the stairs, all three of them there. [[Time is short]]

No point going into a bedroom; think, think; landing window, but that was a drop, into the trees and bushes and shadows where they roamed; thuds from the kitchen; get away from it, higher, he looked up; “What is it, Dad?” asked Maggie, trying to grip his arm, but he shook her off; hatch to the attic, yes. He snatched the hooked rod from next to the plant pot where a lemon geranium sprouted, releasing a hint of citrus, something more hopeful than charred flesh and sparked metal; reached up and hooked the hatch, pulled, with a click and tremendous squeal from hinges he really should have fucking oiled the hatch lowered, he could reach up, grip the ladder, unfold it down, aware of movement in the hall and the noises from his family, words, panic, ignore them, ladder down now, “Get up, now!” he snapped, no need for silence as Michael scrambled up there, always quick at climbing, Cerys pushing Maggie next, doing the right thing, and he loved her for that; he heard the stairs creak more than they had for him, creaked with real weight, he was shoving Cerys, hands on her arse and pushing her up ahead of him, not turning to his left where the top of a shadow grew, misshapen but don’t look, heavy but … up the ladder himself, the kids pulling Cerys, enough space for him to just grab the loft hatch and pull his body weight up rather than wait for the ladder to clear. The ladder wasn’t meant to be pulled up from inside, not designed for it, but he lay on his stomach and reached down with the hook, grabbed a rung, pulled, hoped it would work, and with protesting hinges it did lift, even as something reached out to grab it, with limbs that weren’t arms but were … no, ignore, he heaved with all his strength and the ladder folded, flew up, closing the hatch with a click. He jammed the hooked rod through the ladder’s mechanism, hoping that would block it, stop it from being lowered. Saw Cerys hugging both the kids to her, their faces hidden, all panicking, all sobbing, and he was pleased, relieved, because there were three of them and they were with him. [[In the attic]].

Callum told them to hide. Maggie and Michael ran into their rooms; Callum dragged Cerys, protesting, into their bedroom. He slammed the door shut and crawled under the bed, hoping Cerys would copy him. He had to shove old suitcases out of the way, raising clouds of dust and web that made him sneeze. Cerys was crawling in after him when there were screams from one of the kids' bedrooms; no time to ponder it, because then his bedroom door exploded inwards, and Cerys was dragged backwards, trying to hold on to Callum's foot. Seconds later he was being pulled from his hiding place too, by a vice-like grip ... it was over. THE END (link-goto: "Play again?", "Introduction") (link-goto: "Continue from bedtime?", "Waking up") (link-goto: "Continue from the pursuit to the kitchen?", "Run like the wind")

Callum rushed to the landing window and pulled it open, straining against the stiff frame that should have been fixed long ago. "We need to jump!" Movement on the stairs, a heavy form pounding up towards the family. Panic, all crowding to the window, but Cerys shaking her head - she was scared of heights. Who should go first? Maggie and Michael pushed against each other, and it was all too late when the electronic blood roar gurgled behind them, heat and triumph as a flesh net coated their bodies, pulling them into a tight, compressed-to-the-point-of-suffocation bundle. THE END (link-goto: "Play again?", "Introduction") (link-goto: "Continue from bedtime?", "Waking up") (link-goto: "Continue from the pursuit to the kitchen?", "Run like the wind")

Something banging on the attic hatch, ripping into it, spiked, tip showing through, but the hatch stayed closed. Crashing from below, no stealth now, destructive sounds and a screeching robotic fury, nails down a blackboard. Callum threw his arms around his family and squeezed them all, huddled in the dark. If not safety, then at least respite. The attic was half converted. He’d put in skylights, blocked off the water tank, and put a basic floor over the joists. Cerys had nagged him to finish it off with plastering, electric sockets, lights and carpet, so she could have a room of her own. He’d never got round to it. Joked she could be a mad woman just as easily downstairs. She hadn’t been amused. It was bright enough to see, with the blue flashes and residual light from the sloped windows. He glanced round the dustiness and wished he had finished the conversion. Then there could have been all sorts of useful things up here, rather than just water (if they could bring themselves to drink from the immersion tank). But he was always so busy. [[Spend time searching for something useful]] [[Reassure family]] [[Listen at the hatch]]

He crawled over to the corner where there was an irregular shape. Some offcut bits of wood he’d not tidied away. Most were too small to be useful but one was about two feet long and had weight to it. Better than nothing. He took it and crawled back to his family. <GAINED A CLUB> [[Listen at the hatch]] [[Reassure family]]

“We should be safe up here,” he whispered. “With the ladder up they can’t get in. Must be the middle of the night, so it will be day before long. A few hours. If we wait long enough they’ll go away.” He hoped so, but didn’t feel as confident as he tried to sound. “Or help will come.” It had gone quiet. That was more worrying than the furious noises, knowing how stealthy these things could be. [[Listen at the hatch]]

Callum lay on his stomach, ear to the floor near the hatch, straining to get the slightest clue as to what they were doing. There was a creak from below, floorboard bending under load perhaps, or just settling. “Maybe they’re retreating,” Callum whispered. Some hope, but he wanted to reassure his family. “If they are, then we could¬ –” He was interrupted by a spike of some sort piercing the floor a few inches from his mouth. It glistened in front of him, then slid down with a scrape. He’d just sat up, kneeling when another punctured the ground where his head had been. It sizzled with heat, a vapour of smoke from the scorched board flooring, then scraped back. Red light shone up for a second, laser-like in its precision, then another hole was made, near his left knee. [[Retreat from the spikes]]

“Back, against the eaves!” he said, gesturing at the lowest bits of roof near the outside walls. “Now!” They shuffled back. Callum rolled on his side, just as more red lights came through existing holes, and another jagged barb thrust through the surface and dragged back, making a thumb-sized hole. It would have gone right through his guts if he hadn’t moved. Weighty footsteps below, moving off the landing and into his bedroom, and another hole punched from there. The attic floor was being scored by them; each one a possible seeing- or hearing-hole, or whatever the red lights meant. Another. The thing had long arms to reach up so high. This time it rattled the spike around, tore off a chunk of floor, there was a clatter of plaster below. If this continued it could perforate the floor enough to pull it apart; and if it got lucky it might stab them before that. Maggie screamed as a spike punched up near where her hand rested on the floor. “Against the wall!” Callum whispered, hoping to bide time. More crunching of plaster and wood, it seemed to be working on the hole above their bed. Other noises downstairs, probably more of them coming in. [[Think->They try to enter]] [[Use the shotgun]] (if Callum has one).

Callum ran to a skylight, swivelled it open on its central hinge. From here it felt like the roiling clouds were right above his head, smoky and thick with heat, like being in an oven. The roof fell at a sharp pitch, a straight slide to the gutter and a drop of two floors to the gravel path around the house. Too much. The nearest tree too far to jump to. More explosions of plaster and aggressive crunching at the floor behind him, and barely-suppressed whimpers from the kids. The garden below could be full of these creatures still. He didn’t want to go down there. But the frenzied tearing at the attic floor was far too effective. More things crashing downstairs, as if they were trashing the house, looking for anyone hiding. Thorough. He was thankful he hadn’t suggested concealing themselves under a bed or in a wardrobe. The hole was a jagged rip about a foot across, dust motes floating above it, torn yellow insulation stuck out like a dying teddy bear’s fluff, metallic spike bashing away another loose part, and then something hooked over the edge. Callum rushed forward, hoped he wouldn’t get spiked from below, and saw that the groping bits were finger-like but inhuman and red-blistered. [[Fight them off with the club]] (if Callum has one). Otherwise, [[stomp on the creature]]

He hammered at them with his makeshift club, putting all his fury into it as they flexed and pulled, gripping hard as they lifted something heavy from below. Callum’s stick splintered but he carried on hitting, could tell the end was slick with gore yet the thing seemed able to ignore it, and now a face of some kind was rising towards him, shredded and partially skinned, threaded with red-slicked metal pieces; another set of hooked claws grabbed the floor edge and pulled, using the leverage to force that head through the gap, twitching and widening it with its body as Callum pounded on its skull; Callum yelled and thrust the sharp end of his broken cudgel into what seemed to pass for reddened eyes on the thing. It scrabbled for him angrily, he stabbed again despite feeling sick to his stomach, plunging through gore and snapping the end off his stick, leaving it protruding from the ruined semblance of a face; the thing gave an electronic screech, lips not moving, noise from some other part he didn’t want to think about … and it fell, tearing a chunk of floor away, all landing on the bed which collapsed from the sounds of it. That creature was incredibly heavy. And now the hole was bigger than before. Maybe big enough for it to fit through on a second attempt. [[Listen]]

Weird sounds from below, inhumanly guttural and electronic, more than one; presumably getting ready for another assault. Callum glanced from the broken flooring to the holes beneath his feet, then ran back to the skylights. He opened the one furthest to the left, had to really yank on it because it was so stiff from disuse. So little time to think, ever since the chase from the barn. He leaned out. This was the back of the house nearest the side of the building; he knew that just to the left when you reached the gutter there was a drainpipe. An old one, metal, not the crappy plastic kind; as far as he knew it was securely fixed to the wall. It could take a man’s weight, he hoped. What is the best plan? [[Climb out of the skylight]] [[Drop down through the hatch]]

There was no going through the house, no staying. He glanced at his family. Only Cerys looked back at him, eyes wide, arms clutched round Michael and Maggie. Cerys feared heights. He just had to hope she was more scared of the things below. “Here, now!” he said, taking the belt off his jeans. “I’ll lower you out, one at a time. Once your feet are on the gutter go to your right a bit. Climb down the drainpipe. You can do it. I’ll follow.” “I can’t!” said Cerys, looking out the other skylight. “You’ve got to!” Callum snapped. “I’ll go first.” It was Maggie. She was shaking. There was no time for debates. Maggie used to do gymnastics. She was stronger than she looked. Maybe if she went first it would strengthen Cerys. [[Send Maggie first]]

He helped Maggie out of the skylight; she held on to the edge, feet sloping down. Then he got her to wrap the end of the belt round her hand and grip tight. He leaned out, lowered her, muscles aching as he gripped his end of the belt, counteracting the slippery sweat. The window’s frame cut into his bare chest. Michael and Cerys watched from the other skylight. From the corner of his eye he saw a red light flicker up through the hole in the attic floor, blink out. Maggie’s feet were on the gutter, and she let go of the belt, kept her body flat against the 45 degree roof, edged her way along, and he prayed that the gutter was strong enough: he was putting her life into his panic-born idea. Movement in the rooms below, like something being dragged. Maggie squatted, lowered one leg then the other, hips above the drainpipe; she gripped the gutter and lowered the rest of her body. “Easy,” she whispered, and smiled at Callum. Something of confidence there. Pride surged through him, and despite it all he smiled back as her face disappeared from view. Callum looked at Cerys. “I’ll go last,” she said, weakly. “No, Mum, you go next,” Michael said, pushing her towards Callum. “Me and Dad can do it easy.” [[Send Cerys next]]

Good lad. If she was last, she’d never do it. “Don’t argue. You need to get down there and look out for Maggie. Be ready for Michael when he comes down. They need you to. I need you.” His hand on her arm was firm, as reassuring as he could muster. She climbed through the gap, teeth gritted but determined. And a resemblance between her and Maggie that he’d never seen before. Scratching over in the corner. He didn’t want to look, didn’t want to see one of the things halfway into the attic. It would only make it harder. [[Encourage her with love]] [[Shout at her]]

“You can do it, cariad.” She kissed him, held the belt, he leaned out as before, expecting her to be heavier than Maggie but she wasn’t. Stiffer with tension, but she must have lost weight. A twinge of guilt that he hadn’t noticed. But he was glad of her lightness as he leaned further out of the skylight to compensate for her lack of agility. He had to be quicker, stretched, ignored the pain in his arms and chest, felt Michael gripping his legs and holding on so Callum could reach further, “Hurry!” Callum told her, because there was a creak of wood from nearby and he couldn’t tell if it was in the attic or below it, couldn’t look – if it came to it he’d boost Michael out and just hope he could do it alone while Callum held off whatever might soon be breathing down his neck … Cerys let go of the belt and edged along. Callum pulled back, exhausted, turned to face the attic, but the only shape there was Michael. “It’s gone quiet,” Michael whispered. “Maybe they’ve gone?” Callum thought of his wife and daughter outside. If the things were gone from here, they could be heading there. But why’d they give up so easily? He needed more information. [[Make some noise]]

Callum started stamping, crashing his wellies against the floor to make noise, ready to leap back if any sharp barbs ripped through the floor again … but there was nothing. Callum shouted, “I’m up here you fuckheads!” with as much confidence as he could, stomping around to get their attention, bring them this way … and still nothing. “Err, Dad …” said Michael, lying on his stomach and peering down into the biggest hole. [[See what Michael wants]] [[Climb out of the skylight quickly]]

Callum joined him, squatted and gazed over the edge. Michael pointed. Something small, on the ruins of the bed. A rugby-ball-sized blob that pulsed, apparently composed of metal and flesh. It expanded and contracted as if breathing; like a segmented tin can crossed with a leaking maggot; and it had lights on it. Red specks; blue line flashes sometimes. They’d gone, and left this below the hole. A part that fell off the one he’d stabbed? Didn’t make sense. No, it felt like something they’d left on purpose. The timing, the placing, their absence. [[Climb out of the skylight quickly]] [[Drop down and investigate the thing]]

“We need to go. Now,” Callum said, dragging Michael to the skylight, squatting and hooking his fingers so Michael could put a foot there and climb out. Michael didn’t argue. He was up, scrambled through the window, seizing the belt Callum thrust at him. Callum leaned as far as he dared, clenching his teeth against the pain cutting into him from the repeated efforts of taking another person’s weight; Michael moved smoothly, got his feet on the gutter, let go. Cerys was out of sight, hopefully most of the way down the drainpipe. Callum dropped the belt, climbed out the skylight himself, rotated round so only his fingertips held it. Let go, started sliding towards the edge, a wave of panic as he imagined the two-storey drop onto leg-breaking concrete; but after a second his wellies caught the gutter, and although it rattled worryingly, it stopped him from falling. Michael was already on the drainpipe, a nimble monkey, making it look far easier than Callum knew it would be. Callum was getting ready to lower himself onto the waste pipe when there was a sudden movement below, followed by a sickening thud and a female shriek. Someone had fallen. He nearly fell too; hands already slick with perspiration, little to grip on to, and his heavy body tired. The shock of that thud jolted him, he slid, feet unable to get purchase, hands only stopping at the bracket that held the drainpipe to the wall, a bracket which was coming loose and tore the skin of his arm as he scraped past it; and it was as if there was no break in time from the shriek to his descent before he was at the bottom, kneeling by Cerys, the kids trying to help her up. “She was just below me, fell near the bottom,” Michael explained, as if worried he’d done something wrong. “I’m okay,” she told them. “Stop fussing.” But she winced as she stood, seemed to have hurt her back. “We’ve got to go.” Callum eyed the yard and orchard warily. [[Head to the trees]]

But it was the only way if they were to get away from the house in a hurry. Maggie put her arm around Cerys, helped her hobble towards the trees, both barefooted. Michael followed, and Callum’s eyes darted left and right, expecting something to charge at them from the murky shadows all around. The trees; the dense sea-blueness of the low sky; the leaf-strewn earth below; he felt trapped, enclosed. A mouse surrounded by predators. He saw nothing that could be a weapon. Held his bleeding arm against his chest, which became sticky with the sweat and blood. He’d live. They’d just entered the trees when it hit them. Michael was flung to the floor; Callum staggered into a tree; Maggie and Cerys fell to their knees. Leaves showered them as the treetops rocked back then righted themselves. Pieces of glass flew past from the house’s windows while the concussion blast reached out in every direction, crackling with charge, pinging off bodies and bark alike. Callum looked back at the house – it still stood, appeared the same as before apart from the shattered windows like empty eye sockets watching his family. It wasn’t hard to imagine real eyes looking out at them from the darkness within. [[Keep going]]

“Get up, keep going,” he commanded hoarsely. They did. For a few steps. Then Michael fell. Seemed to have trouble getting up, Callum had to help him. “Dad, my leg isn’t working right.” Maggie and Cerys continued towards deeper cover, good. “What is it?” he asked his son. “I can’t feel anything in my leg, it tingles … and my arm!” An edge of fear to his voice. Callum checked him quickly but could see no wounds, nothing obvious. Whatever the blast did, it wasn’t like a normal bomb, or there’d be more damage to the house. Callum remembered the skin-prickling charge that had spread out, maybe it did something to nerves? They’d all been behind trees apart from Michael on the right. It suddenly made sense: the things clearing out, the blast – and that gave him hope. If the things assumed they were all now paralysed in the attic they’d head back up there to get them, kill them, eat them, whatever. Maybe this had bought them some time after all, and the things weren’t about to spring a trap in the orchard. [[Leave Michael behind]] [[Carry Michael]]

Callum picked Michael up, flung him over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift, and staggered into the trees, out of sight of the house’s blank eyes, hoping he was quick enough. Caught up with Maggie and Cerys. They had veered off, were heading to the pumpkin field, which was a vast expanse of muddy openness that would bog them down and make them visible. [[Tell them to stop]] (link:"Follow them into the pumpkin fields")[(go-to: (either: "Follow them into the pumpkin fields", "Follow them into the pumpkin fields", "pumpkinsafety"))]

“Stop!” He lowered Michael, careful of his limbs. “Don’t worry,” he whispered to his son. “It was just a … stun blast.” Was that a thing? He didn’t know. But Michael smiled, as if understanding, and relieved. He believed Callum. They all squatted down low. Cerys seemed to notice Michael’s problem for the first time, stroked his face. “I’ll be fine, Mum. Just stunned.” “What are we going to do, Dad?” asked Maggie. Callum noted that they were all turning to him, expecting him to have answers, rather than turning to him as if he was the obstacle for once. He couldn’t let them down. [[Make plans]]

(UNLUCKY) Soon the mud is sucking at Callum's feet. He loses one of the wellies, slurped away by the hungry ground and leaving him with one bare foot. If only it hadn't rained recently! Cerys and Maggie struggle too. Soon there are sounds of pursuit. Callum looks back to see one of the things pounding after him ... no, two of them ... no, more ... he tries to run but it is no good, and they are quickly caught. THE END (link-goto: "Play again?", "Introduction") (link-goto: "Continue from the pursuit to the kitchen?", "Run like the wind") (link-goto: "Continue from escaping the house?", "Head to the trees")

“I think we need to get away from here. No point hiding. They’re fast so we can’t outrun them on foot. We could get to the car, but the keys are in the house.” [[Escape on the old bicycles]] [[Get the car keys from the house]]

They looked at him with terror, Cerys began to shake her head. “Don’t worry, that’s not my plan. They’re probably heading back into the house; and I have a feeling that whatever happened to the electrics would stop the car working too. I think we should get the bikes.” The good old family bicycles. Bought with plans for household outings, picnics, laughing faces and sunny lanes; doomed to disuse by arguments, the intruding business of work, and a cold wetness that hung over the hills more days than not. “They don’t have electrics. If we follow the trees we’ll be out of sight; then sneak round the outbuildings to the bike shed, grab the cycles. From there we can get on the back lane, leave this place behind.” “But Michael can’t walk!” Cerys pointed out. “I’ll give him a backie.” Michael grinned. [[Head to the bike shed]]

Cerys shook her head and pleaded with him not to go back, but Callum ignored her. "It will be fine." He set Michael down. "I want you all to hide among the trees in the orchard. He'd only gone a few feet when something moved in one of the upper windows. One of the *things* - looking out towards the orchard. Maybe the house wasn't a good idea after all. He quickly returned to his family. “Change of plan: we'll use the bikes.” Callum picked Michael up again. [[Head to the bike shed]]

They set off straight away. Had only gone a few yards when there was a tremendous screeching sound from the house, an echo picked up by other grating voices that seemed half static, half needle dragged across a record. Behind them, yes; but they knew their victims had got away. And now they’d come looking. “Hurry,” Callum urged. “Hey, Dad,” Michael whispered to him, only just audible above the pounding in Callum’s head. “I think I’m getting feeling back.” Callum set him down, relieved to give up his son’s weight for a moment. Michael moved his arm; raised the leg and wobbled it. “It started tingling, like pins and needles. It’s getting better. Just a stun blast, like you said.” And there was a look of wonder there; respect. His dad had surprised him, grown in stature to the figure a little boy saw. Callum pulled him in, hugged him strongly, too hard maybe but Michael didn’t complain. Then arm’s length. “Can you walk?” Michael took a step. Cerys and Maggie were watching, crouching next to a nearby tree. “Yes.” “Good lad. I’m proud of you.” More screeching sounds echoing around the farm. How many of the things were there? Too many. And not all the sounds came from the house. Clattering crashes from one of the outbuildings now. They were out, and looking. And seemed to be exactly where he needed to take his family. One thing that was true in these hills, Da’s favourite saying: it never rains, but it pours. [[Send them ahead]] - maybe Callum could create a distraction. (link:"Just keep going and hope they can be quick enough")[(go-to: (either: "Lucky not followed", "Unlucky followed"))]

“Go with your mum. Get to the outbuildings and all three of you hide behind the oil tank. I’ll be there in a minute.” “What are you doing?” “Getting us more time.” He didn’t wait. Moved away from them, tree to tree. Ears alert to any sound. Damp leaves slushing underfoot. The blue pulses in the clouds let him glance at his arm, the blood showing up as black streaks. It was clotting. The blood on his chest looked like war paint. So be it. [[Make a noise to send the creatures the wrong way]]

Back to near the house, the sheltered wood pile. The logs were too short to be much use but there were buckets there. He ignored the plastic ones, snatched up the old metal pail. Too light to go far. He scrambled around on his hands and knees, fingers squishing into cold and rotten windfall, dropped the squashy fruit into the bucket, feeling things crawl on his hands: earwigs, or harvestmen. A third of a bucket. Noises even in the orchard. Couldn’t be cut off. This had to work. Heavy enough. He got as near to the house as he dared without stepping into full view. He was near the old outhouse with the washing machine. On the other side of that was where the car was parked. Out of sight, and just about the furthest point from the bike shed, which was way on the other side of all the farm buildings. Perfect. He held the curved wire handle, swung the bucket, got enough momentum to take it in a 360 degree circle, round and round at his side, up and down, and as his aching arm swung forward and up the last time he let go, watched the weighted bucket fly up and over the outhouse, rewarding him a few seconds later with a crash and rattle, possibly even scraping the car; the echo of the rolling bucket grinding in its final ever-decreasing circle was the only sound. The other noises in the farm had stopped. He imagined ears, or whatever their equivalent was, listening eagerly. A guttural grinding from somewhere; a popping hiss of feedback elsewhere; movement. Towards the trusty bucket’s resting place. Away from his family. Towards Callum. [[Into the orchard]]

He retreated, staying low, avoiding the most obvious line from the outbuildings and trying to keep as many trees around him as possible. Who knew what kind of vision these things had? Once again, he’d created time. Not enough, but there never was enough. That was life. It would have to do. Luckily the ground was so damp that twigs bent and split silently rather than cracking sharply like in the hard heart of winter. He was quiet enough that he heard it coming before it heard him. Felt a vibration through his feet, footsteps, pounding meaning it was either quick or moving on all fours. [[Hide behind a tree]] [[Try to outrun it]]

Callum stood straight, back to one of the older apple trees just in time. A few feet behind him it slowed. A noise like breathing, or the artificial respirator one of his aunts had used in the dim past; Callum held his own breath. A red light glinted, laser pointer winking amongst the trees, blinked out. His neck prickled as if he was being watched. Uncertain movements, maybe the thing was turning. Could it smell him? The sweat drenching Callum’s body had to be giving off pheromones. And he could certainly smell that thing, like hot oil from an over-worked engine crossed with the stench of an animal market, those hateful places Da used to take him to where all the sounds were to do with money or hopelessness, depending on which species made them. It had given him nightmares. No wonder he switched to crops, even though the subsidies seemed ten times less and work seemed ten times harder. A horse-like snort, closer. Callum dared not move a muscle, let alone edge further round the tree. He’d just have to hope it didn’t come any nearer, discover him cowering weak-kneed against the rough bark. Then there was a squeal in the distance, and immediately the footsteps – or maybe even hoofbeats – pounded away again, towards the house. No time to wait for full safety, Callum planted his lips on the tree’s bark, kissed it, and moved on towards the outbuildings. “Please let them be safe,” he chanted, inaudible to any but himself. [[Head to the oil tank]]

He got through the orchard with no more trouble. His knees were stiff from all the crouching down, but that didn’t matter. Only getting away mattered. Getting them all away from this madness, this nightmare taking place in the thin layer squished between blue Hell sky and hard ground. As he approached the outbuildings he eyed the barn with distrust, remembering what had happened in there, and was surprised to realise it couldn’t have been much more than half an hour ago this all started. It felt like he’d lived a year since then. The creepy blue light from the sky meant he could run without bumping into walls; it was enough to see by. The equivalent of a full moon night. The oil tank cast a large shadow. He had to assume his family were there. He couldn’t see anyone wedged into that gap between tank and wall, but that was a good thing. Getting to the tank required a sprint across the open. The noises seemed further away. Hopefully they all teemed in one place. No strange lights, smells, hints of movement here. Couldn’t wait any longer. He dashed across the gap, not looking left or right, just aiming at the shelter. Safety. Then again, those shadows were deep. He hoped it was safety he was running into, and not the twitching arms of something alien. <-1 RELATIONSHIP WITH MICHAEL> [[Wait and watch]] [[Ask if there's anyone there]]

“Hello?” he whispered. “Callum!” Cerys pulled him into the greater darkness, squeezed him fiercely. He was aware of light touches from the kids. “I thought …” “I’m fine. Let’s go.” “Maybe they’ve gone?” Maggie said, hopefully. “They’re quiet.” “That’s what I’m worried about.” They moved out in a line, Cerys insisted everyone held hands. She limped but told him it was only bruising. Callum led them away from the house, round the back of the barn, beyond the tool shed – out of sight of the worst places where the things might be watching from. Michael reached the bike shed first. The building was leaning. Neglected and forgotten out on its own, like the things it stored in lieu of Callum making a firm decision to get rid of them. Always the hope that something would be useful later, that things could change and they’d gain a new lease of life. And right now he was glad of that. “It’s padlocked,” Michael said. “Have you got a key, Dad?” [[Look around]] [[Test the padlock]]

Callum tried the padlock first. Locked and rusty, as expected. If he had a crowbar he’d have it off in seconds. [[Look around]]

He looked round; at the edge of the drive there were ornamental white stones, dug up and moved over years of ploughing. Callum remembered once swearing to Cerys that the rocks grew like seeds, otherwise how come there were more every year? He hefted one that was larger than his hand, it felt about right. [[Smash a window]]

He took a deep breath: there was no way to do this quietly. When he smashed the single cracked window of the shed Michael cringed at the noise; Callum used the rock as a hammer, working quickly to knock out jagged edges. Each one shattered on the shed’s floor, seeming to break into teeny tinkling pieces just to spite him. [[Get the bikes]] [[Wait and listen]]

Yes. Commotion. Grating squeals of communication. They'd heard. [[Get the bikes]]

He climbed after it and ran with the bike, leapt on while it was moving, freewheeled until he gave up on trying to get the welly toes into the toe caps and just started pedalling with the straps upside down; yes, noises not far behind. A screech. Definitely after his blood. Family ahead, safer; he pedalled like mad, stood, thrusting his legs down hard to get up speed. In the sky the clouds seemed to part for a second, and he glimpsed something that had been hidden there, something of tremendous size, horrifyingly low and close, but he didn’t look, didn’t want to be distracted; diamond shaped beams off to his left, his right, then more ahead: one, two. Was it some way of moving the things? He went faster, wishing he had been on a cycle in the last few years and wasn’t as rusty as the bike; he passed the places on each side of the lane where the beams had landed, movement in the shadows amongst the bushes there but he was past. [[Look back]] [[Keep pedalling]]

He climbed after it and climbed onto the bike, tried to get the welly toes into the toe caps. It was too fiddly so he started pedalling. Noises not far behind. Callum concentrated on the road, looking out for potholes that could throw him, preparing to flick through the gears carefully so as not to lose the chain ... a screech, right behind him, after his blood, horrifyingly close, but he didn’t look, didn’t want to be distracted; and then something swiped him off the bicycle. He flew through the air, crashed into a patch of nettles, breath knocked from him, ribs possibly broken. He could hardly move, couldn't feel the stinging leaves on his bare torso because the *thing* was already coming from him. He closed his eyes. It was over. He just hoped he'd done enough for the rest of his family to survive. THE END (link-goto: "Play again?", "Introduction") (link-goto: "Continue from the pursuit to the kitchen?", "Run like the wind") (link-goto: "Continue from escaping the house?", "Head to the trees")

He dared a side glance back but the bike hit a rut on the muddy surface; he wobbled, heart leaping into his mouth, heard a grating squeal from behind, a hunter on the trail, he swayed but angled it right at the last second and instead of ploughing off the path into a tree he managed to veer back into the centre of the lane. He picked up speed, pedalling like the Devil was on his heels, as Da used to say. Why so many thoughts of his old man tonight? [[Keep pedalling]]

It was downhill now, he went faster, felt that it was working and he was making space. Down to the junction with the road, family had reached it and gone right towards the village; Callum braked just enough to take the corner at a wide angle without hitting the fence or getting bogged in mud, then caught up with them. Took a chance to look back – nothing. Forward was clear too. Michael looked like he was smiling. Good kid. Callum knew how he felt. When the adrenalin faded he’d be exhausted, but right now he could have whooped for joy. {(live: 9s)[ (either: "So tired ...", "Legs throbbing as he pedalled on ...", "Cycling is a young man's game ...", "His heart was pounding ...")]} [[Pull over and rest]] [[Keep cycling]]

The road was painted with ARAF, “SLOW”. His breath was coming so hard he didn’t need telling twice. “Stop,” he shouted. “Stop for a minute!” They pulled into a layby with a squeak of brakes; he wheeled past, turned his bike to face the three of them. On one side there was a drop down to the stream. Small beginnings that would feed into Afon Ystud later. The other side was a gorse-filled hill. It looked safe enough. “Stay on your bikes in case we need to head off again in a hurry,” Callum said, loosening his death grip from the handlebars. “Like if we’re being followed, you mean?” asked Maggie, with a backward glance. “Exactly like that. Michael – how’s your arm and leg?” Michael wiggled them. “Back to normal.” “Cerys – your back?” Callum had noted the way she was trying to keep her bum off the bike seat. “Don’t worry about me. I’m just amazed we’re all here. You did it all. That was … I don’t know what to say.” They all looked at him. Confidence and trust in those eyes. It was too much. He was only being a dad and a husband. --- You escaped from the farm! Well done. I hope you enjoyed it. But it's not THE END yet, and Callum hasn't found safety: only a temporary respite. The hills are covered in thick cloud, and Callum is being followed. The night is still full of danger. If you want to find out what happened to Callum in the novella, you can (link: "buy it here")[(goto-url: "https://books.pronoun.com/harvest-festival/")]. Maybe one day, if I have enough success with my books, I'll revisit this and make the rest of the story interactive. Thanks for reading! Karl Drinkwater

He was exhausted but didn't feel safe yet. They would carry on; despite the pain, and the fear,they would carry on. Because they were his family. --- You escaped from the farm! Well done. I hope you enjoyed it. But it's not THE END yet, and Callum hasn't found safety: only a temporary respite. The hills are covered in thick cloud, and Callum is being followed. The night is still full of danger. If you want to find out what happened to Callum in the novella, you can (link: "buy it here")[(goto-url: "https://books.pronoun.com/harvest-festival/")]. Maybe one day, if I have enough success with my books, I'll revisit this and make the rest of the story interactive. Thanks for reading! Karl Drinkwater

You look out and see nothing but shadows. Though some sixth sense tells you the shadows are looking back. [[Gather the family together]]

There is a screech from the door; a heavy bang on the door; then silence. Callum looked back from the living room doorway, just in time to see the letterbox close. <CALLUM HAS BEEN SEEN> [[Examine the living room]]

Callum stayed frozen, terrified to move in case the thing was listening for him. But time was ticking by. <+1 MINUTE> [[Get moving]]

You only have seconds to choose an option. <TIMER ACTIVATED> [[Hide in the bedrooms]] (link:"Climb to the attic")[(if: time < 4s)[(link-goto: "Click again, quickly!", "Climb to the attic")](else:)[(link-goto: "Too slow...")]] [[Jump out of the window]]

While Callum stood pondering the options, one of the *creatures* reached the top of the stairs. Amidst the screaming and panic and blood only one thing was clear: THE END (link-goto: "Play again?", "Introduction") (link-goto: "Continue from bedtime?", "Waking up") (link-goto: "Continue from the pursuit to the kitchen?", "Run like the wind")

Callum wished he had a weapon. Instead he put all his fury into stamping on the creature's ... well, fingers, maybe. They flexed and pulled, gripping hard as they lifted something heavy from below. Now a face of some kind was rising towards him, shredded and partially skinned, threaded with red-slicked metal pieces; another set of hooked claws grabbed the floor edge and pulled, using the leverage to force that head through the gap, twitching and widening it with its body as Callum kicked at its skull, again and again. The *thing* scrabbled for him angrily, but Callum kicked harder, despite feeling sick to his stomach; the thing fell with an electronic screech, tearing a chunk of floor away, all landing on the bed which collapsed from the sounds of it. That creature was incredibly heavy. And now the hole was bigger than before. Maybe big enough for it to fit through on a second attempt. [[Listen]]

You cheating rascal, Callum didn't collect his shotgun in this playthrough. While he stands staring at his empty hands, the grim reaper begins to shred his flesh. THE END (link-goto: "Play again?", "Introduction") (No other shortcuts for cheaters!)

As Callum gets near to it there is a creak from below. No. Going down there would not be a good idea. The best plan is for everyone to [[climb out of the skylight->Climb out of the skylight]].

"And hurry the fuck up!" Callum yelled. Cerys froze, looking at him with a hurt expression. "I'm doing my best!" she said. <+1 NOISE MADE> <-1 RELATIONSHIP WITH CERYS> Callum leaned out as before, expecting her to be heavier than Maggie but she wasn’t. Stiffer with tension, but she must have lost weight. He was glad of her lightness as he leaned further out of the skylight to compensate for her lack of agility. He had to be quicker, stretched, ignored the pain in his arms and chest, felt Michael gripping his legs and holding on so Callum could reach further, “I said to hurry!” Callum told her, because there was a creak of wood from nearby and he couldn’t tell if it was in the attic or below it, couldn’t look – if it came to it he’d boost Michael out and just hope he could do it alone while Callum held off whatever might soon be breathing down his neck … Cerys let go of the belt and edged along. Callum pulled back, exhausted, turned to face the attic, but the only shape there was Michael. “It’s gone quiet,” Michael whispered. “Maybe they’ve gone?” Callum thought of his wife and daughter outside. If the things were gone from here, they could be heading there. But why’d they give up so easily? He needed more information. [[Make some noise]]

Callum levered himself over the edge and dropped down. Nothing emerged from the shadows to grab him. The thing pulsed. He could see the movement in the light it gave off. Slick flesh moving and expanding around jagged bits of metal, then contracting again. Callum felt sick. [[Prod the thing]] [[Leave it and climb back into the attic]]

Callum dragged a chair over from Cerys' dressing table. Standing on that, he managed to reach the jagged flooring above and pull himself up. <+1 TIME> [[Climb out of the skylight quickly]]

As soon as Callum touched the strangely hot and sticky flesh there was a blinding light and an explosion. Whether it killed him or just knocked him unconscious, he never knew. THE END (link-goto: "Play again?", "Introduction") (link-goto: "Continue from bedtime?", "Waking up") (link-goto: "Continue from the pursuit to the kitchen?", "Run like the wind")

Callum couldn't be so callous. <-1 RELATIONSHIP WITH MICHAEL> [[Carry Michael]]

Without hesitating or worrying about cuts he scrambled through the frame and thudded to the wooden floor within. Bikes in a jumble, but not chained together. Any flat tyres would have to be damned. He grabbed the first bike, almost flung it out through the window where Michael and Maggie took hold of it. “Take it and go straightaway, don’t wait,” Callum told them, already lifting the next bike in a creak of springy, damp floorboards. Michael nodded, held the bike for his sister. She wobbled but got going, heading off down the lane. “Dad,” said Michael, worry on his face. “There’s noises coming this way.” Callum handed him the next bike. “Go.” Next was an old shopper, basket still attached. Cerys’ bike from years ago. He remembered her coming back from the village with the basket full on a Saturday: newspaper, bread, a tin or two; looking so dainty and ladylike. He handed it through the window to her. “They’re getting nearer, Callum, you –” “Just go! GO! I’m right behind you!” She did. Callum threw the last bike, a 1970s racer, through the gap. [[Cycle like hell]] [[Cycle carefully, no risks]]

(LUCKY) Callum caught up with Cerys and Maggie, despite the greedy mud sucking at his feet. Nothing seemed to be following yet, but it would be pointless to continue - the field only gets muddier as you go further. Callum persuaded them to return to the orchard: they would be out of sight, and movement possible without getting bogged down. After a struggle, and a lot of luck, the family reach the orchard again. Safe, but now Callum is exhausted. <+1 CALLUM TIREDNESS> [[Tell them to stop]]

(LUCKY) They moved out of the woods in a line, Cerys insisted everyone held hands. She limped but told him it was only bruising. Callum led them away from the house, round the back of the barn, beyond the tool shed – out of sight of the worst places where the things might be watching from. Michael reached the bike shed first. The building was leaning. Neglected and forgotten out on its own, like the things it stored in lieu of Callum making a firm decision to get rid of them. Always the hope that something would be useful later, that things could change and they’d gain a new lease of life. And right now he was glad of that. “It’s padlocked,” Michael said. “Have you got a key, Dad?” [[Look around]] [[Test the padlock]]

(UNLUCKY) Out of the woods, moving in a line, glancing back from time to time; definitely being followed. Must go faster. They reached the barn and the oil tank, shadows were thick and impenetrable ... then something made a grating sound in the shadows, like electronic retching. Callum pushed his family on and faced the huge thing that scuttled from behind the tank; screams from ahead, Cerys maybe - more of the things had appeared. They were surrounded. The disjointed creatures juddered in, spiked limbs reaching out for his family. Callum fought but it was no use. THE END (link-goto: "Play again?", "Introduction") (link-goto: "Continue from the pursuit to the kitchen?", "Run like the wind") (link-goto: "Continue from escaping the house?", "Head to the trees")

Callum started sprinting, using the trees as cover, dodging left and right. The thing followed him, screeching, maybe in anger, maybe calling others. When Callum glanced back he saw it was as big as a pony, and splintered straight through some of the smaller trees. It was a nightmare of heavy limbs and bleeding plates of metal ... Callum tripped, the wellies too loose for this kind of sprinting, and as it trampled over him the weight crushed his ribs, squishing the internal organs to paste. Luckily, he died quickly. THE END (link-goto: "Play again?", "Introduction") (link-goto: "Continue from the pursuit to the kitchen?", "Run like the wind") (link-goto: "Continue from escaping the house?", "Head to the trees")

Callum hid behing a bush and watched. <+1 MINUTE> Nothing at first ... then a slight movement. Stealthy, but cautious rather than predatory. There were noises of pursuit behind. He was wasting time. Survival meant determined choices. And without his family, what was the point in going on? Callum rushed to the oil tank. He was pulled into the greater darkness, squeezed fiercely. Cerys. “I’m fine. Let’s go,” Callum said. They moved out in a line, Cerys insisted everyone held hands. She limped but told him it was only bruising. Callum led them round the back of the barn, beyond the tool shed – out of sight of the things, hopefully. The bike shed was leaning. Neglected and forgotten out on its own, like the things it stored. “It’s padlocked,” Michael said. “Have you got a key, Dad?” [[Look around]] [[Test the padlock]]