The monster roared even louder and smashed an arm through Conor’s window, shattering glass and wood and brick.
A huge, twisted, branch-wound hand grabbed Conor around the middle and lifted him off the floor.
It swung him out of his room and into the night, high above his back garden,
holding him up against the circle of the moon, its fingers clenching so hard against Conor’s ribs he could barely breathe.
Conor could see raggedy teeth made of hard, knotted wood in the monster’s open mouth,
and he felt warm breath rushing up towards him. Then the monster paused again.
You really aren’t afraid, are you? “No,” Conor said. “Not of you, anyway.”
The monster narrowed its eyes. You will be, it said. Before the end.
And the last thing Conor remembered was the monster’s mouth roaring open to eat him alive.
BREAKFAST
“Mum?” Conor asked, stepping into the kitchen.
He knew she wouldn’t be in therehe couldn’t hear the kettle boiling, which she always did first thing –
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