With the darkness swallowing her as if she were a moth, she flies towards her room as nimbly as she can. The ease of it takes her by surprise, and she can’t help but smile as she traces her way along the corridor guided by the mystical wonders of muscle memory. Only a matter of feet from her bedroom door and the sense of safety is so close that her fingertips itch excitedly with the prospect of the softness of her bed and the dreams that will surely wash over her the second her head hits the pillow. If she’s lucky, these dreams will bring her back to the fox and the fairground. If she’s luckier still, they’ll take good care of her by never letting her return to this place, and like Peter Pan, she’ll stay forever young in a world far removed from the one now trying to devour her. Taking in a lungful of air as the doorknob twinkles mere inches away, the stink of that foul smell stops her dead in her tracks. She knows that whatever it belongs to is finally about to rear its ugly head, and the fear it puts in her heart weighs her down like a tonne of sludge. It’s not fair. Not fair at all. Trying hard to shake off the sense of paralysis gripping her limbs, she pictures herself spinning around and fleeing, but it’s too late. She can’t move at all, and the shape that’s stalking her is ready to reveal itself like the phantom it is.