The Boy was half-dead when he arrivedin the little town square of Eldershot. Mrs. Mirrian, who was awakeat such an hour for reasons which could only be described aspromiscuous, was the one who saw the pale figure. He stood like aghoul shrouded by blackness at the other end of the square. Mrs.Mirrian, holding her dress off the street as she made her way back toher husband, nearly threw her high-heels into the air when the sightof his white face caught her eye. A spectre at the side of hervision. Stifling a scream – it would be awkward to have to describeher situation to anyone – she looked back to the ghoul, but saw noone and nothing there. Sure her eyes were playing tricks on her shecontinued on her sneaky way. A few steps across the side of thesquare (avoiding the lamplights) brought the light, rasping sound, asthough of a corpse attempting to breathe after so long of avoidingit, to her ears. And she startled again. She knew she was beingjumpy, knew how difficult it would be to explain her reasons forbeing out to the neighbours – the bloody Hargots would love to findher like this, wouldn't they!? But she could no longer ignore thatshe was not in this square alone. Was not the sole occupier of thishour. Tentatively, like someonehoping that by half-arsing it they can get away without really doingthe task, she turned to the left, to the larger opening to thesquare, and the source of the death-rattle of breathing, where shehad seen the ghoul. There she saw her phantom. It was a child, a boy.And though he was not naked, he was not entirely decent. His palebody glowed on the cobblestone like a dim star. His blonde hair,slick with sweat, weighed onto the ground. His naked back was smooth,the colour of sand. He couldn't have been any older than ten. Shit. Though Mrs.Mirrian. "Help," she screamedinto the darkness, and, limping away as best her bare feet could takeher, danced into the shadows like a goblin. Her cry for help didn'tgo unheeded, at least two houses suddenly lit the square from bedroomwindows, and their owners poked their head out, their nakednesshidden hastily by dressing gowns. They consulted amongst one anotherthrough their windows, those two neighbours until they decided toinvestigate further. Down on the street,dressing gowns tied tightly around them, they headed towards thesource of the noise. For you and I this wouldbe fairly normal, almost neighbourly. For the residents of Eldershot,it was unprecedented. And if I told you that the two neighbourswalked about their business without trepidation I would be lying. Thepeople of Eldershot weren't superstitious by nature, but they weresecluded in their village. A tight-knit, hardy, and reserved peoplestruck by a fear of God. It was the kind of town where, if you were so inclined to believe it, vampires or werewolveswould prey. Backto the boy. The neighbours were at first shocked, then surprised,then scared, then reproachful (of themselves) and then helpful. Thefirst neighbour ran back indoors to get a blanket to cover the poor,naked, freezing child. Whilst the other lifted him up barely,checking he was still breathing. The neighbour slid his thumb downthe boys rib, like a xylophone, as though by touching them he couldbelieve that ribs could be so exposed, skin so thin. Covered,and no longer quite as goose-bumpy, they carried him inside andnursed him to health. The closest hospital was a good half-hoursdrive away, and though neither neighbour wanted him in their house,they wanted to drive to the hospital in the middle of the night evenless. MissMushy (who saw no end of pea-related witticisms as a child) had beentold by her neighbour that she was the one who ought to take in theboy. Before even the whisper of a moan had left her lips, herneighbour had told her to take the boy back to her pod, and marchedinto his house. She tutted, and carried him inside. Thatwas how the boy came to Eldershot.

