Daniel woke to the sound of the wind buffeting against the back of the house. He shivered and wrapped his quilt up around him. Although he was still fully clothed, his feet and hands were freezing and so he pulled his legs up close to his chest, foetal-like, to avoid the draught around the edge of the bed. He opened his eyes just enough to see a trail of sparkling dust motes caught in the early morning sunlight and stared at them as his mind began to awaken. His mother used to tell him that those glistening specks were fairies, and that if he stared carefully enough into the sunbeams he would be able to see them dancing towards him, their tiny silver wings fluttering like a thousand miniature butterflies new born to the morning. It was an image that had terrified him for years.

There was blood on his pillow; a dark, round pool the colour, size, and texture of an over-ripe peach. He lifted his throbbing head slightly and rubbed the dried residue from the side of his cheek before collapsing back down again, overcome by nausea and unable to maintain the weight of his swollen brain.

It took him several moments to gather his thoughts, and for a while he did not move, his mind reiterating the events of the previous night. Somehow it all seemed distant now, like a dream long past.

Just another dream.

Sliding down from the bed, his eyes narrow slits, he pulled back the curtains of the low window and looked across at the yard outside. A blanket of fresh snow covered the ground.
He stared out for a while, watching as the wispy flakes were lifted by the wind and thrown against the garden wall. There was still something magical about waking up to a snow-covered back garden. It reminded him of childhood winters, of snowballs and numb fingers, and frozen wet socks in heavy black welly boots that pinched his toes.

Just a dream. Everything's fine now. Just another dream.

He rubbed his hands across his unshaven face, then rested his head in his palms.
His sleep over the last few days had been patchy, an amalgam of lucid and confused dreams of Sandra and Matthew intermingled with the usual bizarre images of people and places that he only part recognised. He often awoke with the full intensity of those dreams still clear in his mind; a cocktail of emotions: love, hate, terror, joy, loss, and others that he would recall only later during the day, when the visions came rushing back together with the emotions that accompanied them. Sometimes it was difficult to differentiate between the dreams and reality; the dreams were just so real, and the reality seemed somehow so intangible.

He rose from the bedside and walked purposefully out of the room and down the narrow wooden stairs. Reaching the bottom, he glanced first through to the kitchen and then across the living room towards the front-door, where his eyes lingered momentarily. It was unlocked: just as he could remember leaving it in the panic of the night before. For a moment he paused, then he cursed himself and walked cautiously over.

As he moved through the living room, he became aware once again of the sound of the wind battering against the walls outside and felt a cold breeze from the chimney sweep around his legs. He glanced over to the fire and saw that it had long ago burnt down to small heap of grey ash in the hearth. He reached the door and slipped the chain back onto the catch before cautiously pulling it open.

There was nothing. Just the snow. He almost laughed at his paranoia: after all, what had he been expecting to see ?
His breath steadying, he slipped off the chain and opened the door wider.
“Oh God…”
The ground was blood-red around the base of the door; two legs and part of the lower torso of an animal were partially hidden beneath the red snow.

Salvador. His cat. Salvador

The rest of the animal’s insides had been scattered around the doorway, a mixture of scarlet and purple gore half-frozen like raspberry slush in the snow around his feet.
Daniel fell back, overcome by nausea and shock. As he did so, something fell from just above him and dropped to the ground with a muffled thud. In the snow lay the cat's head, now crushed almost flat, blood and brain pummelled into the stonework above the door. Vomit surged up into his mouth and he turned away, catching it in his hands.
He pushed the door shut again, tears filling his eyes, and sank to his knees on the floor.


Tears still in his eyes and a cloth held over his mouth to stop himself vomiting again, he cleaned the remains of the cat from the doorway and gave the animal a proper burial in a small cardboard box in the back garden. The ground was hard and it was difficult digging. Time and again the spade clanged down into the frozen soil, displacing only handfuls of gravel-shaped soil.

Bastards. Bastards. Why ?

He swung the spade down into the soil and stared down at the ground.

"Dan !"
He jumped, his thoughts shattered, and fell backwards. The spade clattered to the floor.
“Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you.”

It was Ellen, his neighbor. She was standing on the narrow pathway that ran along the bottom of his garden. He nodded to her. “Don't worry. I was somewhere else.”

He felt his heart pound uncomfortably as he watched her move over to the gate. About five years his junior, she had a small, likeable face with big round green glasses and long, straggly, hair that flapped about her face in the wind. She was wearing a thick blue corduroy coat and green woolly gloves. A small, battered-looking rucksack hung over her shoulder and a long, red and yellow striped scarf dangled loosely around her neck. She had moved here about three months ago and during that period he had managed to avoid her as best he could. Ellen came across as bubbly, bright, and cheerful; characteristics that Daniel found particularly disconcerting. Fortunately she worked in London during the week and only came back to the cottage at weekends. This made the odd weekend conversation vaguely bearable.

Except this weekend.

“What’s wrong ?” she asked quickly. “What are you doing ?”
Daniel stared at the newly dug ground. “Nothing.”
She followed his eyes to the spade and then the box.
“Somebody killed my cat,” he said slowly.
Her voice was shocked. “Sally ? Oh God. I’m sorry. When did it happen ?”
He didn’t want to speak; any words seemed trite and empty.
The gate swung open and he heard her feet crunching through the snow towards him. “Are you OK ?”
He nodded, pulling himself upright and fighting back the tears.
“How did it happen ?” she asked quietly. Her hair flapped across her face and she pushed it away. “Was it a fox or something ?”
He shook his head.
“God. Have you called the police ?”
“No.”
“But you will ?”
He thought about it for a moment. He had considered calling the police earlier that morning, but there were things that he couldn’t explain to them; secrets that were his and his alone.
“I’ll call them later,” he said quietly.
She was still for a moment, then she said: “You need a coffee.”
“No thanks. Not at the moment.”
She stepped towards him, and he saw her eyes try to meet his. For a moment he was unsure of what she might do. He shuffled backwards nervously.
“I don’t mean to be rude,” she said slowly, looking up at him. “But what have you done to your head ?”
She was pointing to the side of his temple, just to the right of his eye. He moved his hand to the spot and almost fell backwards with the intensity of the pain. When he brought his fingers back down, they were covered with bright fresh blood. He recalled again the images of the night before; the whispering voices, the visions...
“Are you OK ?”
Daniel stared at his scarlet fingers. “No… I… I don’t remember.” He moved his hand back again and gingerly explored the wound.
“You should put something on that.”
“I’m fine. It’s just…” He shook his head. “I must have caught it on something when I got up this morning.”
“OK. But just remember - if you need anything, give me a call.”
“I will.”
She nodded, then turned back down the pathway. "Dan..."
"Yes ?"
She shuffled and looked down uncomfortably. "If you feel like coming around the house this evening, or any other time - just to talk - then you're quite welcome. We can get a pizza in or something."
He felt his neck start to burn. "I'm OK, thanks. I've got a lot on my mind." He looked down at the small grave. “And I’m not sure I’d be much company.”
Her face fell. "OK," she replied. "No worries. Just don't forget the offer. I'm only next door if you need some company."
"Thanks."
Then she turned and walked quickly along the steep downhill path, kicking up snow as she went. Just as she began to disappear, he called over to her. "Ellen ?"
She stopped and looked across.
"What time did you get back last night ?"
"I don’t know. Eleven thirty perhaps. Maybe later." A worried expression crossed her face. "I didn't wake you, did I?"
"Uh, no. No... You didn't see anything, did you ?"
"Like what ?”
"Nothing. Sorry, it’s nothing. Thanks anyway."
She stood for a moment, then smiled quizzically. "OK then. Take care, Dan."
He watched her as she turned and slid like a child through the fresh snow down the hill, then he turned back to the garden and the shallow grave.
"Don't do this to me," he whispered quietly. "Not again. Not again."