‘Yes,’ he said, his expression turning solemn. This seemed more than a game to him.
‘We’ll start with a warm-up question, so take your time.’ She gave him a look which conveyed that this was a safe place. ‘Why are you wearing gloves? First answer goes to your mum.’
‘Because I’m cold.’ He stared at his hands. Sarah knew this wasn’t the truthful answer. He wouldn’t have wanted his mum to feel sad.
‘OK. And how about if Libby asked?’
‘They’re Daddy’s gloves,’ he replied instantly. By the size of them, this seemed true. But there was another reason why Elliott had chosen to wear them to bed.
‘And now me.’
Elliott finally met her gaze. ‘I don’t want to scratch Maggie again.’
‘I see. Well, I’m here tonight so you don’t have to worry about that.’ Sarah held out her hand. ‘Also, I’ve brought some microwave popcorn. Want to take off those gloves and give me a hand? Then we can play the rest of the game.’ She didn’t need to ask twice. The gloves disposed of, Elliott enjoyed the novelty of making popcorn at home.
A few minutes later they were back on the sofa, snacks in hand. ‘You can ask me another question now,’ Elliott said, watching her intently with a fistful of popcorn. It was as if he had read her mind. Sarah had been wondering if she was doing the right thing by continuing with the game.
‘OK, but this is a big question, Elliott. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.’
Elliott munched on his popcorn, with a determined expression. ‘It’s OK,’ he said.
Sarah nodded in response. ‘Right. Here goes then. Who do you think the Midnight Man is? First answer goes to Maggie.’
‘The Midnight Man is a bad dream,’ Elliott said instantly. He blinked, his long dark lashes full of innocence.
‘OK,’ Sarah said, pleased he had the swing of it. ‘The next answer is to Libby. What would you tell her?’
‘I’ve never heard of the Midnight Man.’ Elliott’s chin dipped onto his chest.
‘Interesting,’ Sarah replied with a smile. ‘Third and final answer is to me.’
She followed Elliott’s gaze to the window, but the curtains were closed. Was he worrying about the Midnight Man? In Slayton, monsters were no longer confined to under the bed.
‘Remember,’ Sarah said, regaining his attention. ‘You can trust me.’ She felt a sharp pang of guilt as she spoke. Should she be doing this? But this wasn’t police questioning. Sarah was asking as a friend. Elliott was a troubled little boy who needed to get something off his chest.
‘I don’t know.’ His chewing came to a halt. Sarah was about to tell him it didn’t matter, when he continued. ‘He’s wearing a hood. It’s dark inside and he’s cross, very cross.’ His voice dropped low. ‘Maggie doesn’t like me saying this word, but it’s like hehateseverything. In here.’ His hand rested on his heart. He looked at Sarah, awaiting her response. The look was so innocent, so trusting, that for a moment, Sarah was lost for words. How did this odd little boy cope with the rest of the world? She imagined him in school, and the years that lay ahead. No wonder Maggie was protective.
‘I think you gave me the truthful answer, am I right?’
Elliott nodded.
‘You can ask me a question now if you want.’
Elliott seemed to like the sound of this. He smiled a little before cocking his head to one side.
‘Where’s Libby?’
Shifting on the sofa, Sarah met his gaze. ‘Your mummy said she was on curfew, didn’t she?’
‘Yes,’ Elliott said. ‘I had a bad feeling, because Libby played the game.’
‘Wait, what?’ Sarah interrupted. ‘She played the game? When? With who?’
‘On Halloween night.’ His long lashes blinked as he looked at her with sincerity. ‘But she’s OK. Maggie brought me to see her. We bought her a candle …’ His words faded as he stared into the artificial flames. ‘Fire. There’s fire.’
‘Elliott,’ Sarah said, as he stared, open-mouthed. ‘Are you OK?’ No response came. ‘Elliott?’ she said again, touching his arm. ‘Do you know who else she played with? What about Jahmelia?’ But the little boy offered no response. Eventually, he shrugged, his gaze becoming vacant. ‘It was just a dream.’ He followed up with a yawn, stretching his arms wide.
Sarah checked her watch. ‘We should get you to bed.’ She thought she was helping him, but maybe she was wrong bombarding him with questions. Was she doing him more harm than good? Elliott needed a child psychiatrist. She was out of her depth. ‘Sweetie,’ she said, as the television played a game show on mute. ‘Would you like me to read you a story?’
