Doc Mortis. Barry Hutchison

was empty, but there were still three pieces left in the bottom tray.

      My stomach gave a growl, urging me to get stuck in. I realised I couldn’t remember when I’d last eaten. Had it been that meal I’d picked at in Marion’s kitchen? How long ago was that? One day? Two? Suddenly I felt very hungry.

      I popped one of the chocolates in my mouth.

      Then spat it back out again on to the floor. Coffee Cream. I wasn’t that hungry.

      A small satchel lay open and empty on the floor beside the overturned table. I took it, stuffed one of the bags of crisps inside, then slung the satchel across my chest.

      The second crisp bag crackled as I opened it. A vinegary smell wafted from within and my mouth began to water. I grabbed half a dozen crisps in one go and crammed them into my mouth. They were stale, and didn’t actually taste much of anything, but I didn’t care. I chewed hungrily, spraying crumbs everywhere.

      The second handful of crisps was out of the bag before I’d swallowed the first one. I chewed faster. My stomach ached sharply as the full force of my hunger made itself known. Gulping the crisps down, I raised the next load to my mouth.

      A sound from the doorway made me stop. I opened my hand, letting the crisps fall. Holding the snooker cue like a fighting staff, I spun round.

      A boy stood in the corridor, just beyond the door. But not just a boy. The boy. The boy from the photograph.

      He was small, but the way he was hunched over made him look even smaller. His face was caked with dirt, with two tracks of clean leading from his eyes and down his cheeks.