Barry Hutchison - Doc Mortis

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.

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