As I’m staring upwards, several patches of pulsing light pass by. Different colours, shapes and sizes, slowly gliding along in the same direction. I look around and notice other patches floating through the trees, converging on a point far off to my left. Without any kind of trail, I’ve been walking aimlessly. Now I decide to follow the moving lights.

Maybe an hour later I spot the four humans who came through the window after the demon. They’re standing in a clearing, the old bearded man slightly apart from the others. I think he’s muttering a spell, hands wriggling by his sides. He’s the focus for the moving, pulsing lights. They’re gathering in the space in front of him, slotting together, forming a window like the one in the village field.

I creep up without them seeing me.

“…still say we should have killed him,” the Indian woman is saying. “It was not right, letting him murder the children and take one of them. We are supposed to protect people. That is our duty.”

“The master knows what he is doing,” the black man says. “He would not have let the demon go without good cause.”

“You’ll get used to people dying,” the young blonde woman says. “Beranabus isn’t interested in saving the lives of a few individuals. He doesn’t have time for trivialities.”

“Trivialities?” the Indian woman explodes. “You call the loss of human life a trivi—”

“No,” the younger woman interrupts. “That’s what Beranabus calls it. He says we serve a greater purpose, that our mission is nothing less than the protection of mankind itself. He says we can’t worry about every human killed by demons, or waste time chasing strays. He doesn’t mind you lot doing it, but we—”

“I’m trying to work!” the elderly man—Beranabus—barks, turning angrily. “If you’d stop chattering like monkeys, maybe I could…” He sees me and stops. “Who the hell is that?”

The others whirl around defensively. They pause when they see me.

“He doesn’t look like a demon,” the black man says.

“Some don’t,” the young woman growls. “A few can take human form. You have to be careful.” She raises her right hand. I sense power in her fingertips. Power directed at me.

“No!” I cry. “Don’t hurt me! I’m not a demon! I’m Kernel Fleck!”

The young woman’s fingers curl inward, holding back the magical power which she was about to unleash. She frowns. “He doesn’t sound like a demon.”

“It is the boy from the village,” the Indian woman says. “He was with the child Cadaver kidnapped.” She smiles at me. “Hello.”

“Hi,” I squeak nervously.

“What’s he doing here?” Beranabus huffs.

“I imagine he came through the window after us,” the Indian woman says. “In search of his brother perhaps?” She arches an eyebrow questioningly at me.

“Yes. The monster—demon—stole my brother, Art. I came to get him back.”

“Nonsense,” Beranabus snorts. “It will have slaughtered and devoured him by now.”

“Beranabus!” the Indian woman hisses. “Do not say such a thing!”

“Why not? It’s true.”

“You do not know that. And even if it is, you should not say it. Not in front of…” She nods at me.

Beranabus laughs. “If the child was bold enough to follow us, he’s bold enough to be told the truth. Isn’t that right, boy? We don’t have to lie. You’d rather we were honest about it, aye?”

“Art isn’t dead,” I say, my voice trembling. “He’s alive. I’m going to get him back.”

“Steal him back from Cadaver?” Beranabus laughs again. “You’re brave, but stupid. You couldn’t find him, not if you searched for the rest of your life. So it doesn’t really matter if he’s alive or not, does it?”

“Is that the demon’s name?” I ask, ignoring his question. “Cadaver?”

“Aye. But that’s no use to you. What are you going to do—report him to your police?”

“We have to send this boy back,” the young woman says. “Open another window. Return him.”

“We don’t have time,” Beranabus says. “Cadaver knows we’re after him. He’s on the run. The further ahead he gets, the harder he’ll be to find.”

“That doesn’t matter. We must—”

“You’re chasing him?” I cut in, excited. “You’re going after the monster who stole my brother?”

“Aye,” Beranabus says, eyes twinkling.

“Then I’ll come with you. Please. Let me. When you find him, if Art’s still… you know… I can snatch him back. Take him home.”

“No,” the Indian woman says immediately. “It is too dangerous. You do not know what you would be letting yourself in for… Excuse me, but what did you say your name was?

“Kernel. Kernel Fleck.”

“My name is Sharmila.” She smiles. “You must go home, Kernel. If we find your brother, we will return him to you. I promise.”

“No,” I say stubbornly. “I want to help find him.”

“Help?” Beranabus repeats, cocking an amused eyebrow. “How exactly do you plan to help?”

“I… I don’t know. With the spells? The lights?”

“What lights?” Beranabus frowns.

I point to the patches of light which are joining together ahead of him. He looks at where I’m pointing and his frown deepens. I realise these people can’t see the patches either. Before I can explain, the black man speaks up.

“Sharmila and Nadia are right, master. This child does not belong here. We must return him. If we don’t… if we leave him in this nightmarish world of water and screaming trees… we will be no better than the demons we seek to stop.

Beranabus sniffs. “A nice plea, Raz, but I never claimed to be any better than the Demonata. I say we leave him, and my word is final—isn’t it, Nadia?”

He looks hard at the young woman. She stares back defiantly for a few seconds, then drops her gaze. “It wouldn’t take long to open a window…” she mutters. “I could do it while you search for Cadaver.”

“You’re not very skilled at finding your way around,” Beranabus says. “What makes you think you could locate the right place?”

“I could try,” she insists. “And even if I don’t find the exact spot, I can return him to our world. He could make his own way home from there.”

Beranabus thinks a moment, then shrugs. “So be it. Waste your time if you wish. But keep out of my way, so you don’t interfere with—”

“I’m not going!” I shout. “I came to find Art and I’m not going home without him!”

“Kernel,” the black man—Raz—says, “you don’t know what is happening. This is not a place for children. You must go home. Mustn’t he, Sharmila?”

“Yes,” the Indian woman says, glaring at me like an angry teacher. “I gave you my word that I will return your brother to you if we find him alive. That will have to be enough.”

“Trust me,” the younger woman—Nadia—says with a sad smile, “you don’t want to stay here. You’ve followed us into a different universe—the home of the Demonata. It’s a hell-hole. This part isn’t so bad, but we’re going to encounter far worse very soon. You don’t want to be with us when that happens. I wouldn’t be here if I had a choice.”

“I don’t care,” I say, close to tears. “Art’s my brother. Mum told me to look after him. I’m not going back alone.” Softly, voice cracking, I add, “I can’t.”

Sharmila’s eyes go soft with pity. “I am sorry, Kernel. We have spoken harshly. But you have to understand—it is impossible. You cannot stay. You could do no good here. You must go home. Your parents will be frantic, thinking they have lost you both. That is not fair, is it?”

“No, but…” I can’t find the words to explain.

“Enough talk,” Beranabus grunts, losing his patience. “The boy wants to stay… you lot want to send him home… this is easily decided.”

He flicks a hand at me. Suddenly, I’m flying through the air. I smack hard into a tree and cry out with shock and pain, mostly from my broken arm. As I fall to the ground, the branches of the tree move quickly. Catch me. Wrap themselves round me. Squeeze.

I catch sight of Sharmila darting to my rescue. Beranabus waves a hand, stopping her. The branches tighten. The tree howls louder than ever. I’m lifted up. The holes in its bark are expanding. It means to crush and swallow me. A few seconds more and I’ll be dead, killed and eaten by this monstrous sham of a tree.