5 Sheep Book Review: Mia and Nattie: One Great Team by Marlene M. Bell + excerpt

Mia and Nattie One Great Team – Picture Book

by Marlene M. Bell

October 3, 2020

Nattie’s mouth was a little crooked. Her legs were a bit shorter than usual, and one horn was too straight, like a unicorn’s horn. But Mia thought Nattie was perfect.

In a read-aloud picture book for children who love animals, award-winning writer and sheep breeder Marlene M. Bell presents Nattie the lamb’s true story.

MIA AND NATTIE is a heartwarming book that teaches readers about problem-solving, teamwork, and love.

On a visit to her grandma’s farm, eight-year-old Mia discovers a newborn, orphaned lamb outside in the cold and takes her to the laundry room, naming her Nattie. As she tries to nurse the lamb back to health, Mia discovers that Nattie is different from the other lambs and struggles to fit in with them like Mia does with other kids her age. When her grandmother says she will sell Nattie to a neighbor, Mia must come up with a plan to keep her friend around—one that will show the family just how special Nattie truly is.

Praise:

“With each turn of the page, my kids and I fell more and more in love with this beautiful story. This is a story of friendship, inclusivity, and confidence. This is a story of not giving up on friends, and believing in the power of helpfulness. This is a BEAUTIFUL story. I had tears in my eyes as I was reading this aloud to my kids and it led to a really powerful discussion once we had turned the last page.” – Book Coffee Happy

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What a beautifully made book. When you open the cover you see this glossy spread...

My kids are grown now, but I read a lot of picture books to my kids and this is one I know my kids would have loved. The little girl helps her grandma realize that even though Nattie is small and can't live with the other sheep, she can still be a big help on the farm.

Mia and Nattie: One Great Team has a positive message for kids and should be part of a school's library and a perfect gift for any kid.

5 "Baaart approved Sheep"

Baaart

SharonS

Mia and Nattie EXCERPT

Tiny Nattie studied the ways of older sheep.

She ate grass and tasty weeds.

She ate grain and hay and drank water instead of milk.



But Nattie would never be big enough to live with the rest of the flock.

She was too small to raise babies of her own.

“Your lamb needs a home,” Grandma said to Mia.

“She has one! Please let me keep her.” Mia hugged Nattie’s neck.



Mia squinted back tears before they fell on Nattie’s wool.

“A neighbor wants to buy her,” Grandma said, then spun around and walked to the barn in silence.

Mia had to find a way for Nattie to stay.

About the Author:
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Marlene M. Bell is an award-winning mystery writer and acclaimed artist as well as a photographer. She and her husband, Gregg, reside in beautiful East Texas on a wooded ranch with their dreadfully spoiled horned Dorset sheep, a large Maremma guard dog named Tia, and Hollywood, Leo, and Squeaks, the cats that rule the household.

Excerpt: Bigfoot Lives Series by Becky Cook + giveaway

Bigfoot Lives... In Idaho (Bigfoot Lives Book 1)

by Becky Cook

November 9, 2012
79 pages

Genre: Nonfiction, True Story Encounters 

It’s late at night and you are sitting around a campfire when someone starts telling yet another Bigfoot story.

You ask yourself – are they really real?

If you have ever wondered if Bigfoot exists, this is the book to read to find out. He not only exists, he lives and thrives here in Idaho.

This book captures a cross section of stories from across the state. They tell the tale of sightings – the smell, the size, where they were and how it happened.

"… he was easily seven and a half feet tall and roughly 800 pounds of muscles and hair – not any fat on him. It had both dark hair and dark eyes and it was obviously a male. It seemed unconcerned … "

“If he wanted to he could have ripped me in half,”

So what really happened? Are they really real?

Read the book and decide yourself.

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EXCERPT:
Dave Higley has had not one, but two, encounters with Bigfoot. He said that back in 1978 he was hunting up in the mountains between Idaho and Wyoming in an area called Bloody Bucket. About four in the afternoon on a fall day he was coming down the mountain after hunting elk when he came around a bend and within twenty feet of a Bigfoot and had a face-to-face encounter.

He said that they were both startled, but he didn’t get scared. He had all his firearms with him but didn’t feel threatened in any way and the Bigfoot took a good, long look at him then slowly meandered off up the hill. At their closest they were only 20 feet apart and Higley got a good look at him. He said he was easily seven and a half feet tall and roughly 800 pounds of muscles and hair – not any fat on him. It had both dark hair and dark eyes and it was obviously a male. It seemed unconcerned to have the encounter. Higley said that he just left the area and walked back down to his own truck with a feeling that was slightly surreal- as though that encounter just clarified to him, “Wow, they really are real!”

He said that had the Bigfoot wanted to hurt him he surely could have – he was big enough and looked strong enough to do a lot of damage.

“If he wanted to he could have ripped me in half,” Higley said.

Later he was kicking himself for not going back to take pictures or castings of the footprints because they were both standing in about two inches of dust along the roadway.

“Hind sight is a wonderful thing,” he said.

But one thing changed – he made it a point to take a camera with him each and every time he went into the woods.

Bigfoot Still Lives... In Idaho (Bigfoot Lives Book 2)

by Becky Cook

October 8, 2015

114 pages

Bigfoot Still Lives in Idaho is a compilation of eye witness stories from people just like you who have seen Bigfoot here in Idaho. They describe the terrain, the sounds, the smells, and the circumstances. Whether you believe in Bigfoot or not, this book will have you at least open to the option of their existence. 

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Bigfoot Lives Forever in Idaho (Bigfoot Lives Book 3)

by Becky Cook
August 29, 2019
92 pages
All of us have had moments where life is suspended in time, when life seems frozen in an amazing snap shot. Occasionally we pull that experience out from the recesses of our mind - to look at it, to savor it, and to experience it again. It is at times like these when you wonder if you really saw what you think you just saw, like those times where you just can’t quite believe your eyes – like say, when you saw your first Bigfoot.

“It was bigger than anything I have ever seen – really tall and furry from head to toe! It was just so surprising – I didn’t expect to run into anything on a trip to the bathroom.”

“They are smart, and they can sit still for a really long time. Besides, they have the whole forest to hide in; no wonder people don’t see them real often.”

“I didn’t believe in Bigfoot, I thought it was a hoax. Now I believe it and I look at every bear track differently. I know they are up there. It’s one thing to think you see it and it’s another thing entirely to have one scare you half to death! Why lie when the truth is so much more amazing?”

Read along as more stories are told of the amazing Bigfoot who have been seen right here in Idaho – some of them near your own home.

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About the Author:

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Becky Cook is an award winning author and speaker. She has entertained many groups - large and small - and never seems to have trouble holding the interest of those in the audience.

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Sheep Movie Review: Deepwater Horizon

Deepwater Horizon

Directed by Peter Berg 

Written by Matthew Michael Carnahan , Matthew Sand 

Sep 30, 2016

Cast:

Mark Wahlberg as Mike Williams
Kurt Russell as Jimmy Harrell 
John Malkovich as Vidrine 
Gina Rodriguez as Andrea Fleytas 
Dylan O'Brien (II) as Caleb Holloway 
Kate Hudson as Felicia Williams

Runtime: 99 minutes 

Studio:Lionsgate

Rating:PG-13 (for prolonged intense disaster sequences and related disturbing images, and brief strong language.)

Genre: Action & Adventure , Drama 

On April 20th, 2010, one of the world's largest man-made disasters occurred on the Deepwater Horizon in the Gulf of Mexico. Directed by Peter Berg (Lone Survivor), this story honors the brave men and women whose heroism would save many on board, and change everyone's lives forever.

I remember when this happened, but I had no idea what "happened." I have a new respect for anyone working on a rig. I am not one for true story movies, especially when there is senseless life lost. I have never seen, and will never see, Titanic. The only reason I went to see Deepwater Horizon is because my 15  year old daughter wanted to see one of her favorite actors Dylan O'Brien.

I'm glad I went. There is nothing entertaining about the movie, but it is powerful. I thought the casting was fabulous...you can't go wrong with Kurt Russel and John Malchovich and Mark Wahlburg is nice to look at. I felt on the edge of my seat most of the movie...even knowing what was going to happen. They did a great job of building tension and suspense. They did go a little overboard on the foreshadowing. I don't know how much of the movie was embellished but I'm sure there was some. Some scenes were pretty hard to watch; they must have gotten that PG-13 rating by the skin of their teeth.

The people involved in the making of Deepwater Horizon gave proper respect to those who lost their lives by showing them as people and then at the end of the movie they showed pictures of the real people who died and those involved in saving so many lives. I'm astonished that more didn't die.

Hard to rate this kind of movie. My husband gives it 3.5-4 because it took a while to get to the action. My daughter gives it 4.5...not sure how much that has to do with O'Brien's character living. Knowing what this movie represents and what it means to those who survived and those who didn't, I can only go with my heart and give it 5 Sheep

5 "I want the whole 90 seconds" Sheep

SharonS

Book Review: Birdwoman by Jeffe Kennedy

Birdwoman
by Jeffe Kennedy
Publisher: Jeffe Kennedy
ASIN: B01AVK09AE
January 19, 2016

14 pages
A true story of a paranormal encounter from award-winning fantasy author Jeffe Kennedy.

Jeffe and her husband had traveled to Vancouver Island where she has a paranormal encounter with what she called the ‘Birdwoman.’ Well-written and haunting, it left me felling unsettled after the story/article ended.

I give Birdwoman 5 sheep

Pamela K. Kinney

About the Author:

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Jeffe Kennedy is an award-winning author with awriting career that spans decades. Her works include non-fiction, poetry, short fiction, and novels. She has been a Ucross Foundation Fellow, received the Wyoming Arts Council Fellowship for Poetry, and was awarded a Frank Nelson Doubleday Memorial Award. Her essays have appeared in many publications, including Redbook.

Her most recent works include a number of fiction series: the fantasy romance novels of A Covenant of Thorns; the contemporary BDSM novellas of theFacets of Passion, and an erotic contemporary serial novel, Master of the Opera, which released beginning January 2, 2014. A fourth series, the fantasy trilogy The Twelve Kingdoms, will hit the shelves starting in May 2014 and a fifth, the highly anticipated erotic romance trilogy, Falling Under, will release starting in July.

She lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico, with two Maine coon cats, plentiful free-range lizards and a very handsome Doctor of Oriental Medicine.

Did ewe know...? Guest Post: Mandie Stevens (Caelum book tour) + giveaway

Did ewe know I grew up in a haunted house.. or a few? It was creepy, cool, and mostly my fault. Weird things happened periodically. Things would be moved and once my dad was in the bathroom and had realized he’d forgotten his lighter after he put a cigarette in his mouth. It lit itself and I’d never seen someone come out of the bathroom so quickly. He was barely holding his pants up. He was shaken up for weeks. Sometimes we’d see light sparks by the bar. I had assumed it was faulty wiring but I was so very wrong.

One day a little old lady on the next street over stopped me on my way home from the bus stop and asked me If I’d ever seen anything strange. I nodded, how would she possibly know? She told me that our homes were built on an Indian burial ground. I’d seen Poltergeist at that point and was completely freaked out but I didn’t quite believe her.

I told my step-mom and she suggested that I use the old Ouija board in our closet left over from the previous owners. Maybe we could reach the Indians and see what they wanted. Her grandmother had recently died and she really wanted to get in touch with her too. I did as she suggested and lit candles around the board. I had NO idea what I was doing; I assumed it was just a game. I think I was twelve or thirteen at the time and called out to her Grandmother. The flames instantly shot up ten feet high and the planchette moved by itself and that was enough for me, I packed it away but the damage had already been done.

Instantly the house was full of activity and most of it centered around me. I later learned that the Ouija board was amplified by the fact that I was a hormonal young girl (many young girls can see spirits anyway), which was amplified by the fact that we lived on the beach. The house sat on limestone, a crystal. I saw many spirits over the next few years, I saw Orbs (like portals), dancing lights that followed me and even felt emotions from the spirits. It was exhausting!! I thought I was going crazy and I had no empathy from the church I attended, the Decan I confided in thought I was evil.

One had even attached itself to me after I moved out. I wondered why my next house was haunted too! Another house I lived in downtown St. Augustine was haunted there too. It was cold and drafty in the winter so I hung a blanket up. I saw a face come through of an African man… I was home alone. After that I researched the house and learned it had previously been the slave quarters.

Downtown St. Augustine

I thought I was going crazy but after I sought some advice I learned it was ME! I did a cleansing and a religious friend from a church came and walked around the house with oils and chanted. We burned sage and oils to purify the area. We did this for months and It worked!

 Now I will NOT enter a room that has a Ouija board in it!

How does all of this lend to my books? I’ve learned a lot about the occult and I’ve always been a fan of history. St. Augustine is our nation’s oldest city; if any place here were to have supernatural beings it would be there.

Have you ever seen a ghost? 

Caelum – Olde City Angels Book 1
Eva doesn’t claim to be a good guardian angel, but she tries. After she loses two charges, the Powers That Be begin to doubt her abilities. To redeem herself, Eva sets out to rescue Elsie, granddaughter of the former king of the Fae. A demon has kidnapped Elsie to complete an ancient ritual that will allow him to slip through the veil between Earth and Hell during the Sturgeon moon.

Thomas, an angel liaison, finally lands his first mission. But when he’s paired with the angel responsible for his uncle’s death, he has to put aside their differences to get the job done. With unlikely friends in tow, Eva and Thomas are in a race against time. Save Elsie, save the world—oh, and save Eva’s job.

  

 

About the Author:
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Mandie Stevens has always been accused of living in her own world so she decided to put it to paper. When she isn’t writing you can catch her lounging on the beach reading. She has ridiculously little feet and would be happy eating seafood every day. Subscriber to her newsletter Follow on Enter to win a Caelum Prize Pack - Signed paperback, $5 Amazon or iBooks GC, and fun character inspired prize pack. Open to US residents 18+.

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True Story: A few days in the life of a detective by Luke Delaney (The Toy Taker book tour)

A few days in the life of a detective. 

Luke Delaney. 

Metropolitan Police Detective - Retired.

Sunday– a little past seven in the morning and I’m standing at a bus stop on my way to work. It’s absolutely freezing and the rain, that feels more like ice, is coming down at a forty-five degree angle, forcing me to take cover behind the side of the bus shelter. I think of the warmth of my wife and the faces of my three young children who will soon be demanding to know why daddy isn’t there – again. 

The weather truly is foul, making the sky dark of forbidding, as if it knows something I don’t, but I welcome it. Apparently it’s been as bad as this all night. I breath I sigh of relief and remind myself of the old saying – Rain? Best policeman in the world. I’m pretty confident the adverse conditions would have kept the particular part of London I covered quiet overnight, which means there shouldn’t be too much to deal with. I may even get a chance to catch up on some paperwork – the curse of every busy detective. Who knows – I might even be able to salvage some of the weekend and get home before the kids are marshaled off to bed. It’s already been a heavy week at work – a heavy month and I could have done with the weekend off to re-charge, but it wasn’t to be. Never mind – at least the weather’s foul.

I feel my mobile phone ringing before I hear it and pointlessly look around to make sure I’m alone. The display says number withheld. This is bad news. This time on a Sunday morning it can only mean one thing. I start to feel a little sick, but answer anyway. What choice do I have? My fears are quickly confirmed – it’s the Night Duty CID phoning to give me a heads up. There’s been two serious robberies. Both victims are seriously injured and in hospital – four local hooligans have been nicked and await my attentions.

Instinctively I know what the next three days will be like – no sleep, bad food, dangerous amounts of caffeine and pain killers, but this one’s especially bad because I already feel exhausted and the job’s only just begun. If I could have just had one day to rest. Still, you rarely got to choose in this job. The bus arrives and takes me on the short mournful journey to the station. By the time I get there I’ve already scrambled the other weekend staff to get in as fast as possible so we can get on with the investigation as soon as possible. From the moment the suspects were arrested the clock is against me. I have twenty-four hours to get enough evidence to charge my charming guests or they’ll be released. I can ask the Superintendent to give my a twelve hour extension and I already know I’m going to need it and if that’s not enough I can always apply to the Magistrates for a longer extension, but they could say no. Better to get the job done, so we’re going to have to push ourselves to the limit or fail.

The first day if a constant blur of talking to defence solicitors, interviews, checking on the unfortunate victims, both of whom have been kicked near to death, their heads looking like grotesque footballs, eyes swollen shut, lips sealed closed with dried blood. They’re both still unconscious. One’s sixty-years old and never truly recovers from the attack – all faith he had in humanity lost forever. And there’s forensic evidence to preserve, witnesses to find, CCTV to recover and watch. One piece of footage shows the suspects attacking the old man and for the first time we see they initially smash a bottle over his head to bring him to ground before kicking him unconscious. It’s hard to watch, even for a seasoned detective. What I wouldn’t give for a little time alone with our four heroes.

I get home around 3.30am, exhausted, but unable to sleep, my head buzzing and throbbing and fully aware I’m not even halfway through the investigation yet. I sneak upstairs, trying not to wake the kids and slip into bed next to my wife. She asks me if I’m ok and I lie and tell her yes. I lie their for about three hours until the alarm clock goes off and sure enough I feel like I could sleep for the first time, so quickly climb from the bed and head for the bathroom. After a shower and a change of clothes I feel surprisingly human, but I know it won’t last.

I get to the station around seven and meet the Superintendent who gives me my extension of detention and so the day begins – a carbon copy of previous day, only we start to pull the investigation tighter and tighter, until finally I’m satisfied we have more than enough evidence to convict the heartless, remorseless, brainless thugs, but there’s still the CPS to convince and it’s getting late again. They won’t like me pushing them for a decision at this time of night, but they and I have no choice. After some pointless arguing and rather pathetic issues they finally agree to authorizing the charging of the suspects. I head back to the office relieved, but cursing the day the powers-that-be decided we police were too stupid to make our own decisions on charging.

We charge the four little loves, who spit and curse and threaten. I enjoy giving them the good news we’ll be opposing bail. More threats, more curses. I give them a wink and head back to the office to tidy up the paper work for court the following morning and eventually head home. I get back about 3am, have a hit of something strong and crawl into bed, more relaxed than the previous night and able to sleep for almost three hours, which after almost no sleep, feels unbelievably good.

A little later that morning I make my way to the Magistrates Court and go in hunt of the CPS lawyer, finding him reading through the morning files and looking sorry for himself. He has no idea what my last two days have been like and lays on the superior attitude thick – tells me he hasn’t got time to read the file properly and therefore it won’t be his fault if the little angels get bail. I give him a look that leaves him in no doubt of what I think of him and tell him just to stick to what was in the case file that I was up until two in the morning preparing, my computer screen blurring and warping as exhaustion threatened to swallow me. He’s a good boy and does as he told, sticking to my script and the four heroes all get remanded. Bye-bye boys. A few months later they all plead guilty and get indeterminate life sentences and the streets of London are a little safer – for a while anyway.

It’s another robbery crew off the streets. Another group of psychopathically violent hooligans safely locked up because my team and I worked our tails off and got everything right and got it right first time – everything – the law, the forensics, the interviews, procedures, medical evidence. Everything, and all without the luxury of time to think or refer to books and manuals. We got it so right that even the defendants army of highly paid barristers couldn’t find a single chink in our armour and hence the little charmers were forced to plead guilty and save the tax payers a small fortune. So why was it that a few days later I opened my pay packet and saw I was still being paid an insultingly poor wage? The sort of money that made it impossible to make ends meet when you have a young family, especially in London. I knew in that moment I had no choice but to leave the job I loved – the job I thought I’d do for life, but I couldn’t stay and be so undervalued anymore. You have to know your value in this world and I knew mine.

A few years later I had a top literary agent, Simon Trewin and a fantastic three-book deal with Harper Collins. My first novel, Cold Killing, hit the shops shortly after with novel number two, The Keeper, hot on its heels. People keeping asking me what’s it like trying to make the publishing deadlines and how I’m coping with the pressure. Pressure? Trust me – after the police nothing feels like pressure. Nothing!

The Toy Taker (DI Sean Corrigan #3)

By Luke Delaney

Publication Date: July 28, 2015 HarperCollins PublishersOutside the house, it’s cold and dark. Inside, where it’s warm, children are sleeping.

Former detective Luke Delaney returns with the third chilling novel in his DI Sean Corrigan series: THE TOY TAKER (Harper Mass Market; July 28, 2015; ISBN: 9780062219503) might be the most thrilling installment yet. Cold Killing and The Keeper, the previous two books in the series were published to high acclaim, delivering a “gritty and hard-hitting crime novel” (Iron Mountain Daily News) with “scary authenticity” (The Sun). Now, with THE TOY TAKER, Delaney has created another gripping, realistic work of crime fiction with a sharp psychological edge.

D.I. Sean Corrigan might have a tiny new office at Scotland Yard and a huge new beat—all of London—but the job is the same. His team has a knack for catching the sickest criminals on either side of the Thames, thanks in large part to Corrigan's uncanny ability to place himself inside the mind of a predator.

But he just can't get a read on this new case. Four-year-old George Bridgeman went to sleep in his bedroom in a leafy London suburb . . . and wasn't there in the morning. No tripped alarms. No broken windows. No sign of forced entry or struggle.

As his investigation zeroes in on a suspect, Corrigan's gut tells him it doesn't add up. Then another child is taken. Now someone's toying with Corrigan. And the game is about to turn deadly.

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The Toy Taker Chapter 1:

The street was quiet, empty of the noise of living people, with only the sound of a million leaves hissing in the strong breeze that intensified as it blew in over Hampstead Heath in north-west London. Smart Georgian houses lined either side of the deserted Courthope Road, all gently washed in the pale yellow of the streetlights, their warming appearance giving lie to the increasingly bitter cold that late autumn brought with it. Some of the shallow porches added their own light to the yellow, left on by security-conscious occupiers and those too exhausted to remember to switch them off before heading for bed. But these were the homes of London’s affluent, who had little to fear from the streets outside—the hugely inflated house prices ensuring the entire area was a sanctuary for the rich and privileged. Constant highly visible police patrols, private security firms, and state-of-the-art burglar alarms meant the people within slept soundly and contentedly.

His gloved fingers worked quickly and nimbly as he crouched by the front door, the small, powerful torch—the type used by spelunkers, strapped to his forehead by an elasticized band—provided him with more than enough light to see inside the locks on the door: two deadlocks, top and bottom, and a combined deadlock and latch in the center. His warm breath turned to plumes of mist that swirled in the tubular light of the torch before disappearing into the night, making way for the next calmly expelled breath. He’d already unlocked the top and bottom deadlocks easily enough—a thousand hours of practice making the task simple—but the center locks were new and more sophisticated. Still he remained totally calm as he gently and precisely worked the two miniature tools together, each of which looked similar to the type of instruments a dentist would use—the thin wrench with its slightly hooked end holding the first of the lock’s pins down as the pick silently slid quickly back and forth until eventually it aligned all the pins in the barrel of the lock and it clicked open. It was a tiny sound, but one that in the emptiness of the street made him freeze, holding his breath as he waited for any reaction in the night that surrounded him. When his lungs began to burn he exhaled the dead air, taking a second to look at his watch. It was just gone 3 a.m. The family inside would be in the deepest part of their sleep—at their least likely to react to any slight sound or change in the atmosphere.

He inserted the slim hook wrench into the last remaining lock and once more slid the pick through the lock’s barrel until within only a few seconds he felt the pins drop into their holes and allow him to turn the barrel and open the lock, the door falling open just a few millimeters. He replaced the tools in their suede case along with the other dozen or so lock-picking items, rolled it up and put it into the small plastic sports holdall he’d brought with him. He added the head-torch, then paused for a second before taking out the item that he knew was so precious to the little boy who waited inside—the one thing that would virtually guarantee the boy’s cooperation—even his happiness.

He eased the door open and stepped inside, closing it behind him and silently returning the latch to its locked position. He waited for the sounds of an intruder alarm to begin its countdown to the wailing of sirens, but there was none, just as he all but knew there wouldn’t be.

The house was warm inside, the cold of outside quickly fading in his mind as he stepped deeper into the family’s home, heading for the staircase, his way lit by the street light pouring through the windows. Their curtains had been left open and lights strategically left on in case little feet went wandering in the night. He felt safe in the house, almost like a child himself once more—no longer alone and unloved. As he walked slowly toward the stairs that would lead him to the boy, he noted the order of the things within—neat and tidy, everything in its place except for the occasional toy on the hallway floor, abandoned by the children of the house and left by parents too tired to care anymore. He breathed in the smells of the family—the food they had had for dinner mixing with the mother’s perfume and bathtime creams and soaps, air fresheners and polish.

He listened to the sounds of the house—the bubbling of a fish-tank filter coming from the children’s playroom and the ticking of electronic devices that seemed to inhabit every modern family’s home, accompanied by blinking green and red lights. All the time he thought of the parents rushing the children to their beds, too preoccupied with making it to that first glass of wine to even read them a bedtime story or stroke their hair until sleep took them. Parents who had children as a matter of course—to keep them as possessions and a sign of wealth, mere extensions of the expensive houses they lived in and exotic cars they drove. Children they would educate privately as another show of wealth and influence—bought educations that minimized the need for parental input while guaranteeing they never had to step out of their own social confines—even at the school gate.

More discarded toys lay on the occasional step as he began to climb toward the boy’s room, careful not to step on the floorboards that he already knew would creak, his gloved hands carrying the bag and the thing so precious to the boy. His footsteps were silent on the carpet as he glided past the parents’ bedroom on the first floor, the door almost wide open in case of a child in distress. He could sense only the mother in the room—no odors or sounds of a man. He left her sleeping in the semidarkness and climbed the next flight of stairs to where the children slept—George and his older sister Sophia, each in their own bedrooms. If they hadn’t been, he wouldn’t be here.

He reached the second-floor landing and stood still for a few seconds, looking above to the third floor, where he knew the guest bedrooms were, listening for any faint sounds of life, unsure whether the family had a late-arriving guest staying. He only moved forward along the hallway when he was sure the floor above held nothing but emptiness.

Pink and blue light from the children’s night-lights seeped through their partially opened doors—the blueness guiding him toward George, his grip on the special thing tightening. He was only seconds away from what he’d come for. He passed the girl’s room without looking inside and moved slowly, carefully, silently to the boy’s room, easing the door open, knowing the hinges wouldn’t make a noise. He crossed the room to the boy’s bed, which was pushed up under the window, momentarily stopping to look around at the blue wallpaper with white clouds, periodically broken up by childish paintings in the boy’s own hand; the mobile of trains with smiling faces above the boy’s head, and the seemingly dozens of teddy bears of all kinds spread across his bed and beyond. He felt both tears of joy and sadness rising from deep inside himself and swelling behind his eyes, but he knew he had to do what he’d come to do: a greater power than he or any man had guided him this far and would protect him the rest of the way.

He knelt next to the boy’s bed and placed the bag on the floor, his face only inches away from the child’s, their breath intertwining in the space between them and becoming one as he gently began to whisper. “George . . . sssh . . . George.” The boy stirred under his duvet, his slight four-year- old body wriggling as it fought to stay asleep. “George . . . sssh . . . open your eyes, George. There’s nothing to be afraid of. I have something for you, George. Something very precious.” The boy rolled over slowly, blinking sleep from his narrow eyes—eyes that suddenly grew large with excitement and confusion, a smile spreading across his face, his green eyes sparkling with joy as he saw what the man had brought him—reaching out for the precious gift as the man’s still gloved hand stroked his straight blond hair. “Do you want to come to a magic place with me, George? A special place with special things?” he whispered. “If you do, we need to go now and we need to be very, very quiet. Do you understand?” he asked, smiling.

“A magic place?” the boy asked, yawning and stretching in his pale blue pajamas, making the pictures of dinosaurs printed on them come to life.

“Yes,” the man assured him. “A place just for the best, nicest children to see.”

“Do we have to go now?” the boy asked.

“Yes, George,” the man told him, taking him by the hand and lifting his bag at the same time. “We have to go now. We have to go right now.”

About the Author:

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Luke Delaney joined the Metropolitan Police Service in the late 1980s and his first posting was to an inner city area of South East London notorious for high levels of crime and extreme violence. He later joined CID where he investigated murders ranging from those committed by fledgling serial killers to gangland assassinations.