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“Bernard, wake up. There’s a noise.”

He groaned, and sleepy words drawled out of him. “Whassit you want?”

I pulled the feather pillow from behind my back and lobbed it across the room. It hit the target with a heavy flop.

“Oi, what d’you do that for?” Bernard lobbed the pillow back. It missed my bed and landed on the floorboards with a whoosh.

“There’s a noise. I think it’s downstairs. Listen.”

The scratching grew louder, and the monster grew in my mind.

“Perhaps it’s Father Christmas?”

I scoffed. “Seriously?”

“Well, what else could it be? ItisChristmas Eve.”

“I guess we better go take a look.” Fighting the urge to hide under them, I flung back my blankets and swung my feet out of bed. “Come on, I’m not going on my own.”

Bernard whined but shuffled to his feet. “Shall we bring a weapon?”

“Like what?”

“I dunno.”

“We’ll just have to rely on our wits. Failing that, our fists.”

“Alright, but you first, because you’re bigger… and smarter.”

I scoffed a laugh. “That’s the first time you’ve ever admitted that.”

With practised stealth, we crept out of our room and past Mum’s room, currently occupied by Ruth. I stilled halfway down the stairs when the scratches came again, this time accompanied by a loud whine. Bernard took a deep breath, which made me realise I’d been holding mine.

“It’s at the back door,” I whispered and continued my descent.

With the kitchen door shut behind us, Bernard flicked on the light, blinding us both. “Bloody hell, why’d you do that?” I shielded my eyes.

“I thought it might scare it off.”

“Or advertise that there’s someone in here?”

“I didn’t think of that. Shall I turn it off?”

“Bit late now.”

Another scratch came at the door, and for a horrifying moment, we just looked at each other. Before I could change my mind, I swung the back door open, admitting a gush of frosty December air and a filthy, matted black dog.

“Pyg!”

We dropped to our knees and wrapped our arms around our girl, her bushy black tail swishing in reciprocated joy.

“She’s alive,” squealed Bernard, his voice still able to reach a pitch that mine couldn’t.

I held her head in my hands and looked into those trusting round eyes. “Where have you been, girl?”

Pyg responded by licking my face, licking away the tears that I hadn’t realised were running down my cheeks.

“Oh my God, she’s so much better than Father Christmas. All we need is Mum to come back and?—”