Maggie was entranced as the boy talked. She knew he was severely delusion, sick, perhaps even slightly manipulative, but his tale grabbed her attention all the same. ‘You found a storm cellar door in the woods,’ she recapped, stalling while she thought of where she wanted to steer the conversation. ‘Did you open it?’
‘Yeah, of course,’ he replied, the affirmative obvious to a 13-year-old boy. Of course, he’d opened it. Who wouldn’t?
‘What did you find down there?’
He searched for a bit, unsure of how to accurately describe what he saw. Or maybe to just try and remember, to get a clear image through the prevailing static clouding his head. ‘It was just this big tunnel. Real long and went to a dead-end, I think.’
‘So, you actually went into the tunnel?’
‘Of course.’ Because what 13-y
