‘So you are looking for something special for your fairground, are you? Something the likes of which the world has never seen?’

‘I am. That’s very true but I don’t know if you can show me anything that I want. I’m afraid I might have made a mistake coming here.’

The man smiled, showing a mouthful of rotten teeth.

‘Oh you’ll want what I have, all right. It’s been kept in the dark, underground, for five years, waiting for the right buyer to come along.’

The man led James along the narrow corridor into a room that was brightly lit by many candles. Inside it was an assortment of boxes and crates of all shapes and sizes. He continued walking to the back of the room until he reached one that was almost seven feet tall and looked more like a coffin than a crate.

‘Tell me, Mr Beckett, do you believe in those Red Indian folk tales at all? A man of your stature must like to read. Do you have any interests in the Algonquin tribes?’

James shook his head. ‘Not specifically – I have read a lot about the history of the Indians but nothing that I can recall about that specific tribe.’

‘Have you ever heard of the thing I’m going to show you? Apparently it’s bad luck to speak its name. It came over from North America with my great-uncle who went out there and became a bit obsessed with their way of life. He spent many years with a certain tribe and this was the parting gift he brought back.’

James could feel his heart begin to race. He was scared yet at the same time morbidly fascinated to see what was in the box. He felt his knuckles flex. He needed to see inside that crate. There was no way – no matter how much he disliked the dirty, smelly man standing in front of him – that he could leave now.

‘They say that they don’t exist but my uncle knew they did. A shaman told him all about them. He said they would sit around the campfire telling tales of horror and cannibalism. These things dwell in caves and like the dark. The tribesmen had a name for it; they called it the “evil that devours”.’

‘Well, that’s all very well and good, but if I’m to buy this thing from you I need to see it, please, so that I can make all the necessary arrangements to ship it back to the fairground.’

The man studied James then nodded. ‘Very well. I’m fed up of taking care of it. I’ll be glad to see the back of it.’

He stepped forward and began to unlock the padlocks keeping the case secure. James had never felt a greater fear yet he stepped towards the crate, eager to see whatever it was inside. Finally the man pulled the lid back and it swung open, revealing the most revolting thing James had ever seen. His instinct was to back away at the smell of burning flesh that emanated from the box and he cupped a hand over his mouth.

‘The only way to kill them is to burn them and that doesn’t always work.’

He said it matter of factly, like it was no more difficult than swatting a fly.

James stared at the thing in the crate. It looked like nothing he’d ever come across. It had a gaunt, skeletal body that was covered in some kind of grey skin. The head was larger than the average man’s, although a similar shape, but it was the teeth that made his breath catch. They were long, sharp and pointed and would look more at home on a sabre-toothed tiger. James looked at the man, who shrugged.

‘It’s an ugly bugger, all right.’

It was then that James looked down to the thing’s hands. Only they weren’t hands – instead of fingers there were long, sharp, black claws. The man stepped forward. After slamming the door shut, he began to padlock it once more.

‘Sorry, that’s about as long as I can stand to look at that thing. It scares me.’

So many thoughts were running through James’s head that he had difficulty processing them all into the right order. The one that was at the forefront was the one that kept screaming at him that he simply had to have that thing, no matter what the cost. Even if it turned out to be a complete fake it would draw the crowds from miles around to the amusement park. The crowds would flock to see it. This was the thing he had been waiting for. It could turn the park’s fortunes around for good.

‘I’ll take it.’

Those three words echoed in his mind. And where was it now? It had been the only thing from his freak show to survive the great fire that burnt down the fairground in 1919. It had been relatively unscathed apart from the blackened and cracked glass that surrounded it. He had stayed all night fighting the fire and by the morning he had been exhausted, but the whole time he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Eleanor Sloane who lived at 3 Park Place.

Once he’d got cleaned up and smelt a little better he had gone straight round to find her house. He had to see her again to see if she still had the same effect on him as she’d had last night. The tree-lined street was very different to the life he was used to. The houses were so big he thought he could probably fit half of his fairground friends into one of them and they still wouldn’t be falling over each other. He found number three and stood outside staring up at the whitewashed town house, trying to pluck up the courage to go and knock on her door. As if she’d be interested in him. Her parents would be mortified to have someone who was from the fairground knocking on their door in broad daylight. He remembered how his shoulders had slumped and his heart had broken in two as he turned and began to walk away. He had no business knocking on that door because he had nothing that he could offer Eleanor. What he had owned was now a blackened, charred mess. A motor car pulled up and a man who looked very well to do got out of it. James carried on walking and was shocked to feel a hand on his shoulder.

‘Can I help you, sir? Is there a reason you were standing staring at my house?’

James paused and wondered if he should lie, but then he had never been a very good liar and he wouldn’t live with himself if he didn’t at least speak some truth.

‘Sorry. I’m James Beckett, sir. I met your daughters at the fairground last night and I was wondering how they both were?’

‘Are you the young man who saved their lives?’

James nodded. He hadn’t thought of it that way but, yes, he supposed that he was.

‘Well, then, why don’t you come inside and see for yourself? It’s the least I can do. You have no idea how much my girls mean to me and I am for ever in your debt, young man.’

He turned and began striding towards his house, and James grinned and rushed after him. He had been expecting a telling-off, not a thank you. The man pushed the doorbell and immediately a young housemaid opened the door. James followed Mr Sloane inside and found himself staring around at the grand surroundings.

‘You wait in the library while I go and find my wife and daughters. I know that my wife would very much like to thank you in person. Would you like a drink, something to eat?’

James shook his head, not sure what to say even though his stomach was rumbling and his throat was parched from the smoke he’d inhaled all night long.

Before long the man came back in with the very beautiful Mrs Sloane, who rushed over and hugged him.

‘Thank you so much; Eleanor told us how brave and kind you were to both her and Agnes. We can never repay your kindness. Did you stay on to fight the fire all night?’

‘I did. I had to. You see that fairground was half mine and now there’s nothing left but a couple of exhibition pieces.’

‘Oh how dreadful. You must be exhausted and in shock. Do you have anywhere to stay?’

He shook his head. ‘Not at the moment – everything I had is gone.’

She looked at her husband who nodded his head as if he knew what she was about to say.

‘Well, then you must stay here with us as our guest until you sort something out. I won’t hear of you saying no. It’s the least we can do. I’ll get Bertha to show you to the guest room where you can have a hot bath and then something to eat. Isn’t that right, Harold?’