Author's Note: Text in Italics in this chapter is for the dream sequence.

Wendy and SF sat silently opposite each other on the levelled see-saw. Both of them stared into the other's eyes, waiting for one of them to lift their feet off of the ground.

After two minutes, Wendy was about to make a move but SF beat her to it. She shot upwards, abruptly stopping in mid-air with a sudden bump. The small smile remained plastered onto SF's face as he watched her readjusting her sitting position.

Quickly, he pushed off from the ground. Wendy felt the butterflies in her stomach flutter violently as she fell back down. She didn't have enough reaction time to put her feet down first. The second she hit the ground, she fell backwards off the seat. In that split second, she saw the surprised look on SF's face as he too came down.

As Wendy was about to help herself off of the ground, she noticed a black tar-like substance covered her hands. It was a potent stench of old blood and raw rotten meat. Wendy looked around to see the source of the substance. Standing at five feet tall, was Marjory Stewart-Baxter. The black liquid oozed from her mouth, which was no longer stitched up but wide open. Her eyes were made up of black squiggles that twitched as if they were animated pencil lines.

Wendy backed up a little to avoid the life sized finger puppet. The see-saw had disappeared. SF had snuck up from behind her and pulled her up to her feet, his long arm wrapped round her neck but not strong enough to strangle her. Was he... hugging her? Protecting her from Marjory?

"Don't worry, Marjory Stewart-Baxter." said SF. "I-I-It's only Wendy Crawford. The lovely lady we met the other day."

Wendy felt a little sick inside. Why was she finding comfort in SF's grasp?

[TO BE CONTINUED]