Derith was a normal eight year old girl, slim with the red hair and freckles of her Celtic ancestors. She lived with parents in a small, remote cottage in the Black Mountains of Wales. She often giggled at this description of her native area, as she saw it as neither black nor mountainous. At school she played with her many friends, but was just as happy on her own. The main difference between Derith and her peers was Drake, her very best friend. To others, Drake would have been called an imaginary friend and had those others known, they might have commented that eight was a bit old for such things. The big difference as far as Derith was concerned was that Derith knew that Drake was real. She spoke to him every day and spent her nights in his wondrous homeland.

She already knew the difference between dreams and reality. You never remembered dreams properly and they were never normal, you could start at school talking to a teacher and next second you were at home with your mum. With Drake, everything progressed normally, she could talk to him about things they’d discussed another day. She just knew that he was real. She was also aware of the possible ridicule if she discussed him with anyone. She’d once tried tentatively with her mother but quickly dropped it after being told that it was time to grow up and forget these childish fantasies.

Drake was a draig and he had explained that his kind had left her world centuries before to avoid conflict with mankind. Derith had no real concept of a century but knew it was a very, very long time. Drake had allowed her to see his world through his own eyes and it was so magical compared to her own dull surroundings. She loved it best when Drake took her flying, when he soared above the colourful landscape, gliding in silence over real mountains.

The coming Friday was going to be a disappointment to the youngster; it was Halloween, and whilst her friends were out trick or treating, Derith would be tucked up in bed. Her home too remote for quick neighbourly visits and as her parents were hill farmers an early night was always the option.

Jon James was in his late thirties, of average looks and appearance, he was the sort of man no-one noticed. He was not disliked by those that knew him as an acquaintance, but none would call him a friend. He was a self-employed plasterer and he knew, a good one. He earned good money but would never be really rich, not that he cared as long as he had enough for what he termed his hobby.

Jon James was also a predator, and proud of that description. Most police forces within a five hour drive of his Midland home were aware of him in some form, usually just on an unsolved child abduction case. He took great care with his planning, more than once a little girl had escaped his clutches simply because something didn’t feel right. His rural home was always prepared for his victims, who usually lasted two to three months in his cellar. It would normally be at least another three months or so before he felt the need for another playmate.

That need was now upon him and he was driving around Wales in search of her. It was October the thirty first, Halloween, an ironic time to take a child, he thought. He spotted Derith with some other young girls leaving school, chattering away as all young girls seem to do. He guessed, correctly as it happened, that Halloween, or to be more precise Trick or Treat, would figure high on their list of topics. If everything worked out, one would soon realise that Tricks could be extremely real. All the girls looked to be delicious targets and he had no real preference. He didn’t have a type, if you exclude young, so he followed slowly behind them in his van, looking for any opportunity to take one of them.

As it turned out, Derith lived the furthest and now always covered the last mile from the village alone. The original plan had always been that one of her parents would pick her up, but after a couple of years of being trouble free, hand in hand with the workload of running a farm, Derith now no longer expected a lift.

Ether rag in hand, Jon had the pretty youngster out cold and in his van in just seconds. Experience had taught him that he had time to drive back to his home before the anaesthetic wore off. For him, this was always the best part, the snatch and the anticipation of what was to come. The first time, he’d raped the girl before the ether had worn off and he might as well have used a doll. Now the slow build up was all part of the thrill.