The next morning Timmy woke up first. He shuffled caterpillar-fashion in his sleeping bag and stuck his head outside into the early morning air. The bleary field and treeline was dominated by the disturbing black tree, as if it had been waiting for them to emerge from the tent. Its claw-like branches were pointing towards outwards as if to grab them and he wondered for a moment if they’d been at that angle last night? Lucas’ comments returned to him on the fresh dawn breeze and he was immediately forced to push a sheaf of half-formed spine-tingling images from his mind, before he spooked himself silly.
A second later he was suddenly grabbed from behind by Lucas.
“Gotcha!”