Russ Thomas is the author of the critically-acclaimed, bestselling DS Adam Tyler series, set in Sheffield: Firewatching (Times bestseller, Waterstones Thriller of the Month), Nighthawking (Times Book of the Month), Cold Reckoning, and Sleeping Dogs (out now in paperback). He grew up in the 80s reading anything he could get from the library, and largely avoiding the great outdoors. After a few “proper” jobs (among them: pot-washer, optician’s receptionist, supermarket warehouse operative, call-centre telephonist and storage salesman) he discovered the joys of bookselling, where he could talk to people about books all day. Russ lives in Sheffield and offers critiques and mentoring to new writers.
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Except for the dog, the girl is all alone in the dark.
She lies in an enormous bed, under a blanket, clutching the animal’s thick, shaggy hair between her fingers. She can feel his heart beating under his warm skin, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with his breathing. She can hear the soft wheeze of air flowing in and out of his mouth and smell the yucky scent of meat on his breath.
She doesn’t really know if it’s a boy dog – the men who brought her here didn’t tell her its name – but she has decided it is.
He’s a big dog, but then, all dogs are big to her. She isn’t scared though. She likes dogs.
She doesn’t like the men.
Time passes in the dark. The girl doesn’t know how long. She has a pink plastic Minnie Mouse watch on her arm, but even if she could see it she isn’t very good at telling the time yet. She has no toys to play with. She has nothing but her own thoughts in the dark, and the warmth of the blanket, and the gentle breathing of the dog beneath her hand.
The door opens, and for a moment she thinks it’s her mummy she can see in the doorway as she squints against the light. But it isn’t her mummy. It isn’t one of the men either. It’s the scary thin lady who doesn’t talk to her.
The thin lady comes straight towards her, leaving the door open. The light from the hallway is blindingly bright, and all the girl can see is a tall skinny shadow standing over her. A hand reaches down and grabs her arm, pulls her upright. The dog growls and shuffles away as the girl’s hand presses down on its stomach.
The woman pushes something wet and sticky against the girl’s mouth. She tries to say ‘No!’, but as her lips part, the cold metal spoon forces its way inside. Without her thinking about it, her tongue scoops up the lump of jam. Then the spoon is gone again, and the woman places a hand over her mouth.
‘Swallow it!’
The jam tastes all dirty and bitty but the girl swallows, and then a nasty taste makes her screw up her face. She doesn’t cry though. Her mummy’s always telling her not to cry and she wants to be a good girl so that her mummy comes to get her.
The thin lady walks away, and the girl collapses back onto the bed next to the dog. The door closes and the light is swallowed up. The darkness comes back even thicker than before.
Next time the door opens it will be her mummy coming for her and she’ll have some proper food with her, pastries and breads and all the lovely foods her mummy makes. Not the strange nasty-tasting jam the thin lady brings. After that, everything will be all right. She yawns.
They might let her keep the dog if she asks nicely. She’ll probably get a special treat after this. Because none of this is her fault. She didn’t run away. She didn’t talk to strangers. She wasn’t bad. She won’t be punished. She’ll be rewarded, for being a good girl. When her mummy comes.
The girl drifts slowly into sleep. The dog growls and flops a paw across the girl’s forearm, its claws pressing deeply into her skin.
(C) Russ Thomas 2025