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that were regularly reported in Haven and the surrounding areas. A real life Mulder and Scully, was how Will had described them, although the reality was a lot less glamorous. Sitting at the kitchen table, Jennifer reflected that the Blackwater farm case had potential for other-worldly involvement too – particularly with Olivia under its roof.
    After calling Nick back from the fields, Jennifer managed to persuade him to go down and re-hang a ‘No Trespassers’ sign and close the rusted gate which led to the farm. Getting Fiona to accompany him was a bonus, providing her with valuable time alone with the troubled child.
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    J ennifer pulled a fresh sheet of notepaper from her pad and began to draw, using long, sweeping motions. She tuned in to her peripheral vision as she worked, tapping the pen against her lower lip during pauses.
    Olivia lingered at her side, resembling a porcelain doll in her blue cotton dress with small white flowers dotted on the hem. They matched the blue wellingtons gracing her feet, and the cardigan now thrown on the back of the chair. She had not been allowed outside since the disappearance of her sister. Not that she’d get far in a summer dress. The wind and rain showed no sign of abating, and Jennifer imagined Nick and Fiona trying to pull across the old rusted gate and fix the flapping ‘No Trespassers’ sign to the twisted metal.
    Jennifer cocked her head to one side as she put the finishing touches to her drawing. She wished she were as talented as her partner Will, but her effort at drawing a horse would hopefully pay off – she had learned that the twins had been promised a pony by their parents, as a reward for leaving their friends and moving to the farm.
    Olivia’s breath fell on her neck as she crept up to look over Jennifer’s shoulder. The little girl’s sense of loss was palpable, and Jennifer employed her perceptions to decipher her emotional state. Olivia’s deep sense of sorrow wrapped around her like a cold impenetrable fog. Jennifer fought the urge to shudder as the little girl drew near. There was something else . . . something on the periphery that she couldn’t quite put her finger on . . . Why haven’t you found me? The distant words whispered in her ear, making her jerk upwards. Had she heard them aloud or were they from the other side? Sometimes the communications were so clear, it was difficult to tell the difference. She couldn’t stop drawing, as it was the only thing keeping Olivia captivated. The voice sounded like it had come from a child, but . . . Jennifer bit her lip. It couldn’t have been Olivia. Could it? She wanted nothing more than to drop her pen and question her outright, but she risked frightening her off. This child’s trust had to be earned. ‘Did you say something, sweetie?’ she said nonchalantly, keeping her eyes on the page. She was met with silence. Jennifer finished the lavish mane, and forced herself to carry on as normal. ‘This is my aunt’s pony,’ she said softly. ‘I told her I’d help think of a name but I haven’t been able to come up with one.’
    No response. Jennifer sighed as she stared at the completed picture. ‘He’s much nicer than this, though, he has a lovely long mane, and he’s black and white. There’s a name for black and white ponies but I can’t think . . .’ Jennifer tapped the pen against her mouth once more. ‘Oh, what’s it called?’
    Olivia was facing her now, the look of curiosity replaced with one of slight annoyance, most likely because Jennifer didn’t know that black and white ponies were called piebald. Her colourless lips parted to speak, but she paused, the words trapped in her throat.
    ‘Could you help me think of a name?’ Jennifer said. ‘He’s really friendly, picks up his feet when he trots, and goes like a dream over the jumps. He’s very cheeky too, quite the little rascal in fact.’
    She recalled her sister’s old pony magazines when they were young, using as many