Hide and seek

We used to play hide and seek in my grandparents' big old house. My little brother Ollie was always the seeker because he never peeked.

One summer, he counted to a hundred in the hallway, shouted "coming, ready or not," and we all waited in our hiding places, giggling.

He never came to find us.

After an hour we came out. The house was silent. We searched every room. The police searched every room, and the garden, and the woods behind it, for weeks.

That was twenty-six years ago.

The house is being sold now, and I went back last weekend to help clear it. Late in the afternoon I was alone upstairs, wrapping glasses in newspaper, and from the hallway below I heard a small, clear voice.

"Ninety-eight. Ninety-nine. A hundred."

Then, after a moment:

"Coming, ready or not."

I'm in the airing cupboard. I've been here for three hours. I can hear small footsteps going from room to room, very patient, opening every door.

They're getting closer. And he never peeks.