The next excerpt

Here's the next bit, still quite first draft, but it's got images an ideas I love in it. No need to be overly polite - if you don't like it for any reason, please feel free to say. Like I say a first draft is always in need of a touch up

He ran all the way home, turning over and over how anyone could have recognized him, and feeling sure that he would be for it. Sitting on his bed now, he jumped up at the sound of a knock. Dad stuck his head round the door and grinned.

“Alright?”

“Yeah. Just getting changed,” Craig told him, beginning to pull his tie off to prove it.

“I’m off out then. You’ll be in bed when I get back, yeah?”

Craig nodded, and listened for the click of the front door. He watched from his window as the tall man ambled down the road to the pub. Craig was like him, tall for his age and skinny. Apart from that, all they really shared was a need to be alone a lot. Well, it wasn’t so much a need as just the way it was since mum died.

Craig turned to look over the houses towards the church, which he could see still lit up. He breathed onto the glass and traced the outline, before resting his forehead against the coolness of the pane. Eventually he sighed and lay back on the bed. From his pillow, even though the street lamps were glowing orange, he could pick out a few stars in the clear night.

As he felt his eyes grown heavy, it seemed to him that the stars began to buzz and dance. First just a slight tremor, and then a graceful sway that had them swirling in spiral patterns downwards. They settled like a fine smattering of snow on the windowsill – some on the thinner top window that opened, more on the lower ledge a few centimetres above his pillow.

As first he didn’t dare move, in case he broke the spell, but the longer it went on, the bolder he felt. He slowly pushed himself up on his elbows and saw there was now a whole heap of snow, drifted up against the cold window. As he watched, the sparkling dust formed a definite shape, like something was both being made by the snow but also sitting in it. There were small paws, tiny tight curls, the suggestion of a fluffy tail and finally a little head; the facial expression somewhere between haughty and amused, like it was sharing a private joke. It was a lamb.

The stardust had slowed now; what had been a flurry became barely a twinkle, and the lamb sat quite still. Now he looked closely at it, Craig could see it was wooden, and a little worn and dirty with age. He wanted to pick it up, but was afraid it would crumble into shimmering dust if he tried. “You can hold me,” said the lamb in a chirruping mew, as thought it knew what Craig was thinking.

Craig’s eyes widened in shock, but he did reach out to pick up the wooden creature, taking it out of the snowdrift, some of the shimmery star-snow falling on his pillow. The lamb felt solid, but not like wood, more a tightly wound bobbin of yarn. He put it in his hand where he could feel it breathe, soft belly moving against soft palm.

“Sleep now, Craig,” it said, turning to him and blinking. “Busy times ahead.”

Despite everything, Craig found himself once again very tired and closed his eyes while the lamb curled a finely painted head back against its faded flank, and they both slept.