The Dolls of Rowan Burn

I ran through my mental checklist once more, making certain I had everything we would need for the next two nights. The minibus engine ticked as it cooled in the Glen Dorch forestry car park, on the edge of the Cairngorms, while my clients shuffled about behind me and took their first proper look at the Highland woodland where we would be spending the next three days.

"All right, everyone, gather round the back of the minibus," I called, pulling my own rucksack from the luggage compartment.

The weight felt familiar in my hands: about 10 kg of equipment I trusted with my life. I had guided professionally for fifteen years, the last three with Graham Shaw's company, and I had never lost a client or suffered a serious incident. The routine still felt good. Check the equipment twice, brief the clients, keep them safe and bring them home with stories to tell.

Hannah Price and Jamie Clarke were already standing close to the vehicle, both of them almost vibrating with excitement. Hannah kept scanning the tree line as though she expected a red deer to step out at any moment. Jamie had his mobile in his hand, probably trying to send his last few messages before we walked beyond reliable reception.

The Mercer family took longer to join us. Martin looked as if he were already reconsidering the whole adventure while he helped his wife, Elaine, adjust the strap of her camera bag. She seemed more optimistic and was already photographing the Glen Dorch Circular sign and the route-start information board, which listed local wildlife and responsible-access guidance. Their teenage son, Luke, stood beside their heap of kit with his arms folded, glaring at his rucksack as if it had personally offended him.

"This is going to be amazing," Hannah said, bouncing slightly on her toes. "I've been reading about this area for weeks. Did you know there are supposed to be Pictish remains and old shielings scattered through these woods? And stories about prehistoric stones?"

"Some of that is true," I said, settling my rucksack on my shoulders and adjusting the straps. "We'll stick to the recognised route and the pitch booked through the estate, but I can point out a few interesting features along the way."

Martin cleared his throat. "Are we talking about anything dangerous? Should we be concerned about disturbing something we ought to leave alone?"

"The paths we're using are established and safe," I told him. "We're not going anywhere we shouldn't. This is a three-day, two-night guided woodland trek. Walking, camping and basic outdoor skills. Nothing extreme."

Luke finally spoke. "How heavy is this thing meant to be?"

He gestured at his rucksack without attempting to lift it.

"Depends what you packed. Did you follow the kit list I sent?"

"Mum packed it," he muttered.

Elaine laughed. "I may have included a few extra snacks, another jacket and perhaps one or two other things."

"The good news is that it'll get lighter as we eat the food," I said. "But let's go over the basic safety rules before we set off."

I gave them my standard briefing. Stay with the group. Tell me immediately if you feel unwell or uncomfortable. Do not eat anything unless I have identified it first. Keep noise to a reasonable level so that we do not disturb wildlife.

Jamie put his mobile away and paid close attention, which was more than I could say for some clients. Luke looked bored, but nodded in the right places.

"What sort of animals might we see?" Hannah asked. "Besides the obvious ones, like deer and squirrels."

"Red deer and roe deer are both possible. There are red squirrels, foxes and pine martens as well, though the martens are shy and mostly active around dusk or at night. Plenty of birds too. Rowan Burn, where we're camping, usually has interesting insect life if you're keen on that sort of thing. There aren't any dangerous large predators we expect to meet here."

"What about the local legends?" Hannah pressed. "I read that there are old stories associated with this area."

I hesitated. Graham had mentioned that some clients enjoyed local folklore, but he had also told me not to dwell on anything that might make people nervous.

"There are a few old stories, certainly. Most remote places have them. I can share some around the fire if people are interested."

"That sounds perfect," Elaine said, adjusting her camera settings. "Very atmospheric."

"All right. Everyone ready?"

I looked around the group.

"It's roughly a two-hour walk to the camping pitch. Mostly uphill for the first half, but nothing too steep. We'll stop whenever anyone needs a break."

Luke finally picked up his rucksack with an exaggerated grunt.

"This is ridiculous."

"You'll be fine," Martin said, although he did not look entirely convinced about his own load.

I led them to the start of the Glen Dorch Circular. The path began as a broad, well-maintained forestry track before narrowing among Scots pine, birch, rowan and scattered old sessile oak, all beginning to show early autumn colour. The afternoon air was cool without being cold. Perfect walking weather.

"The mix of woodland creates a good range of habitats," I explained as we went. "That's why so many different species manage to thrive here."

Hannah stayed close behind me, asking about every plant and rock formation we passed. Her curiosity was genuine, not the forced enthusiasm some clients adopted because they wanted to look outdoorsy. Jamie dropped back to walk with the Mercer family, chatting to Martin about work and ordinary life.

About half an hour in, I stopped beside a patch of low shrubs speckled with dark fruit.

"These are bilberries," I said. "When they're properly ripe, like these, you can sample a few. Just don't assume every berry you find is safe. Identification matters, and even edible wild food is best taken in small quantities."

"Can we try them?" Hannah asked.

"A few, yes. They can be sharp."

While the others sampled the fruit, I noticed that Luke had found a fallen trunk to sit on and already looked tired. His rucksack did seem oversized for his frame, though he would have to adjust to it. Learning to manage a reasonable amount of discomfort was part of the experience.

"How much farther?" he asked.

"Another hour and a half or thereabouts. The path levels out in about fifteen minutes."

We continued, and at a shallow burn crossing I pointed out tracks in the soft ground. There were clear red-deer slots and what might have been the trail of a fox leading into the undergrowth. Elaine photographed everything, including a buzzard circling above the trees.

"Callum, what's that?" Hannah asked, pointing away from the path on our left.

I followed her gaze. In a small clearing about twenty metres from the route stood a circular arrangement of stones, perhaps two metres across. They were of roughly equal size and had plainly been placed with intent. I had walked the Glen Dorch Circular dozens of times and had never noticed it before.

"Huh," I said, studying the formation. "I'm not sure. It could have been left by previous visitors, or it might be older."

"Can we go and look?"

"From here is fine. We don't want to disturb it, and we need to keep moving if we're to reach the pitch before dark."

Even so, I kept looking at the stone circle as we passed. Its arrangement was too deliberate to be natural, and the stones appeared to have been there for years. Moss covered several of them and fallen leaves had gathered in the centre. Something about it felt significant, though I could not have explained why.

The path climbed gradually through denser woodland. Luke's complaints became more frequent, but he kept moving. Martin offered to take some weight from his son's rucksack, only for Luke to refuse with characteristic teenage stubbornness.

"Look at this," Elaine called, already raising her camera. "These trees are gorgeous."

She was photographing a grove of old sessile oaks, their massive trunks twisted and scarred by decades of Highland weather. The canopy shut out much of the late-afternoon light, giving the place the stillness of a natural cathedral.

"Some of these trees will be well over a hundred years old," I said. "They were here long before this route appeared in any estate leaflet or walking guide."

"It makes you wonder what they've seen," Hannah said, running her hand along the nearest trunk.

"Mum, can we please keep moving?" Luke asked. "This pack is killing me."

"We're nearly there," I said, checking my watch. We had been walking for about an hour and forty minutes, which put us on schedule. "Perhaps another twenty minutes."

The final stretch descended gently towards Rowan Burn. I could smell the damp, peaty water before I heard it.

The bookable low-impact camping pitch maintained by the local estate occupied a natural clearing beside the burn. It had level ground for tents and an established stone fire site, one of the few managed places where the estate expressly permitted a small, responsibly tended fire in suitable conditions.

"This is it," I announced as we emerged from the trees. "Home for the next two nights."

The site was well chosen, close enough to the burn for water access but far enough back and high enough to avoid ordinary flooding. Mature trees formed a natural windbreak, and there was ample room for the four client tents and mine.

"Oh, this is lovely," Elaine said, already taking photographs.

"Where should we set up?" Martin asked, dropping his rucksack with obvious relief.

"Tents in that flatter area," I said, pointing. "Spread out enough to give each other some privacy. I'll sort the fire site, then help anyone who needs it."

Jamie immediately began unpacking his tent, then stopped and stared at the collection of poles and pegs as if the instructions had been written in another language.

"Callum, I think I need some help here."

"No problem. Let me get my own shelter sorted first."

I pitched my tent quickly, letting muscle memory take over. It was a lightweight two-person trekking tent. I used it alone because the extra room was worth carrying the slight additional weight.

As I worked, I watched the others tackle their kit with varying success. Luke surprised me by helping Jamie identify the correct tent poles instead of complaining about his own situation. The lad had good instincts when he forgot to be miserable. Martin and Elaine worked efficiently together and had plainly camped before.

Hannah took longest to begin because she kept getting distracted by the pitch itself. She walked its entire perimeter, examining trees and collecting interesting stones. It was normal enough behaviour, although she seemed unusually intent on small details.

"Hannah, you might want to get your tent up before it gets much darker," I called.

"Right. Sorry. I just love exploring new places."

She finally began unpacking, but I noticed her glancing repeatedly around the clearing as if searching for something specific. I assumed she was simply excited. Some people took a while to settle into the rhythm of being outdoors.

I checked the established fire site and gathered dry kindling from the immediate area. The steady rush of Rowan Burn would help everyone sleep, and the clearing felt sheltered without being claustrophobic. Good site selection was half the battle when it came to keeping clients comfortable.

"Callum!"

Hannah's voice carried from beyond the far side of the pitch, high and excited.

"Come and look at this."

I looked up to see her standing beside a large old oak roughly forty metres beyond the edge of the managed clearing. She waved both arms, almost jumping with excitement.

"What is it?" I called.

"Just come and see. You have to see this."

I put down the kindling and headed towards her. Even at that distance, her excitement was infectious. Whatever she had found had set her trembling with energy.

"What's got her so worked up?" Jamie called from where he was wrestling with tent pegs.

"No idea," I replied. "Probably an interesting rock."

As I drew nearer, however, I realised Hannah was not looking at the ground. She was staring straight ahead at the oak, her hands clasped against her chest as though she were trying to contain herself. The trunk was more than a metre across, with deeply ridged bark and gnarled roots spreading in every direction.

"Callum, look," she whispered when I was still several metres away. "Have you ever seen anything like it?"

I followed her gaze and stopped dead.

Propped against the base of the oak, sitting upright with its back against the bark, was a doll. But it was not an ordinary doll. It was the size of a real child of perhaps four or five, and from where I stood it looked horribly lifelike.

"What the hell?" I muttered, moving a little closer.

Someone had positioned it with care, its legs stretched in front of it and its arms resting naturally at its sides. It wore a pale blue dress embroidered with tiny white daisies. The fabric looked clean and new. There were no stains, tears or signs of weathering, despite its place in the woods.

The face was worse. Its features were detailed with almost photographic realism. The skin held a faint pink flush at the cheeks, and the lips were a soft rose colour that made them look as if they might be warm. Its hair was not the coarse synthetic fibre I expected from a toy. It looked real, falling in soft brown waves below the shoulders, individual strands catching the filtered light.

"Someone's idea of a joke, perhaps," I said, though my voice emerged rougher than intended.

Hannah stepped towards it. I instinctively caught her arm.

"Careful. We don't know who left it here, or why."

Its eyes troubled me most. They were glass, or appeared to be, but they possessed a depth that made them seem almost alive. They were brown, flecked with gold, and appeared to track me as I changed position. I knew it was an effect of angle and reflected light, yet it unsettled me all the same.

"Look at the craftsmanship," Hannah breathed. "This isn't some cheap, shop-bought toy. Someone put serious work into her."

She was right. Every detail was precise, from the delicate eyelashes to the minute fingernails painted with clear varnish. The dress had hand-stitched seams and genuine buttons that looked like mother-of-pearl. Even the little black patent T-bar shoes appeared to have been made specially.

"What's happening over there?" Martin called from the pitch.

I turned. The whole group was watching us now, curious about whatever had captured our attention.

"We've found something odd," I called back. "Come and have a look."

Jamie reached us first, followed by Martin, Elaine and Luke. They formed a loose semicircle around the tree, staring at the doll with varying degrees of surprise and confusion.

"All right, that's creepy as hell," Jamie said with a nervous laugh. "Who brings a doll camping?"

"Perhaps another family stayed here before us," Martin suggested, although he did not sound convinced. "A child might have left it by accident."

Elaine already had her camera raised. "It is quite beautiful, artistically. The level of detail is remarkable."

Luke folded his arms. "Can we get back to pitching the tents? It's only a doll."

I could not shake the feeling that it was anything but. Its position was too deliberate. Someone had arranged it to resemble a child sitting peacefully against the tree. I could not imagine why.

"We should leave it alone," I said, falling back on my training. "If it belongs to someone, they might return for it. And if it doesn't..."

I trailed off, uncertain how to finish.

"Actually," Hannah said, excitement rising in her voice again, "I think we should take her back to the pitch."

"What?" Martin looked alarmed. "We can't simply take someone else's property."

"It isn't stealing if it's been abandoned," Hannah said. "Look around. There's no evidence anyone else has been here recently. No other camp, no rubbish and no footprints except ours."

She was right about the tracks. The soil around the tree was soft enough to retain impressions. The only marks I could identify were ours and those of a few small animals.

"I still don't think it's a good idea," I said. "Best practice is to leave things where you find them."

Hannah was already edging nearer, reaching as though she meant to touch it. I caught her wrist, gently but firmly.

"Don't. We don't know where it's been or what might be on it."

"It looks clean."

"Cleaner than it should after any length of time outside."

That was another thing that bothered me. The doll looked as though it had been placed there recently, perhaps that very day. Its dress was spotless, its hair perfectly arranged. There was not a trace of mud, leaf litter or bark on it. Yet if someone had visited that day, where were their tracks?

"Perhaps we should take photographs and leave it," Elaine suggested. "Then we have a record without disturbing anything."

"Good idea," I said, relieved that someone was being sensible.

Hannah shook her head. "No. I want to bring her back, just for tonight. If someone comes looking, we'll give her back. But I have this feeling..."

She paused, gazing down at the doll with an expression I could not read.

"I have this feeling she's supposed to come with us."

"That doesn't make sense," Jamie said. "Dolls don't have destinies."

"How do you know?" Hannah shot back. "There are more things in the world than we understand. Perhaps this is one of them."

Martin grew visibly more uncomfortable.

"I really think we ought to leave it here," he said. "Taking it feels wrong."

"Leaving her feels wrong," Hannah replied. "Look at her. She's like a real child sitting alone in the woods. How can we simply walk away?"

The way she said it sent a chill through me. She spoke about the doll as if it were alive, as if it had feelings we might wound. That was not normal, even for someone as unconventional as Hannah had appeared to be.

"It isn't a real child," I said carefully. "It's a doll. An object. It doesn't have feelings."

Hannah looked at me with something like disappointment.

"You don't know that for certain."

Before any of us could stop her, she stepped forward and carefully lifted the doll away from the tree. It was larger than I had appreciated, close to a metre tall, and heavy enough that she had to adjust her grip to support it.

"There," she said, cradling it as she might have held a real child. "No harm done."

The doll's head lolled slightly to one side. For a fraction of a second, it appeared to look directly at me. Its glass eyes caught the light and seemed aware, alert and almost curious. I blinked. The impression vanished, but the unease remained.

"Can we please go back now?" Luke asked. "This is getting weird."

"Agreed," I said, keeping my eyes on Hannah and the doll. "Let's return to the pitch."

The walk back was awkward. Hannah carried the doll with great care, supporting its head and ensuring that its dress did not snag. The rest of us followed at a slight distance, no one knowing quite what to say. Jamie attempted a joke about having an extra guest for dinner, but it fell flat. Martin and Elaine walked close together, speaking too quietly for me to hear. Luke looked irritated by the entire affair.

At the pitch, Hannah placed the doll gently beside her tent, propping it against her rucksack so that it sat upright. She smoothed the dress and arranged the hair over its shoulders.

"There you are," she said softly. "Much better."

I could have sworn she was speaking to the doll rather than to any of us.

I concentrated on lighting the fire and preparing the outdoor-skills session I had planned. Keeping busy helped me ignore the way Hannah repeatedly glanced at the doll, and the fact that she had positioned herself to keep it in sight while pitching her tent.

The dry kindling caught readily, and before long I had a good bed of embers. I gathered everyone for a lesson on fire safety and outdoor cooking, took out the camping stove and demonstrated how to establish a stable cooking surface.

Hannah participated, asking sensible questions and making notes in a small book from her rucksack. Yet every few minutes her attention drifted towards the doll, and her face softened as though she were looking at something precious.

"The key to cooking at camp is to keep things simple and safe," I said while heating water for the demonstration. "You want to minimise burns and spills, particularly when water for cleaning is limited."

"What about foraging?" Hannah asked. "You showed us the bilberries. Are there other things we could find here?"

"There are," I said, "but foraging requires knowledge and experience. It is very easy to make a mistake that leaves you ill, or worse. Stick to the food you brought."

As the afternoon wore on, Hannah moved the doll twice. First she repositioned it to face our circle during the cooking lesson. Later, when we paused, she carried it to a fallen trunk and propped it there, making tiny adjustments until it had what she apparently considered the best view of our activities.

Each time, she handled it gently and deliberately, as though it were both fragile and important. Her care was beginning to unsettle everyone. I caught Martin and Elaine exchanging worried looks, and Jamie had stopped making jokes.

When we began preparing dinner, Hannah carried the doll to the cooking area and set it beside her, angled so that it seemed to watch her chopping vegetables for the communal meal.

"It looks as though you've got a little helper," Elaine said, attempting to sound light-hearted.

Hannah looked down and smiled.

"She's very well behaved. She just sits quietly and watches everything."

The use of "she" rather than "it" tightened my stomach. I had hoped Hannah was simply being eccentric, perhaps playing up the strangeness for our entertainment. The affection in her voice now seemed entirely genuine. She was beginning to regard the doll as something more than an object.

"Hannah," I said carefully as I stirred the pot of stew, "you know it's only a doll, don't you?"

She frowned at me. "Of course I know that. I'm not stupid, Callum. But that doesn't mean I can't appreciate the craftsmanship. Someone put a lot of love into making her."

"Right," I said, although that was not what I had meant. "I only want to make certain you're all right."

"I'm fine."

Her tone had acquired an edge.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Before I could answer, she turned back to the doll and softened again.

"Don't mind him," she murmured. "Some people simply don't understand."

A chill passed through me that had nothing to do with the evening air. Hannah was speaking as if the doll could hear her, as if it might be hurt by what I had said. That crossed the line from quirky to genuinely worrying.

Jamie must have felt the same, because he cleared his throat.

"So, Callum, what's the plan after dinner? Any more woodland wisdom to share?"

I was grateful for the interruption.

"I thought we'd practise some basic knots and discuss navigation, weather permitting. We can do a little stargazing later."

"Sounds good," Martin said, though he continued glancing nervously towards Hannah. "Luke might actually enjoy the astronomy."

Luke looked up from where he was prodding the fire with a stick.

"Maybe, as long as we don't have to walk anywhere else today."

The conversation moved to safer subjects, but I watched Hannah from the corner of my eye. She sat where she could look down at the doll as she ate, occasionally pausing midway through a mouthful to smooth its dress or adjust its hair. At one point, when she believed no one was watching, she bent and whispered to it. Her lips moved, but I could not make out the words.

When she straightened, she wore the satisfied expression of someone who had just enjoyed a pleasant conversation.

I decided it had gone far enough. Once we had eaten and begun clearing up, I approached her while the others were occupied.

"Hannah, can I speak to you for a minute?"

"Of course."

She did not move away from the doll.

"I'm concerned about how attached you're becoming to that thing," I said quietly, so the others would not overhear. "It is only a doll."

Her jaw tightened.

"You keep saying that. You don't know what she is or where she came from any more than I do."

"You're right. But I can see how you're treating her, and it looks as though you're beginning to believe she's alive."

"Perhaps that's because she feels alive," Hannah said. "Perhaps some things can't be explained by your guide training."

The hostility in her voice caught me off guard. Until then she had been friendly and enthusiastic, eager to learn and join in. This defensive anger seemed to belong to somebody else.

"I'm not trying to upset you. I'm worried that you're becoming invested in something which might not be what it seems."

"And what do you think it seems to be?"

I looked at the doll's immaculate features and the glass eyes that appeared to follow my movements.

"Someone's prank, perhaps, or an art project that was left behind. Either way, it isn't something you should become emotionally attached to."

Hannah picked it up and held it protectively against her chest.

"You don't understand. You can't feel what I feel when I look at her. She's been alone here, waiting. Waiting for someone to care."

"Dolls don't wait. They don't have thoughts, feelings or needs."

"How do you know?" she demanded. "How does anyone know what's real and what isn't? Just because something doesn't fit your idea of normal doesn't mean it isn't valid."

The conversation was going nowhere. Hannah had made up her mind, and nothing I said would alter it that evening.

"All right," I said, lifting my hands. "You're right that I don't know everything. Just be careful, and tell me if anything begins to feel wrong."

She relaxed a little.

"Nothing is wrong, Callum. Everything is exactly as it should be."

As I walked away, I could not escape the feeling that nothing was as it should be. Hannah's behaviour was escalating, and I had no idea how best to handle it. Part of me wanted to insist that we leave the doll behind when we moved on, but I suspected that suggestion would be received no better than my other attempts at reason.

For the moment, all I could do was watch the situation and hope that whatever was happening to Hannah resolved itself before it became a genuine problem.

The doll sat in Hannah's lap as though it belonged there. I stirred the fire with a stick and watched sparks climb towards the canopy while the others settled into lightweight folding chairs around the established stone fire site. The orange light flickered across their faces, making the pitch feel almost cosy despite the tension that had accumulated through the afternoon.

Jamie stretched his legs towards the stones.

"What about those local legends you mentioned, Callum? This seems the perfect time for a story."

I glanced at Hannah. She was drawing her fingers through the doll's hair in long, gentle strokes. The way she held it reminded me of my sister cradling stuffed animals when we were children, except Hannah was thirty and this thing looked horribly real in the firelight.

"There are the usual stories," I said, concentrating on the group rather than on her. "Pictish sites, prehistoric stones and early twentieth-century forestry camps where men were injured or killed in the timber workings. Nothing too dramatic."

Martin leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

"What about missing walkers? Any decent ghost stories?"

"There have been a few missing people over the years, but most incidents involve someone becoming disorientated. Mobile reception is poor, so people sometimes panic when they can't call for help. Stay with the group tomorrow and you'll be fine."

Elaine adjusted her camera, trying to capture the firelight.

"What about children? Are there any stories about children?"

The question made me pause.

"Why do you ask?"

"Just curious. Old places like this often have stories about children who became lost, or..."

She trailed off and glanced at Hannah.

Hannah looked up from the doll, her eyes bright with interest.

"Yes. Tell us about the children."

Something in her voice made my skin crawl. It was not the words themselves, but the eagerness behind them, as if she already knew part of the story.

"A family disappeared here in the 1980s," I said slowly. "The MacLeods. Two parents and their young daughters. They were camping somewhere in the wider Glen Dorch woodland, although the exact site was never firmly established. Searchers found an abandoned camp, but no trace of the family."

Hannah's fingers became still in the doll's hair.

"What happened to them?"

"No one knows. The initial theory was that they had left voluntarily, perhaps because of debts or other trouble. Estate staff and the local police officers involved at the time were never entirely satisfied with that explanation."

"What did they think happened?" Jamie asked.

I shrugged. "It could have been any number of things. They might have become lost, suffered an accident or fallen into a ravine. Woodland and weather erase evidence. After several decades, there isn't much left to examine."

Luke gave a dismissive snort from his chair.

"They probably went away to start a new life. People do that."

"Perhaps."

I prodded the fire and watched the wood shift in the embers.

"The odd part was the camp. Everything remained there: food, clothes, camping equipment and even the keys to their car. Who leaves a vehicle behind when they're planning to disappear?"

The fire cracked, filling the silence that followed.

Hannah resumed stroking the doll's hair, but now she hummed beneath her breath. It was a tune I did not recognise, sweet and lilting like a lullaby.

"That's beautiful," Elaine said. "What is it?"

Hannah looked up and blinked as if she had forgotten we were there.

"What? Oh, I'm not sure. It just came to me."

Jamie shifted in his chair.

"You've been humming it on and off all day."

"Have I?"

Hannah tilted her head, considering this.

"I hadn't noticed."

The humming began again. I listened more carefully. The melody did seem familiar, though I could not place it. It evoked childhood, and the dim memory of being very young, safe and cared for.

"Do you hear that?" Hannah asked suddenly, turning towards the darkness beyond the firelight.

I listened. Wind moved through the pine and birch. Rowan Burn murmured nearby. An owl called somewhere to the north. They were ordinary woodland sounds.

"Hear what?" Martin asked.

"The voices. Children's voices." Hannah tightened her arms around the doll. "They're singing with me."

I strained to pick out anything like speech, but heard only leaves stirring, small animals in the undergrowth and the distant crack of a branch settling. Nothing resembled a human voice, much less children singing.

Jamie leaned towards Hannah and spoke gently.

"I can't hear anything like that. Perhaps your imagination is running away with you a bit."

Her head snapped towards him. For a moment, her face was fierce.

"I know what I'm hearing, Jamie. Just because you can't hear them doesn't mean they aren't there."

"All right."

He raised his hands.

"I didn't mean anything by it."

Hannah had already turned away. She adjusted the doll in her lap, spreading the pale blue dress neatly, then resumed stroking its hair. The same haunting tune rose again.

I watched her in the firelight. The tenderness in her face was the expression someone might give a real child: protective, affectionate and utterly absorbed. The situation was becoming more disturbing by the hour.

"Well," I said, standing and stretching, "we have an early start tomorrow. We should begin winding down."

Luke was already yawning.

"Fine by me. This air is making me tired."

One by one, they began preparing for bed. Elaine packed away her camera equipment. Martin made the fire safe for the night. Jamie went to the burn to brush his teeth. I completed my usual checks, making sure that food was secured and everyone had what they needed.

Hannah was the last to rise. She stood with the doll cradled against her chest.

"Come on, sweetheart," she murmured to it. "Time for bed."

I pretended to organise my rucksack while I watched her carry it into her tent. She remained inside for several minutes, moving things around as she arranged her sleeping bag and changed for the night. When she emerged for a toilet trip to the screened latrine area, she was alone.

"Everything all right?" I asked.

"Perfect."

She smiled, but there was something forced about it.

"I'm just getting ready to sleep."

I nodded and completed my own preparations. Sleep did not come easily. I lay in my tent listening to the woodland, thinking about Hannah's behaviour and wondering whether I should have been firmer about my concerns.

The whole situation felt as though it were building towards something, although I could not have guessed what.

At about 02:00, I woke to the sound of a tent zip. That was not unusual. People often got up during the night to visit the screened latrine area.

But several minutes passed and I heard no returning footsteps. Unease stirred in me. I took my torch and quietly opened my own tent. The fire had burnt down to glowing embers, giving barely enough light to distinguish the other tents. Hannah's was dark. When I aimed the torch towards it, I saw that the entrance was hanging open and the tent was empty.

I pulled on my boots and jacket, then searched the immediate area. Her prints showed clearly in the soft earth. They led away from the pitch and into the deeper woodland, heading roughly north-west.

I followed them for about 90 metres, moving carefully and making as little noise as possible. My torch beam swept back and forth, picking out broken twigs and disturbed leaves. The trail was purposeful. It did not meander as I would have expected if she had been lost or sleepwalking.

Then I heard her voice somewhere ahead, quiet and conversational.

I switched off the torch and went forward more slowly, allowing my eyes to adjust. A few steps later, I made out a pale shape in a small clearing between two large Scots pines.

Hannah sat cross-legged on the ground. The doll had been placed directly in front of her, facing her as though they were having a tea party. There were no toy cups or saucers, only the two of them in the middle of the dark forest.

"I know you're worried," Hannah said in a gentle, soothing voice, "but we're going to find her. I promise. Can you tell me which way she went?"

She paused, her head tilted as though listening. I held my breath and strained to hear anything that might explain what she was responding to.

There was nothing but the wind and the distant murmur of Rowan Burn.

"All right, that makes sense," Hannah continued. "She probably got frightened and ran. Little ones do that when they're confused."

After another pause, she nodded as if the doll had given her useful information.

"No, no, you did the right thing by staying where you were. Someone had to wait here in case she came back looking for you."

I edged closer, trying to see more clearly without revealing myself. Hannah's posture was relaxed and attentive, exactly like that of someone engaged in a genuine conversation. She reached out and smoothed a crease from the doll's pale blue dress, brushing her fingers over the tiny embroidered white daisies.

"How long has she been gone?" Hannah asked.

She listened.

"Since yesterday? Oh, sweetheart, she must be terrified."

The whole scene was profoundly wrong. It was not merely that she was talking to an inanimate object. It was the way she did it. This was not play-acting or imagination. She appeared genuinely convinced that she was receiving answers.

I was deciding whether to interrupt when Hannah suddenly looked up. Her eyes widened in the darkness. Even without my torch, I could see the fear in her face.

"Callum."

Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Callum, is that you?"

I switched on the torch but kept the beam low so that I would not dazzle her.

"Yes, it's me. What are you doing out here, Hannah?"

She looked down at the doll, then back at me. Something like panic flickered across her face.

"She told me about her friend. There's a little girl lost somewhere in these woods. She's been missing since yesterday, and she's frightened and alone."

I moved closer. Hannah's hands were trembling as she picked up the doll.

"Hannah, listen to me. We filed our route plan and booked this estate pitch before we came. There were no known reports of a missing child in this area. That doesn't prove nobody else is in the woods, but if a child had been reported missing locally, we should have been warned."

"But she's here," Hannah insisted, her voice rising with urgency. "She's lost, and we have to find her before something terrible happens."

I escorted her back to the pitch, reaching it at about 02:20. Jamie's snoring drifted from his tent in a steady rhythm that ought to have been reassuring. Instead, once I was back inside my own tent, I found myself counting the seconds between each breath and using the sound as an anchor while I listened for any movement from Hannah's.

Her zip had not moved since our return, but her voice carried through the thin nylon. She was still talking to the doll. The conversation sounded different from the one I had witnessed in the clearing. Her words came faster now, with an urgent edge, punctuated by longer pauses as though she were receiving detailed instructions.

When the night breeze shifted, I caught fragments.

"Tomorrow morning."

Then, "She can't wait much longer."

And, "I promise I'll find you."

I shifted in my sleeping bag, trying not to make the fabric rustle. The last thing I wanted was for Hannah to realise I was listening. Part of me considered waking the others and asking Martin or Jamie to help me decide what to do. But what could I tell them? That one of my clients was holding detailed conversations with a doll about a missing child for whose existence we had no evidence?

Even thinking the words made me feel unsteady.

Shortly after 03:00, Hannah finally fell silent. I waited another hour before allowing myself to relax enough to doze, but real sleep never came. Every sound in the forest - a branch creaking, an owl calling, the distant splash of something moving through the burn - brought me fully awake again, listening for the sound of her tent zip.

When the first pale light filtered through the trees, I gave up trying to sleep. I opened my tent as quietly as I could and crawled out into the cold morning air.

The fire had subsided to grey ashes, and a fine layer of dew covered the pitch. Hannah's tent was zipped shut, but I could see movement inside: a restless shifting that suggested she had slept no better than I had.

I was deciding whether to relight the fire or let everyone rest when her zip opened with a sharp metallic rasp that seemed to echo through the quiet woodland.

She emerged clutching the doll to her chest. Her hair was tangled and her clothes were creased from sleeping in them, but it was her face that made me step back. Her eyes were wide and unfocused, darting about the pitch as if she could see things the rest of us could not. Her skin had a pale, almost grey cast, and the dark circles beneath her eyes made her look as though she had been ill for weeks.

"Morning," I said softly, keeping my voice calm and ordinary.

Hannah turned towards me, but it took several seconds for her eyes to settle on my face. When they did, she smiled. The smile was too bright and too eager.

"She's been calling all night," she whispered. "Did you hear her? She's getting weaker."

My stomach dropped.

"Who's been calling, Hannah?"

"The little girl."

She adjusted her hold on the doll, cradling it more carefully.

"She's frightened. She's been lost for so long, and she's running out of time."

Before I could answer, Hannah began to pace. She moved in a tight circuit from the established stone fire site to the edge of Rowan Burn and back again. Her steps were quick and agitated, and she kept glancing over her shoulder towards the woodland beyond the water.

"We have to find her today," she said, growing louder. "She can't wait another night. She's so cold and hungry, and there are things in the woods that..."

She stopped abruptly and tilted her head, listening.

I heard only the ordinary morning sounds: birds calling between the trees, the gentle rush of the burn and leaves stirring in the breeze.

"What things?" I asked.

Hannah shook her head rapidly.

"She doesn't want to talk about them, but they're getting closer. We have to hurry."

A tent zip opened behind us. Jamie Clarke emerged, yawning and stretching. One look at Hannah changed his expression from sleepy confusion to concern.

"Everything all right?" he asked, looking between us.

"Hannah's been awake for most of the night," I said carefully.

Jamie watched her pace for a few moments.

"Han, are you feeling all right?"

She stopped and stared at him as though she had forgotten he was there.

"We need to make breakfast quickly. As soon as everyone is ready, we're going to find her."

"Find who?"

"The lost little girl. I know where she is now."

Hannah pointed towards the thick woodland on the far side of the burn.

"She's been trying to tell me all night. She's about one and a half kilometres that way, near a large rock shaped like a sleeping bear."

Jamie shot me a look which made it clear that he thought Hannah had completely lost her grip on reality. I gave the smallest shake of my head, hoping he would understand that confronting her too bluntly would not help.

More zips announced the waking of the others. Martin Mercer emerged first, followed by Elaine and then their teenage son, Luke, who looked as though he had slept about as well as I had. All three noticed Hannah's agitated state immediately.

"What's happening?" Martin asked.

"Hannah thinks she knows where to find a missing child," Jamie said. "A little girl lost in the woods."

Concern filled Elaine's face.

"God, really? We should call for help straight away."

"That's what I'm going to do," I said, taking the satellite phone from my pack. "I'll try Graham Shaw, my operations manager."

I moved several metres from the group and switched on the phone. The signal indicator showed only one bar, but it was better than nothing. I dialled Graham's number and waited through several rings before the call connected.

"Graham, it's Callum," I said when his voice crackled through the interference. "I'm at the Rowan Burn pitch, and I need..."

The line cut out. I tried again, but this time the call did not connect at all. The signal had vanished.

I walked to slightly higher ground at the edge of the pitch and tried once more. The call went through, although the connection was worse than before.

"Graham, can you hear me?"

"Callum, you're breaking up. What's the situation?"

"I've got a client who believes there's a missing child in the area. She's becoming increasingly agitated, and I'm concerned about..."

Static overwhelmed the line. I caught fragments of Graham's reply, something about protocol and contacting Police Scotland, but then the call dropped completely.

I tried three more times without success. During one brief interval when the connection held, I managed to leave a message.

"Graham, this is Callum at Rowan Burn. I have a situation with a client who believes there is a missing child. I may need support or guidance. Call me back when you receive this."

When I returned, Hannah was standing perfectly still in the middle of the pitch, staring at me with fierce concentration.

"What did they say?" she demanded. "Are they sending a search team?"

"I couldn't get a clear connection."

Her face lit as though I had confirmed her worst fears.

"They already know about her, don't they? That's why the phone isn't working properly. They're trying to organise the search from their end."

I opened my mouth to explain that satellite phones could be unreliable beneath dense tree cover, but Martin spoke first.

"Wait. So there really is a missing child out here?"

"Yes," Hannah said firmly. "And every minute we waste, she becomes more frightened and more lost."

Luke rubbed his eyes.

"I don't know what's going on, but shouldn't we let the professionals deal with it? If a child really is missing, Police Scotland, estate staff or mountain rescue should be looking."

"There isn't time," Hannah snapped. "She's been out there for two days already. By the time we walk back for help and bring anyone here, it could be too late."

She hugged the doll more tightly and looked at us with desperate eyes.

"I'm going to find her, with or without your help."

Jamie stepped forward.

"You can't wander into the woods alone. That's dangerous."

"More dangerous than leaving a frightened little girl out there?"

Hannah pointed beyond the burn.

"I know exactly where she is. She's been telling me all night. I only have to follow the burn until I reach the bare rock, then go uphill towards an old pine with a broken top."

The detail in her description made my blood run cold. Either Hannah was experiencing remarkably specific hallucinations, or something had supplied her with knowledge of the local terrain. Neither possibility was good.

Elaine looked torn between concern and confusion.

"If you genuinely believe you know where she is, perhaps we should stay together and look. There are six of us."

"We should not leave the pitch on the strength of something we cannot verify," I said. "And we certainly shouldn't go chasing after a voice none of us can hear."

Hannah rounded on me, anger flashing in her eyes.

"You think I'm making it up? You think I'm mad?"

"I think you're under severe strain, and that can make people misinterpret things."

"I know what I heard," she cut in. "I know what she told me. If you won't help me save her, I'll do it myself."

She turned and strode towards the burn, carrying the doll.

"Hannah, stop."

She was already stepping into the shallow water, moving towards the opposite bank with determined strides. The current was not strong, but the stones were slippery, and she was balancing with one arm while holding the doll in the other.

Jamie looked at me in alarm.

"We can't let her go alone."

I felt trapped between two appalling choices: allow Hannah to disappear into dense woodland while plainly unwell, or take the whole party on what was almost certainly a futile search for someone who did not exist. But when I saw her reach the far bank, still clutching the doll and muttering reassurances to an invisible child, I knew there was no real choice.

"Everyone pack light," I said, seizing my daypack and checking the first-aid kit. "Water, food and emergency supplies only. This is a limited excursion to keep Hannah safe. We stay together, we go no farther than roughly one and a half kilometres from the pitch, and we turn back after two hours whether we find anything or not."

Martin reached for his pack.

"And after that?"

"If we find no concrete evidence, we return here and then walk out to obtain proper help."

Luke muttered that the whole situation was insane, but he packed without further argument. Elaine took her camera and a water bottle. Jamie pushed several energy bars into his pockets.

By the time we were ready, Hannah stood at the edge of the woodland on the far side of the burn, looking back at us impatiently.

"She's getting weaker," she called. "We have to hurry."

I led the others across, testing every step on the slick stones. The water was cold enough to make my legs ache. Luke grumbled behind me, but everyone reached the far bank without falling.

Hannah was already forcing her way into the undergrowth between two old sessile oaks. The woodland there was much denser than around the pitch. Tangled growth and fallen timber made every step difficult.

"Stay close," I called. "Watch for low branches, roots and hidden holes."

Hannah moved ahead with startling confidence, avoiding obstacles as though she had walked that route before. She held the doll to her chest with one arm and used the other to push aside branches.

"This way," she said as she angled uphill. She tilted her face towards the doll. "She says we're getting closer."

My legs burnt from forcing through the tangled undergrowth for what seemed like hours, although my watch showed that only 30 minutes had passed. Branches caught my sleeves and scratched my face as I followed Hannah into terrain I had never explored, despite fifteen years as a professional guide.

She maintained the same disturbing assurance, stepping across fallen trunks and ducking beneath low branches as though she had travelled that exact route countless times. The doll never left her arms. Every few minutes, Hannah paused and tipped her head towards its face, listening to something none of us could hear.

"This way," she called, turning left around a massive wind-thrown tree. "She says we're nearly there."

Behind me, Luke's breathing came in short, laboured gasps. He was clearly struggling with the pace and terrain, but he had not complained since the search began. Elaine stayed close to him, offering water whenever we stopped. Martin brought up the rear, his face set in grim determination while his eyes moved nervously between the trees.

Jamie had fallen silent after the first ten minutes. He no longer asked Hannah where we were going and concentrated on keeping up. Each time I looked back, I saw the worry carved into his expression.

The woodland became denser with every step. Old Scots pines towered above us, their canopy so thick that only scattered patches of morning light reached the ground. The air was colder there and laden with a damp scent I could not identify. Moss covered everything: fallen trunks, exposed roots and the lower portions of standing trees.

"Callum."

Martin's voice cut through the quiet sounds of our passage.

"How much farther are we going?"

I looked ahead. Hannah had stopped beside an enormous pine, its trunk perhaps a metre and a half across at the base. She stood perfectly still, both arms around the doll, staring at something among the roots.

"Hannah's found something," I called, although dread was already settling in my stomach.

The way she stood there, utterly motionless, reminded me too much of how she had looked when we discovered the first doll roughly 40 metres beyond the pitch.

I pushed through a bank of ferns and reached her. Her breathing came in rapid, shallow bursts that clouded the cold air.

"Look," she whispered.

She pointed with one finger while keeping the girl doll pressed to her body.

At the base of the pine, propped against the trunk in almost exactly the same position as the first, sat another figure.

This one was larger, easily twice the size of the doll Hannah carried. Where the first represented a child of perhaps four or five, this one appeared to depict a boy of eight or nine. It wore a green checked shirt, corduroy trousers and miniature walking boots which looked disturbingly real.

But it was the doll's apparent movement that made my skin crawl.

Its chest seemed to rise and fall in a slow, gentle rhythm. Its eyes were shut as though it were sleeping, and I thought I saw the faintest movement beneath the lids, like the flicker of dreams.

"Oh my God," Hannah gasped.

She rushed forward before I could stop her.

"It's him. It's the brother."

She knelt beside the larger doll, taking care not to disturb it but leaning close enough to study its face. The thing - I could no longer think of it as anything else - had brown hair cut in an ordinary boy's style, slightly mussed as though it had been running through the forest. Its skin bore the same healthy pink flush as the girl doll's, and its lips were parted as if it might speak at any moment.

"Hannah, don't touch it," I said, moving nearer while maintaining my distance from both dolls.

"I won't hurt him," she replied in the soft, maternal voice she used with the smaller one. "He's sleeping, she says. He's been sleeping here, waiting for someone to find him."

The others caught up. Elaine drew a sharp breath when she saw the second doll. Luke stopped dead, his face draining of colour.

"What the hell is happening?" he demanded, far too loudly for the stillness of the forest. "Who's leaving these things here?"

"They're not things," Hannah snapped without looking away from the boy doll. "They're children. Lost children who need our help."

Martin moved to his son's side. Both of them stared with open discomfort. Jamie approached more slowly, his face caught between concern and mounting alarm.

"Hannah," he said carefully, "you've found another doll. That's all. Someone has been leaving dolls in the woods."

"You're wrong." Her voice carried absolute certainty. "Finding him proves we're on the right track. She told me about her brother. They were separated when the bad things began chasing them. He ran this way and became tired, so he sat down to rest."

I took out the satellite phone, desperate to reach Graham again. We were about one and a half kilometres from the pitch, far from the recognised route and in terrain I did not know, following a woman who was plainly suffering some kind of mental crisis. The situation had gone far beyond what I could manage alone.

The display showed one bar. I moved away from the group and climbed on to a fallen trunk for a little extra height, then called Graham. This time he answered at once.

"Callum, where are you?"

His voice was clear, and the urgency in it immediately put me on edge.

"About one and a half kilometres north-west of the Rowan Burn pitch. We followed the burn and then went into dense woodland. Hannah has found another doll."

"Another one?"

The line was silent for several seconds.

"Callum, listen to me very carefully. Gather your party and get out of there now."

"What's going on, Graham? What haven't you told me?"

"There isn't time to explain. Trust me. Get everyone together and return to the pitch immediately. Don't let anyone touch the dolls. And whatever happens, don't allow that woman to take either of them any farther."

Static began to crackle over the connection, but I could still distinguish his words.

"Graham, I need to know what I'm dealing with. Hannah believes there are missing children, and she won't leave willingly."

"Callum, you're in danger. All of you. Those dolls aren't what they appear to be. Get your people out before..."

The line died.

I stared at the blank screen, my hands trembling. I had worked for Graham's company for three years, and I had never heard such fear in his voice.

I climbed down and returned to the group. Hannah had placed herself between the girl and boy dolls and was speaking softly to each in turn. The sight turned my stomach.

"Everyone, we are leaving," I announced, keeping my voice calm and authoritative. "We're returning to the pitch now."

"What?"

Hannah's head snapped up, her eyes wide with disbelief.

"We can't leave. We've only just found him. We're so close to finding the real children."

"My operations manager has ordered an immediate withdrawal. It isn't safe here."

Martin looked relieved. Luke nodded grimly, and Elaine was already settling the strap of her camera bag on her shoulder. Hannah remained kneeling between the dolls, shaking her head violently.

"No," she said, her voice rising. "No, we can't leave them. The children are relying on us. She told me they're getting weaker and the bad things are getting closer. If we go now, we may never find them."

"Hannah, we have no evidence that any children are missing," I said as gently as I could. "Our submitted route plan, the estate pitch information and the local reports available to us contained nothing about a missing family or child."

"You're wrong."

She clutched the girl doll more tightly and leant protectively over the boy.

"They're here. They're lost and frightened, and they need us. How can you abandon them?"

Jamie stepped forwards, worry and frustration tightening his face.

"Hannah, listen to what you're saying. You're talking to dolls - plastic, cloth and stuffing. There are no children here."

"Don't you dare," Hannah snarled, rising with the smaller doll pressed to her chest. "Don't you dare dismiss what I know is true. I can hear them. I can feel their fear. These aren't merely dolls. They're connected to something real, something that needs our help."

"Connected how?" Jamie pleaded. "You're frightening me. This isn't like you. You're hearing voices and holding conversations with toys. That isn't normal."

Hannah's face flushed with anger.

"Normal? You think any of this is normal? Finding these children here, feeling their terror, knowing they're relying on us to save them? Perhaps normal isn't what matters now, Jamie. Perhaps doing the right thing matters."

"The right thing is getting you help," Jamie shot back, his voice rising, "not indulging this fantasy about talking dolls and missing children who don't exist."

"They do exist!" Hannah screamed, her voice echoing through the pines. "Just because you can't hear them doesn't mean they aren't real. Just because you don't understand doesn't mean I'm mad."

I stepped between them before the argument could worsen.

"We are leaving now. That is not a request. It is an instruction. Gather what you brought and return to the pitch."

"I won't go."

Hannah backed towards the pine where the boy doll sat, placing herself between us and both figures.

"I won't abandon these children. If you want to run because you're too frightened or selfish to help, then go. I'm staying."

Martin spoke behind me.

"Callum, we can't leave her here alone."

"We aren't leaving her." I kept my voice firm. "Hannah, I understand that you believe these children are real, but my manager knows something about this area which makes it dangerous for us to remain. We have to go."

"What does he know? What did he tell you?"

I hesitated. Graham had explained nothing. He had merely ordered me to withdraw. But the fear in his voice had been real, and that was enough.

"He said we're all in danger. He specifically mentioned the dolls."

Hannah's expression changed from anger to something close to triumph.

"He knows about them. That proves I'm right. There really are missing children, and your manager knows."

"That isn't what he said."

"It's exactly what he said." A manic note entered her voice. "He knows about the dolls because they're connected to the missing children. The authorities have been looking for these children, and now we've found them. We can't leave."

Jamie moved closer to his friend, hands raised in a calming gesture.

"Hannah, please come back to the pitch with us. We can call for proper help from there. Police Scotland and mountain rescue can become involved. You don't have to carry this alone."

For a moment, I thought she might listen. Her grip on the girl doll loosened and some of the rigid tension left her shoulders. Then she looked down into its face. Whatever she thought she saw there restored her resolve.

"She's frightened I'll leave her," Hannah whispered. "She's been alone for so long, and now she's terrified I'll abandon her like everyone else."

"Hannah..." Jamie began, moving forwards.

"No."

She spun away, clutching the doll protectively.

"I won't let you take me away from them. I won't let you force me to abandon children who need help."

She began retreating deeper into the woodland towards a dense stand of Scots pine. Jamie followed, desperation entering his voice.

"Don't do this. Don't run into the woods. You'll become lost, and then we'll have a real emergency."

"I know these woods," Hannah called, still backing away. "She's been showing me the route. I know exactly where I'm going."

"No, you don't."

Jamie broke into a run, trying to reach her before she vanished into the undergrowth.

"Hannah, stop!"

She was already forcing herself through a gap between two large pines. The pale blue dress of the doll remained visible for one instant before the branches closed behind her. Jamie plunged in after her, calling her name.

"Jamie, wait!" I shouted.

He was already gone, swallowed by the same vegetation that had hidden Hannah.

For a moment I stared at the place where they had vanished, my mind racing through our options. The boy doll remained against the pine, its chest apparently rising and falling in that slow, lifelike rhythm. Martin, Elaine and Luke clustered behind me, all looking to me for guidance I no longer felt qualified to provide.

The woodland had fallen completely silent, as if even the birds were holding their breath.

I caught Martin by the arm and pointed towards the gap.

"We go after them now."

He nodded, pale but determined. Elaine settled her camera bag without a word, and Luke drew closer to his parents.

I looked back once at the boy doll. Its chest still seemed to move with that impossible rhythm. Then I pushed through the pines where I had last seen Hannah and Jamie.

The undergrowth was thicker beyond them, snagging our clothes and packs. I found a faint line of broken twigs and disturbed leaves. Martin stayed immediately behind me, breathing hard but maintaining the pace. Elaine and Luke followed, stepping carefully over fallen timber and around moss-covered rocks.

"Jamie! Hannah!"

The dense canopy seemed to swallow my voice. There was no answer.

We pressed farther into the forest, following what I hoped were their tracks. Every few metres, I stopped to examine the ground for prints in the soft soil or further damage to the vegetation.

The woodland felt different there: older and quieter. Even our footsteps were muffled by the deep carpet of pine needles and moss.

"There," Martin said, pointing to scuffed soil at the foot of another massive pine. "Someone slipped here."

I knelt to inspect it. Boot treads were stamped into the damp earth, and I recognised them as belonging to members of our party. The marks continued downhill towards the sound of running water.

We followed for what felt like hours, although my watch showed about 40 minutes. The sound of water became louder until we emerged beside a narrow burn cutting through the forest floor. It ran quickly over smooth stones, perhaps a metre wide and ankle-deep.

Luke wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"Which way?"

I studied both banks. To the left, the burn curved out of sight behind a stand of birch. To the right, it ran straight for approximately 45 metres before turning. I could see no clear sign of passage in either direction.

I would not split an already endangered party out of sight of one another.

"Martin and Elaine, check the upstream bank. Luke and I will check downstream. Nobody goes beyond the next bend. Stay visible across the water, remain within immediate speaking distance and call out constantly. If either pair loses sight of the other, we regroup at once."

Elaine adjusted the straps of her pack.

"What if we find them?"

"Call the rest of us over. Don't approach alone if anything seems wrong."

Martin and Elaine moved upstream while Luke and I followed the opposite bank downstream. For the first stretch, the burn was straight enough that all four of us remained visible to one another. We called Jamie's and Hannah's names every 30 seconds. The rushing water was loud, but we were close enough to hear each other's voices.

Before the bend could separate us, I halted everyone and we regrouped. We then continued together downstream for perhaps another 15 minutes.

Martin caught my shoulder.

"There."

He pointed across the burn. Through the trees on the far bank, I saw a flash of pale blue cloth.

We crossed the shallow water together, our boots slipping on the smooth stones, and pushed through a screen of low branches.

Hannah sat on the ground with her back against a fallen trunk and her knees drawn to her chest. The girl doll was clutched tightly in her arms, its pale blue dress muddy and torn, the embroidered daisies almost hidden beneath dirt. Hannah's own clothes were ripped in several places. Mud streaked her face and hands. She rocked slowly back and forth, staring ahead with unfocused eyes.

"Hannah," I said, approaching carefully. "Where's Jamie?"

She did not look at me. She only continued rocking and held the doll as though it were the most precious thing in the world.

Martin knelt a short distance from her.

"Hannah, are you hurt? What happened?"

Her lips moved without producing a sound. Then she spoke in a flat monotone.

"They have him."

"Who has him?" I asked. "Where did he go?"

"They took him instead."

She turned the doll slightly and adjusted its dress with shaking fingers.

"The dolls needed someone."

Martin looked at me, deeply alarmed. Elaine drew a sharp breath when she saw Hannah's condition. Luke simply stared, his mouth open.

"Hannah," I tried again. "We need to find Jamie. Tell me which way he went."

She raised her head, but her eyes seemed to look through me.

"They needed someone," she repeated. "The dolls. They were so lonely."

We spent the next hour searching the immediate area and trying to obtain useful information from her. I kept all four remaining clients together and within sight. We called Jamie's name, checked the ground for tracks and examined the accessible stretches of both banks, never moving so far that we risked losing our own route back.

Hannah repeated variations of the same phrases. Jamie was gone. They had taken him. The dolls needed someone. No matter how I framed the questions, her answers never changed and offered no direction in which to search.

The light was beginning to fail. Continuing through dense, unfamiliar woodland in darkness would have endangered everyone without improving Jamie's chances. I made the decision to return to the pitch, mark the location as accurately as I could and summon an organised search.

I helped Hannah to her feet. She came willingly, still holding the doll, and we began the long journey back through the forest.

It took nearly two hours to relocate our route and reach the camping pitch. Hannah walked mechanically and never released the doll. She spoke only when asked a direct question, and then gave the same empty replies about them taking Jamie because the dolls needed someone.

Back at the pitch, I settled her inside her tent with food and water, although she barely touched either. The doll remained locked in her arms. Elaine tried speaking to her quietly, hoping another woman might reach her, but received only the same vacant stare and the same repeated phrases.

As soon as I had a clear signal, I called Graham Shaw again on the satellite phone.

"Callum, thank God," he said when he answered. "Are you out of there?"

"We've got a problem. One of my clients is missing. Jamie Clarke. He disappeared after Hannah ran into the woods and he went after her."

There was silence at the other end for several seconds.

"How long has he been gone?"

I checked my watch. "About six hours. We found Hannah, but she's not making much sense. She keeps saying they took him, but she won't explain who they are or where they went."

"I'm contacting Police Scotland and mountain rescue. Get everyone packed and ready to move to the forestry car park. Estate staff are already on their way to escort you out. The police will want to interview all of you."

"Already working on it," I said, watching Martin help Luke force the last of their equipment into their rucksacks.

Hannah sat nearby with Elaine, still clutching the girl doll to her chest. She rocked gently and whispered the same words again and again.

They took him. The dolls needed someone. They took him instead.

"What's really going on out here, Graham? You knew something about those dolls."

"Not over the phone. Just get your people out safely."

Estate staff reached us that evening. I sent Martin, Elaine and Luke back to the Glen Dorch forestry car park with them, while Hannah was taken out under close supervision to be assessed by paramedics and Police Scotland. Once she had been separated from the doll, an officer sealed it in an evidence bag.

I stayed long enough to brief the search leaders, then returned to the car park with the last estate vehicle. Darkness had made any wider search too dangerous. Organised teams would deploy at first light, and I was asked to return with them as a guide.

By the time the evidence from Hannah was formally logged, the sealed bag no longer contained anything resembling a doll. Inside were damp leaves and several scraps of old blue cloth. The seal was recorded as intact.

The search began at first light the following morning. Police Scotland coordinated three mountain-rescue teams with trained search dogs, specialist search officers and estate staff. Drones equipped with thermal-imaging cameras worked above the trees, and a coastguard search-and-rescue helicopter circled Glen Dorch for hours.

I led the search commanders back to the place where we had last seen Jamie. Then I showed them the Scots pine where we had left the boy doll, roughly 1.5 kilometres from our pitch.

It was still there, propped against the trunk in its green checked shirt, corduroy trousers and miniature walking boots. To my eyes, its chest still rose and fell with the same faint, regular rhythm. Two mountain-rescue volunteers and a police officer said they could see it as well.

The officer's body camera was running. A specialist search officer took a sequence of still photographs. Later examination of both recordings showed no measurable movement at all.

The doll was bagged and taken away, though no one would tell me afterwards what the laboratory examination had established, if anything.

The dogs found scent trails, but kept losing them in patterns their handlers could not explain. One followed Jamie's scent for about forty metres, then stopped dead, sat down and whined. No amount of encouragement would make it go farther. Another tracked in tightening circles around the same patch of ground for nearly twenty minutes before lying flat with its ears pinned back.

The handlers tried again from the point where Hannah had been found near Rowan Burn. The dogs picked up her trail easily enough. Jamie's scent appeared beside it, then broke away and vanished.

The second day brought more search teams, additional dogs, more drone flights and further sweeps by the coastguard helicopter. Specialist officers examined depressions in the soil, disturbed vegetation and several patches of ground where the dogs had shown interest. Later, targeted ground examinations were carried out wherever evidence seemed to warrant them.

They found absolutely nothing.

There was no trace of Jamie Clarke anywhere in the woodland. No discarded clothing, no blood, no footprints clear enough to follow and no sign that he had reached a forestry track or road. Thermal imaging found no concealed heat source. The drones saw no movement beyond deer, foxes and smaller animals under the canopy.

By the third day, the main operation was being reduced to periodic specialist sweeps and follow-up searches based on any new evidence. The Police Scotland search coordinator explained that after seventy-two hours without a reliable sighting or physical trace in terrain that dense, the prospects of a successful rescue had fallen sharply.

I stayed for all three days, helping the search leaders understand the ground and answering the same questions repeatedly.

Where exactly had I last seen Jamie?

What was his state of mind?

Had he been drinking or taking medication?

Did he have any outdoor survival experience?

Why had he followed Hannah?

Why had the group been so far from the booked pitch?

I told them everything. I told them about the girl doll Hannah had discovered roughly forty metres beyond the edge of our pitch. I described its pale blue dress embroidered with tiny white daisies, its black patent T-bar shoes and the way its glass eyes had seemed to follow us. I explained Hannah's conviction that children were calling for help, though I had never heard the voices myself. I described finding her in the woods at about two in the morning, bringing her back to camp by twenty past, listening from my tent while she continued speaking to the doll, and hearing her fall silent shortly after three.

I told them about the second doll and its apparent breathing. I told them how Hannah had fled when I tried to evacuate the group, and how Jamie had run after her before I could stop him.

Every telling sounded less credible than the last.

Hannah was interviewed by Police Scotland, then assessed by an NHS mental-health team specialising in trauma. She gave everyone the same answer.

"They took him. The dolls needed someone. They took him instead."

After the assessment, she agreed to a short voluntary admission to an NHS psychiatric unit at a regional hospital. She was later discharged into her family's care with outpatient follow-up arranged.

On the evening of the third day, Graham arrived at the Glen Dorch forestry car park, where Police Scotland and mountain rescue had established their command post. He found me sitting on a picnic bench, staring towards the tree line where the whole nightmare had begun.

"Rough few days," he said, lowering himself onto the bench beside me.

"The worst I've ever had. I've guided professionally for fifteen years, three of them with your company, and I'd never lost anyone before this. I'd never even had a serious injury."

Graham was quiet for a long time. We watched the coastguard helicopter complete its final sweep before turning away towards its base.

"This isn't the first time," he said at last.

I looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"Glen Dorch. This particular part of the woodland. I've documented seven disappearances here between 2008 and 2023. The details vary, but the pattern is always the same."

"What pattern?"

Graham pulled a small notebook from his jacket and turned through several pages.

"The first case I could verify was in 2008. The MacLeod family were camping near Rowan Burn. They reported finding an unusually realistic doll close to their camp. Their teenage daughter became obsessed with it and claimed it was talking to her. She disappeared on the second night. She was never found."

My stomach seemed to drop away beneath me.

"Seven people?"

He nodded. "In 2011, a university student walking alone reported finding a doll and hearing children's voices. He vanished before reaching the end of his submitted route. In 2014, a married couple came through this area. The wife found a doll and became convinced there were lost children in the woods. Her husband tried to stop her going after them. She disappeared. He made it out, but suffered a breakdown and could never give a coherent account of what happened."

Graham looked back at the notebook.

"There was another case that I'm leaving out of this summary because the surviving accounts are too fragmentary to rely on. Then, on 17 October 2020, a university geology lecturer disappeared after two postgraduate researchers said he had become fixated on a doll he found near Rowan Burn. In 2017 and again in 2023, there were disappearances involving the same basic elements."

He closed the notebook halfway but kept one finger between the pages.

"Someone finds a doll that looks disturbingly real. They become convinced it is connected to missing children. They hear voices asking for help. They go into the woods to rescue those children, and they never come back."

"Why didn't you tell me any of this before I brought five clients here?"

"Because no one has ever proved a connection. The dolls either disappear or become ordinary debris before they can be properly examined. The missing people are never found. There is no confirmed evidence of foul play and nothing the authorities can turn into a coherent pattern. Officially, they are separate missing-person cases in difficult terrain."

I thought of Jamie's face when he had gone after Hannah, and of the concern in his voice when he had tried to reason with her.

"But you don't think they were accidents."

"No. I think there is something in those woods that uses the dolls as bait. Something that feeds on the desire to help, to rescue and to protect the innocent."

Graham shut the notebook.

"And I think it has just claimed another victim."

His words settled over the quiet car park like a physical weight. Most of the command post had been dismantled. Estate staff were loading barriers and folding tables into vehicles, while mountain-rescue volunteers packed ropes, lights and medical equipment into their vans.

"There's something else I need to tell you, Callum."

His tone had changed. He no longer sounded like my operations manager. He sounded like a man preparing to confess.

He removed his waxed cap and ran a hand through his greying hair.

"It's about why I sent you and your group to Glen Dorch."

My stomach tightened. "What do you mean, why?"

Graham stared down at his folded hands.

"I didn't assign you to the Glen Dorch Circular at random."

I said nothing.

"I've been tracking these incidents for years and documenting every reliable detail I could find. But there was always a problem. Most of the reports came from families on holiday, university students, casual walkers and weekend campers. People with limited experience of remote ground. By the time they were interviewed, they were traumatised, confused or trying to describe something that sounded impossible. The authorities had no reason to connect the cases."

The truth became clear before he said it.

"You wanted a professional witness."

"I needed someone I could trust to give an accurate account of what happened. Someone with outdoor training who would observe details and remember them under stress. Someone whose word would carry weight with Police Scotland, estate staff and mountain rescue."

At last, Graham met my eyes.

"I needed an experienced guide to witness it first-hand."

I pushed away from the table. Anger flared through my chest so sharply that for a moment I could not speak.

"You sent us in as bait."

"Callum-"

"You knew about the dolls. You knew people had disappeared. You deliberately sent my group into that area anyway."

"I thought you would be safe. You are trained for emergencies. You carry satellite communications. You know how to manage frightened or difficult clients. I believed your experience would protect you and the group from whatever had happened to the others."

"Jamie Clarke is missing because you used us as unwitting investigators. You gambled with our lives for your research."

Graham nodded slowly.

"You're right. I made a calculated decision to put you and your clients at risk without your informed consent. I told myself it was necessary. I thought professional confirmation might help us develop safety procedures and prevent further disappearances. None of that changes what I did. I used you."

I paced several metres towards the tree line, then turned back. The forest looked different in the fading light. In fifteen years of guiding, I had learned to read woodland as shelter, terrain, weather and risk. Now every gap between the trunks looked like an opening through which something might be watching.

"How long had you been planning this?"

"Since the 2020 case. On 17 October that year, a geology lecturer from a Scottish university disappeared after two postgraduate researchers reported that he had become obsessed with a doll near Rowan Burn. He was the first person with substantial scientific training known to have encountered the phenomenon, but he vanished before he could document anything useful."

Graham slipped the notebook into his jacket pocket.

"I've been waiting for the right opportunity to send someone qualified into the area ever since."

"And you chose me because I'm expendable."

"I chose you because you're competent. You have fifteen years of guiding experience and, until this incident, an unblemished safety record. I trusted you to deal with whatever you found and return with a clear account."

His voice dropped.

"I was wrong about being able to keep everyone safe. But you did come back with confirmation of almost everything I suspected."

I saw Hannah sitting at the pitch with the girl doll in her arms, speaking to it as if it were a frightened child. I saw the boy doll against the pine, its little chest seeming to rise beneath the green checked shirt. I saw Jamie running after Hannah and vanishing between the trees.

"Your confirmation cost Jamie his life."

"Yes," Graham said. "It did. And I will have to live with that decision for the rest of my career."

He stood and shouldered his pack.

"I'm sorry, Callum. I know that won't bring Jamie back or undo what happened to Hannah, but I am genuinely sorry I put you in that position without telling you the truth."

I stared at him, weighing his confession against everything I had witnessed over the previous three days. Dozens of trained people had searched kilometres of woodland with dogs, drones, thermal-imaging equipment and air support. They had found no trace of Jamie. Even the physical evidence of the dolls had refused to remain stable long enough to prove anything.

"What happens now?"

"The area will be quietly dropped from estate route leaflets, Forestry and Land Scotland visitor material and recognised walking guides. There won't be a formal closure unless the land managers and authorities decide they have evidence to justify one. Nothing dramatic that would attract people looking for a mystery. Glen Dorch simply won't be promoted as a place for an overnight trek."

"And the disappearances?"

"They'll remain separate missing-person cases unless new evidence emerges. Estate pitch bookings, submitted route plans and local incident reports may help us identify patterns, but not everyone who camps in Scotland registers where they are going. We cannot pretend the records are complete."

"And the next person who finds a doll?"

"Hopefully, there won't be one. The incidents have sometimes been separated by years. If it happens again, at least your account may help people recognise the danger sooner."

I walked back to the picnic bench and picked up my gear bag.

"I quit."

"Callum, I understand you're angry-"

"I quit. I'm finished with guided treks. I'm finished with remote countryside work, and I'm finished with your company."

I slung the bag over my shoulder.

"Find another unwitting investigator the next time you want to test a theory."

Graham did not argue. He merely nodded and watched me walk towards my estate car.

"Where will you go?" he called.

"Somewhere with street lights, traffic noise and no remote woodland. Somewhere I never have to wonder what's watching me from the trees."

I opened the driver's door and threw my bag onto the passenger seat.

Three weeks later, I was living in a studio flat in Sheffield, South Yorkshire. I had taken a job with Sheffield City Council's parks and countryside service, maintaining urban green spaces and recreation areas. Pocket parks, community gardens, the Botanical Gardens and the paved paths around Endcliffe Park. Nothing truly remote. Nothing that required me to sleep under canvas.

The work felt strange after fifteen years of leading people through wild country, but it was exactly what I needed. The hours were predictable and the boundaries clear. There were no two-night camps and no frightened clients depending on me in places beyond ordinary mobile reception.

Every evening, I could go back to my small flat, order a takeaway and fall asleep to the sound of traffic. I no longer had to lie awake inside a trekking tent, wondering what might be moving through the trees beyond the fabric.

I tried not to think about Jamie, but that was impossible.

His face returned to me at random moments. I remembered the concern in his voice when Hannah began behaving strangely, and the determination in his expression when he decided to follow her into the woods. I wondered whether he had understood, in those final moments, that she was not leading him towards a lost child. She was leading him into something far worse.

The nightmares began about a month after I moved to Sheffield. They always contained the same elements. Dolls with glass eyes that tracked me when I moved. Children's voices calling for help from deep among the pines. Hannah insisting that we had to find them before something terrible happened.

I would wake drenched in cold sweat, my heart racing, and check the windows to make certain I was in the city rather than back beside Rowan Burn.

Six months later, I heard through a mutual acquaintance that Hannah was continuing outpatient therapy after her assessment and short voluntary hospital admission. Her family said she had made significant progress, but she retained no clear memory of what had happened to Jamie or how she had ended up alone beside the burn.

Her doctors described it as traumatic amnesia, a protective response that prevented her from accessing experiences too disturbing to process.

Part of me envied that blank space where her worst memories should have been. I remembered everything with painful clarity.

I remembered the lifelike quality of the dolls. The way Hannah spoke to them as if they were real children. The confidence with which she navigated ground she had never seen before. The way Jamie glanced back before disappearing between the Scots pines, trusting that I knew what I was doing and that I would somehow keep everyone safe.

In my spare time, I began researching Glen Dorch through Sheffield Libraries' local-studies resources and online newspaper archives, as well as Scottish news reports and missing-person records. What I found was interesting, but not especially helpful.

The woodland had contained early 20th-century Highland forestry camps and timber workings. Contemporary reports described fatal accidents involving falling trees, crude hauling equipment and unstable loads. Older records referred to ruined shielings, Pictish remains and local stories associated with prehistoric stones, but I found nothing that clearly mentioned dolls or children being lured into the forest.

Almost by accident, I discovered that the Glen Dorch overnight route had been quietly removed from estate route leaflets and newer Forestry and Land Scotland visitor material during the months after Jamie's disappearance. Recognised walking guides stopped recommending it as a three-day trek. No public announcement was made, and responsible access to the wider countryside had not been abolished. The route simply ceased to be promoted, and the bookable low-impact pitch near Rowan Burn was no longer offered to visitors.

It was as though the place had been allowed to fade from public attention without anyone acknowledging why.

The disappearances appeared to stop after Jamie vanished. During the first year, I checked missing-person records and local news reports regularly. I found no new cases matching the pattern Graham had described. There were no reports of walkers finding dolls, no accounts of people becoming obsessed with children calling for help and no similar unexplained disappearance in that part of Glen Dorch.

I developed a theory, though there was no way to test it.

Perhaps whatever lived in those woods had been satisfied by Jamie's disappearance. Perhaps it needed only one person every few years, and taking him had bought a period of safety for everyone else. Perhaps the dolls would remain dormant for months or years before appearing again to lure another compassionate stranger between the trees.

Or perhaps our encounter had disrupted the pattern.

Graham's plan might have worked in a way he had never intended. Not by producing proof, because the recordings showed no measurable breathing and the first doll had become leaves and scraps of cloth inside a sealed evidence bag, but by drawing enough official attention to Rowan Burn that whatever operated there had withdrawn deeper into the Highlands or moved elsewhere.

I preferred that possibility, although I knew I would never prove it.

The years passed, and I settled into my life in Sheffield. I was promoted to a supervisory role within the council's parks and countryside service. I began seeing a woman who worked for the Environment Agency. Eventually, I moved into a larger flat in a quieter neighbourhood.

I learned to sleep through the night without checking every window. I learned to enjoy walks on paved paths through city parks without constantly searching the trees for movement.

But I never forgot what Glen Dorch had taught me.

Some places operate beyond human understanding. They follow rules with no concern for logic, science or our comfortable conviction that the world must make sense. Some boundaries reveal their purpose only after they have been crossed, when it is already too late to turn back and pretend you never saw what waited on the other side.

The dolls still appear in my nightmares. Their expressions are always almost human, and their glass eyes follow me as I move. Hannah's voice echoes through the trees, desperate and certain, insisting that the children are real and need our help. Jamie looks back at me from between the Scots pines, trusting and determined, before the forest closes around him for the last time.

Those dreams remind me that survival sometimes depends on recognising a dangerous boundary before crossing it.

They remind me, too, that compassion can be turned into bait by something that understands human nature better than we understand it ourselves.