"Stop!"

Kate's sudden exclamation made both Daniel and Miles jump out of their skins. She had grabbed Daniel's arm, who had in turn, instinctively, grabbed the hand that held him, and looked at her with concern.

"What is it?" Miles asked sharply.

"Somebody's been here recently." Nobody said anything and Miles and Daniel exchanged looks. Daniel looked nervous. He crossed over to Kate and looked at where she was rooting around, watching her with that way he had that annoyed Miles, like he was taking everything that you were doing in and working it out, storing it away for future reference.

"Do you know which way they went?" he asked.

Kate frowned and thought a moment. Then she straightened up, pointed in a vague direction and said, with a smile "That way."

"Great," Dan said. "Cause we're going this way."

Miles laughed, because Dan had not been referring to the way Kate had pointed, but had nodded in the direction that they were walking anyway, the way to the Black Rock and the explosives. Perhaps they had been spending too much time together, but Dan was growing on Miles. But he could still be damn annoying. Especially when he was talking about science.

"What, and get attacked by whoever's out there?!"

Miles was taken aback by just how paranoid these guys had gotten. Or maybe this chick was just into chasing trouble.

"Stranger go that way," Miles said in his best cave man voice (which was a little half hearted even at that) while jabbing out his hand appropriately. "We go that way. What's the problem?"

Kate narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. She wasn't going to argue over this, was she?

"Look, why don't we take a break and cool off?" Miles suggested, shrugging and dropping his back on the floor. "Looks like we've got to climb down a way to get anywhere, anyway. Might as well rest while we're somewhere convenient."

They were standing in front of a sharp but manageable drop. Across the valley, on the other side of the large stream down below, more jungle rose up before them. There were three conveniently placed boulders surrounding them, and Miles took them one further away from Kate and Dan. He stared out of the break in the foliage at the scene before them.

Daniel sat himself down on a rock and looked around himself, and Kate sighed and sat herself down next to him and opened her bag. She took out a mango and bit into it, tearing the skin open, and then she used her fingers to pull it away.

"What are you doing?" Miles asked.

Kate gave him an incredulous look.

"I'm eating," she said, and then her expression softened and she reached into her backpack again. "Here, have one."

She threw Miles a mango, who caught it, and then after a thought she handed one to Daniel. Miles turned the mango over and ran his palm over its smooth skin. He took a pocket knife and cut into it and a drop of juice ran down his hand and onto his wrist. He raised his wrist to his lips and pressed it to his mouth, closing his eyes.

As the taste spread across his taste buds he was suddenly standing in a ray of light in a kitchen with dirty yellow walls almost a quarter of a century earlier with a thirteen year old girl with golden hair. They both held mango skins to their mouths, eating the last remnants of their flesh. They didn't speak; the only sound was the occasional sucking noise or quiet groan of pleasure. The silence in the air was the comfortable type shared between two long time acquaintances.

"Can I use your knife when you've done with it?"

Miles' eyes snapped open.

"Sure," he said to Daniel, and he quickly cut the mango in half, stoned it, and sliced criss-crosses across the flesh of the fruit. As he did so the phantom of a girl's hand guided his knife, and he could almost hear her voice saying 'I get the stone.'

They ate in silence, and the silence contained the same tenseness that had hung over them since they'd set off from the helicopter. Miles took his time over the mango, eating each individual chunk with appreciation. The truth was "what" that Miles had been referring to wasn't the fact that she was eating, but the way she was eating. Long ago somebody had taught him the art of eating a mango, somebody who adored that fruit, for whom it was a food of the gods, and if anyone merely tore away the skin and bit into it the way Kate had just done it seemed an affront.

He heard Kate and Dan start talking, and he looked up suddenly to see them standing in the gap in the foliage, with their backs to him. The image of the two of them standing brought back a memory that had long been dormant in his mind. It didn't seem to have much to do with it, but he supposed it was the mangoes that did it. He sighed and threw the mango stone over his shoulder. This island had too many ghosts.

Miles wore a pair of blue shorts and his favourite t-shirt. It was the height of summer, and the hottest day of the year so far. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and then ran his palm over the stubby black hair on his head. If it were up to him he would have been playing in the relatively cool confines of the house, away from the powerful and unforgiving sun. But it wasn't. The little girl who lived upstairs, and could be described as Miles' best friend, had a firm will and a persuasive tongue.

It was her idea to cut across the little park (barely a park) and a little way down Patton Street to the Old House, on whose gate they now stood, two pairs of skinny legs and two pairs of eyes staring at the ominous looking building in front of them.

Millie looked particularly innocent, with her blue-eyed blond haired looks along with the summer frock her mother had insisted on her wearing and the smudges of sun block that hadn't been rubbed in properly because she'd been squirming under the unwanted attention.

At school the two ten year olds didn't associated with one another, partly due to the fear of taunts of "Miles and Millie", partly due to the fact that in school Miles was cool and edgy. Millie was a good girl. At school Miles was the brave cocky one, but outside on their street Millie could be wild. While Miles' large dark eyes stared at the house with apprehension, Millie's were round with anticipation.

Yet it was unusual for Miles to show such uneasiness. He and Millie were usually partners in crime, but in this scenario he seemed to be the henchman. The Old House, so named because it was over a hundred years old, was rumoured to be the residence of murders, of wicked old witch ladies who kept their retarded nephew who ate babies brains in the cellar, to be haunted, built over Indian burial grounds and all those kinds of legends that old, imperious looking houses gather from children.

"Let's go," Millie said. And climbed over the gate, which was locked. Miles gritted his teeth and followed her.

They walked on tiptoes, for some reason, down the stone path, past the overgrown shrubbery and up the wooden steps to door. Millie raised her fist to knock, but Miles grabbed her wrist. She gave him a vicious look.

"The door's open," he explained in a whisper.

Millie's eyes shot to the crack between the door and the doorframe and an excited but frightened smile spread over her face. Her blue eyes grew wider.

"No," Miles hissed, shaking his head.

"Scared?" she whispered.

"I'm not, I…"

"You're scared. Chicken. Buck buck buck."

Miles pursed his lips angrily and pushed the door open. The smile dropped from Millie's face and her mouth opened in a silent O of surprise, but then she grinned again, if nervously, and followed him.

They entered into a large space that wasn't quite a room but that was definitely more than a hallway. A curved stairway rose up before them, and a large chandelier hung from the high ceiling. They turned around as they took the insides of the house. It was decorated in dark colours, reds and browns mainly, and the drapes were heavy and thick.

Millie was starting to relax, but Miles had tensed up. He stopped looking around and cocked his ear, staring into the middle distance. Was that a whispering? He wanted to ask Millie

Miles squinted and tried to listen harder. He winced as a shard of pain erupted in his head.

"Miles?"

He could make out voices now, among them a man with a deep voice, an old woman. A child. What are they doing here? Trespassers. It's such a nice day outside. Let's go sledding. Sledding? Oh, Mr Smith wouldn't be glad to see them. Well, he should have locked the door properly. Mary, this is filthy, go over this spot again. They're only kids. They're harmless. Little thieves if you ask me. Vandals.

"Miles!"

But Miles could no longer make out Millie's voice from what seemed like the hundreds invading his head. The pain had escalated and he tried to stop listening but the voices keep crowding into his head. He couldn't control it.

Millie looked at him with horror. He had gone deathly pale and had a look of shear pain on his face. He started to shake. She was afraid to touch him but called up her courage to grab him and shake him. Something dripped on the floor. Millie looked up at his face. A trickle of blood ran from his nose down his chin.

"Miles!" she shouted again, tears welling up in her eyes. "Miles, stop it!"

And then he dropped to the floor. Millie couldn't hold him and he his limbs started to jerk uncontrollably. Saliva frothed from his mouth. Millie took a step forwards and then back again, unsure of what to do as he spasmed on the floor.

"Miles, please!"