They can hear a deep, slowly-repetitive, thudding-sound approaching the big room they are in. Sophia is wriggling about and making whimpering noises of distress. “Be quiet,” he says. “Calm down.” He grabs her hand, tightly, to reassure her. They both become silent and still, apart from their breathing.
The rhythmic thudding approaches. It seems to be very near. And now it is directly above them. The floorboards bend and creak under the weight. He firmly holds his hand over her mouth in case she lets out a cry. The thing pauses directly above them, as if listening. It seems to be there for a very long time, but it is maybe just a few seconds. They both hold their breaths. And then the thudding sound slowly moves away. He takes his hand away from her mouth.
“Are they gone?” she whispers.
“I think so …”
“Who were they?” she says, fearfully.
“The Jango-weeds,” he says, quietly.
