Nyssa asked Graeme Rodaughan:

As you work to complete the Metaframe series, do you already know what project you would like to tackle next?

Graeme Rodaughan Hi Nyssa,

I'm actively working on a new series. Supernatural action/suspense. I've got the main character kinda worked out, but I need to flesh out the villains and scenarios.

The idea is based on this doodle.

INT: CHILD'S BEDROOM

The mother sat down next to her daughter and asked, "Who was that you were talking with?"

"My friends," she replied, her brown eyes glistening in the hall light.

The mother tilted her head. "What friends sweetheart?"

"The ones from the door."

The mother glanced around, looking back at the doorway into the hall. She frowned momentarily and lifted a finger toward the hallway. "From there?"

"No, silly," her daughter said. She pointed at the wall to the right of her bed and asserted with absolute confidence. "They come from over there!"

The mother glanced at the wall. It was solid drywall, covered with chalk-white paint and a series of Disney character decals. There was no door there. There had never been a door there. She took a deep breath and sighed, turning back to her daughter. "C'mon sweetie, you know it's not right to tell fibs."

The daughter frowned, and shook her head back and forth. "No. I'm not fibbing. It's the truth. They come through the door. Shining, floating, they tell me all sorts of things. They say I'm special." She looked hard at her mother. "They said, you wouldn't believe me. They said you couldn't understand because you're too old."

A cold tightness clenched slow fingers around the mother's heart. Her daughter was convinced what she was saying was true. But she must have imagined it. Surely, it couldn't be anything else. But ... she picked up her daughter's hands and stared into her eyes. "What did they say they were, sweetheart?"

"Collectors. They called themselves collectors."

The room closed in about her. The mother asked quietly, "And what do they collect?"

"Children, Mother. They collect children."

The mother stood up in a rush, then reached down and gathered her daughter in her arms, blanket, teddy and all. A moment later, she fled the room.

The hall light remained, casting a rectangular block of light on the empty sheets of the single bed. It was the only witness when the collectors returned for their prize, and queried each other in puzzlement before leaving empty-handed.

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