The rain fell with all the power of a stampeding wildebeest.

Each drop battered against the ground, flinging chippings of bark into the air.

The slide, under which Jake had chosen for his hiding place, had become a tool for the rain to amplify its drumming. Each drop pounded against the metal surface sending a furious hammering sound straight through Jake’s ear.

His feet were planted firmly to the only remaining dry space in the whole of the park and he was crouched right down in the way only children could manage for any longer than a few seconds. The problem was that the ground was already beginning to swamp around his dry haven. If he didn’t leave soon, he’d be crouching in a puddle that would all too soon creep past the base of his blue and white trainers, beyond his laces and up towards where his bum hovered just a few inches from the ground. There was no way he could go home with wet pants. How would he explain that to Uncle Ken.

He’d count to one hundred. That’s how long he would have before he would just have to make a run for it. But he’d barely made it into the teens when the wind shifted. At first, he didn’t notice because he was concentrating so hard on what number came next. But then the cold pin pricks began to irritate his skin. It was as though the rain had sought him out and was throwing itself right into his hiding place.  

He squeezed his hands closer around his folded arms. They were pinned in the gap between his thighs and his stomach. But it wasn’t enough. These weren’t normal raindrops. They were like stones being hurtled at him and stinging every inch of bare skin. Releasing his arms, he pushed against the ground, his thigh muscles sending him shooting up and forward at the same time. Into the relentless storm.

He ran as fast his six-year-old legs and two-week-old blue trainers would carry him. It was like the rain was aiming for him. Twenty points for hitting an arm or a leg. Fifty points if they could hit his face. One particular drop though must have been going for maximum points, hitting him straight in the eye as he lifted his head to see where he was going.

‘Aaaggh,’ Jake cried out as the drop of ice-cold water stung his eye. He rubbed it as he ran. Although now his legs had slowed to a kind of scurry as, too afraid to look up, he couldn’t see any further than  the next step in front of him.

He should’ve listened to Uncle Ken. He’d told Jake to stay inside today because the forecast wasn’t looking too good, but Jake didn’t listen. He’d wanted to wear his new trainers and shoes weren’t to be worn inside the house. So, when Uncle Ken was busy in the garage, Jake had snuck out and ran across the road to the park. That was fifteen minutes ago.

Jake continued making his way up the stony path that led to the gate at the top of the field. He was almost there and then he would just have to run down the lane that led to the road where his house stood on the other side.

The problem was, it wasn’t only the rain that had sought out Jake today.