''I met Rumbo again the other day. I’d been sleeping under a tree when an acorn hit me on the nose; when I looked around I heard a voice call out “Hello, squirt,” and there he was above me, grinning all over his little squirrel face. He showered me with a few more acorns, but when I called his name he looked blank, then scurried off. I knew it was him because the voice – thought pattern if you like – was the same, and who else would call me 'squirt'?'

is taken from 'Fluke' by James Herbert.