Before she could change her mind, Lou grabbed the padlock, pulled it free and placed it on the step. A shudder of excitement raced through her as she eased the bolt across and slowly opened the grille. Beneath the crude metal was what must have once been an imposing door. It was at least twice the size of any domestic front door, with finely carved panels. Lou tentatively pushed the door. It swung open slowly, groaning on its hinges. Decades of rust and old, blue paint fluttered to the ground. Lou stepped over the threshold into a vestibule, and was instantly plunged into darkness. She covered her nose in an attempt to block out the stench of urine mixed with mould and the bitter scent of charred wood.

It was common knowledge that the last baronet was a bachelor who had died a sad and lonely recluse in a flat in London. On selling his land to the Council and abandoning Hill House after the Second World War, he had disposed of every stick of furniture and anything of value to pay off huge debts. But what Lou saw when she stood in the centre of the hall, her eyes gradually growing accustomed to the dim daylight breaking in around the security grilles and through the open door, made her heart sink. The utter destruction wreaked on this beautiful house was beyond anything she could ever have imagined. Every trace of decoration was gone, each wall stripped back to bare brick, blackened by fire and green with mould from the water dripping unchecked from above. There were no doors or frames around the many entrances leading from the hall. A huge hole in the chimneybreast, like a toothless, gaping mouth, gave the only clue that there had once been a fireplace. Whatever had covered the floor had been ripped away to expose the rough boards beneath. Even the vast staircase that had once swept up the centre of the hall was gone, leaving a void in the ceiling and the innards of each floor suspended skeletally above. And what the final baronet had started, the vandals and the Council’s neglect had finished. Hill House was a wreck, a carcass, nothing more than a beautiful, tragic façade.

Lou kicked at a piece of burned wood. As it disintegrated, she became aware of a noise in one of the rooms. She peered into the darkness. It was a rat. It had to be a rat. The noise grew louder. If it was a rat, then it was a bloody big one, wearing what sounded like boots. Shit, it was a Council security guard! Before she could make a break for it, a staggeringly bright light burst through the gloom. Frozen in fear, she could just make out the outline of a person. For the briefest moment, the figure paused before letting out a bloodcurdling scream.

‘Jesus, Joseph and Mary! I thought you were a ghost!’ A short, middle-aged woman in a pink anorak – not a burly security guard – stepped from behind the beam of a torch, clutching her chest.