‘Won’t she be lonely with everybody else at the party?’ Lou asked.

Bertie closed the lid and moved the box out of her reach. ‘Hill House decides who will come to stay. Not us. One out, one in.’ His sweet little face was so stern that Lou had to stifle a laugh. There you go again, brain, bringing up that “one in, one out” business and putting it into little Bertie’s mouth.

‘I see,’ she said. ‘And who exactly told you about this “one out, one in” rule?’

Bertie screwed up his nose. ‘I don’t remember. But I knew that you were coming, and I knew that she was leaving.’ He opened the box and removed the maid. Holding her, he ran his little thumb over her red hair. ‘She was nice. I liked it when she used to stick her tongue out at me when nobody was looking. I was sad when she went, but I was glad that you came.’ He took a finely dressed doll from the ballroom. Lou recognised it as herself in miniature. Holding a doll in each hand, Bertie closed his eyes and moved his hands up and down as though weighing them. ‘Who will stay?’ he whispered. ‘Soon … very soon.’

As he spoke, his cheeks grew pinker, and his eyelashes began to flutter as though in the midst of a dream.

‘Bertie?’ Lou said.

He didn’t respond.

‘Bertie?’ she tried again. Worried that he was sitting too close to the fire and overheating, she tried to move him. He resisted; his small body becoming a deadweight.

‘We want to help,’ he said quietly. He was speaking in his own voice, although it sounded different. Somehow older. ‘We saw your pain and wished for you to come. You were so sad. So very sad. Your mama, she left you. Oh, my poor darling. My poor, poor, darling.’

Bertie opened his eyes. His pupils were black, each one the size of a penny. The look in them was distant, as though Bertie was no longer there. He put the dolls aside, got to his feet and cupped Lou’s face in his warm chubby palms. He looked directly into her eyes and without blinking, said, ‘You need to be loved.’ He slipped his arms around her neck, rested his head on her shoulder and patted her gently, his hair soft against her cheek.

This little boy, using vocabulary well beyond his years, could have no idea that he was reaching inside Lou, plucking the strings of her pain. ‘It’s all a dream,’ she said. ‘I’m ill, I’m hallucinating.’

‘No, my darling,’ Bertie said, ‘you are very well. And you are as real as I am.’ He took her hand and placed it over his chest. She could feel his little heart beating rapidly beneath his woollen sweater.

‘You’re making this up, aren’t you, Bertie? It’s not real. It’s all part of a game.’

‘The truth can be frightening, we know that. But you must believe us if you are to accept what is happening. We brought you here. We need you.’ He kissed her softly on the cheek. ‘So, now you know.’