Kant knew the house better than Margot did. He found a thick blanket from somewhere and wordlessly passed it to her as she inched her stiff body into the kitchen. Kant turned the oven on and opened the door—presumably to heat the room—then set about making drinks.

Margot wrapped the blanket around herself, then slid into the same chair she’d taken the day before. The sounds—the kettle beginning to rattle, the soft scrape and slide of Kant’s shoes, the way he sighed when he reached for mugs on a high shelf—were so commonplace, so banal, that it seemed almost impossible to fear the house in that moment.

Almost.

Margot leaned back in her seat. Through the open kitchen archway, she could see across the hall to the lounge room. The sun should have been hitting that wall but very little light made its way past the thick curtains. She could barely see the effigy, shrouded in darkness at the back of the room.

“Where do the ropes come from?” Margot asked.

Kant leaned one hand on the counter as he poured hot water with his other. “Can’t answer that.”

“It’s been happening for years…and no one knows who’s responsible?” Margot pulled the blanket tighter around herself. The cold had invaded her very core. “Hasn’t anyone called the police?”

“Sure. Couple times. Not much they could do.” Kant returned to the table and placed one of the mugs ahead of Margot. “It has honey in it. Will help with the shock.”

She frowned at the drink. “But…”

“Why nooses?” Kant had somehow guessed her next question. He dropped into his chair, his shaggy, gray hair catching light from the window. “That’s because of the place’s history, I suppose.”

“Gallows Hill,” Margot murmured, suddenly making the connection.

He gave a small noise of assent. “Several hundred years ago, this land was used for executions. It wasn’t much of a town back then, more like a wilderness with scattered houses clinging together for survival. There was a lot of crime. Mostly out of desperation. Thefts and the like to put food on tables, but also murders when disagreements couldn’t be settled with words. The lawmakers back then had only one solution. Hanging.”

Margot held the mug close to her chest. It was hot enough to scorch her skin, but that was the only sense of warmth she had left in her body, so she clung to it.