They all followed Finn, and as they rounded the other side of the building, the ruins came back in view.

‘Who lives down there?’ Amelia said, pointing down a steep slope at a large farmhouse some distance away. A porch light was on, but otherwise the place was in darkness.

‘Michael Collis, the estate’s owner,’ Finn said. ‘But I’m pretty sure he’s away right now. He turned towards the woods. ‘Right, let’s go,’ he said, his torch beam picking out the twisting trees with branches like witches’ fingers. The heavy moon hung low in the sky, and the wind whistled through the forest. Amelia shuddered. This really wasn’t her idea of fun.

It was as they all set off in front of her, disappearing into the wood, that Amelia looked down the hill one last time. Her heart jumped into her throat. Someone was sitting on a bench at the foot of the hill, the moon picking out her fair hair. Was it a young woman? A child? It was impossible to tell. But whoever was down there, she was now staring up at Amelia.

Amelia raced to catch up with everyone else. She wanted to return to her cottage, but over her shoulder the thick darkness was eerie, like swirling black smoke, and trees sighed and swayed in the wind. There was no turning back alone.

Shadows ignited by the beam from Finn’s torch gave the illusion of movement of something in the trees. It was as if ghosts were watching them, conjured by their human presence – angry their peace was being disturbed.

Finn continued down a well-used path, pushing through brambles, everyone keeping up – except Lark.

Amelia hung back for a moment, waiting for her, wanting to attempt to bond with her estranged sister. Why had they drifted so far apart? They had been close when they were younger, the gap of thirteen years never a problem. Amelia had adored her little sister when she was a child. Been like a second mum.

‘So what have you been watching lately?’ Amelia began, feeling her cheeks flush as she realised how far removed she was from the teenage scene. At thirty, words she’d used in her teens, clothes she’d worn, even some of the music she’d listened to, were obsolete now.

‘Watching?’

Amelia could barely see her sister in the darkness, struggled to work out her expression. Was it amusement? Apathy? Anger?

‘On TV? Netflix? At the cinema?’

‘Anything by Stephen King.’

‘You’re braver than I am. The trailer for It Chapter Two freaked me out.’ Amelia wasn’t a lover of clowns – or masks – or anything creepy come to that. ‘There’s no way I could watch the film.’

‘You’ve always been a baby,’ Lark said, her voice dull, as though bored of their conversation.