It was almost 2 a.m. when she heard a distant scream. Heart beating way too fast, she leaned forward and peered through the gap in the curtain like a nosy neighbour. The sky was clear of clouds, the moon high above the ruins. She shuddered, her eyes flitting to and fro. But all was silent and still. It must have been an animal. The other cottages were in darkness. Everyone was sleeping. She returned to the bed, propped her body against the headboard and began reading once more.

Before she’d even finished a chapter, she fell into a deep sleep. Within the midst of a strange dream, she heard a squeaking sound. It was real – outside the realms of sleep – she felt sure of it, but however much she tried, she couldn’t break free of the dream.

It was a car engine starting up that finally woke her, followed by a squeal of car tyres. She glanced at her phone: 2.30 a.m. She leapt from the bed and raced towards the window.

Outside, red tail-lights disappeared into the distance. Someone was leaving Drummondale House.

When the car was out of sight, she returned to bed once more, and squeezed her eyes closed. Trying to forget the scream, the squeaking, and the disappearing car, she pulled the duvet over her head, burying herself in it, as though it was a cocoon. One thing was certain: Drummondale House was making her increasingly uneasy.

*

Amelia was on the sofa, cradling a cup of tea when an urgent hammering on the cottage door broke her from her trancelike state.

She opened the door to see her mum in her dressing gown and beanie, a look of panic etched on her face. ‘Amelia—’

‘Whatever’s wrong?’ Amelia said, ushering her inside. ‘Are you feeling OK?’

‘Robert,’ her mum said, looking up at him on the stairs in his pyjamas, his hair standing on end.

‘What’s wrong, Caroline?’ He dashed down towards her, took her arm, and lowered her onto the sofa.

‘It’s Jackson and Lark,’ she said, grabbing a tissue from the box on the table, and pressing it to her nose. ‘They’ve gone. Disappeared.’

He lowered himself onto the edge of the armchair. ‘What do you mean gone?’

‘Jackson wasn’t in bed this morning when I woke.’ Her eyes avoid his, the words clearly difficult to say. ‘And Lark’s bed hasn’t been slept in. I’ve tried calling them both, but their phones go to voicemail.’

Amelia’s forehead furrowed. ‘Should we call the police?’

‘Bit of an overreaction, sis.’ It was Thomas, wearing his boxers and a Marvel T-shirt, holding a copy of Lord of the Flies, Maddie pushing him from the downstairs bedroom. ‘They’ve probably gone for an early morning walk. Why the panic, Mum?’