I took a deep breath and stared at the wardrobe. The doors were closed, but I’d seen what hung behind. I didn’t want to see them again. I didn’t want Olivia to see Mother’s twisted dolls either. I hoped she would be too focused on searching the bookcase to look around.

My hands found the doorknobs and began to pull. A thud made me turn around. Olivia was lying on the floor. I dashed across the room. I couldn’t see her chest moving. I put my ear to her chest and waited.

After what seemed like for ever, I heard her heart beat. With a huge sigh, I laid her down on the floor so she was in a less awkward position then stared down at her unconscious body, not sure what to do next. I wondered how long it would take for her to wake up. If I found the car key, I needed her to be awake.

I pulled a pillow off the bed and slid it under Olivia’s head. Her skin was cold and clammy so I covered her with the duvet then hesitated, lost and confused, not sure whether to keep looking for the key or try to wake her up. I knelt back down and gave her a gentle shake but she didn’t stir.

Thinking a little water splashed on her face might help to wake her, I left the bedroom and stepped onto the landing, pausing at a creak.

Dread seized my neck. I froze. Listened as another creak and then another cut the quiet in half like a blade.

Unable to stop myself, I went to the banister and peered over the top.

Chapter 52

It was her. She was almost at the top of the stairs, dragging herself up on her hands and knees, her face veiled by hair and blood.

‘Mirabelle,’ she rasped.

Her arm flashed out and shot between the banister poles; fingers latched onto my ankle and wrapped around the bone. I cried out and tried to yank my leg out of her grasp but she clung on, holding with inhuman strength, nails scouring my skin like claws. She thrust herself up, releasing my ankle and swiping out with her free hand. I darted back, but she seized a handful of my dress and pulled me over the banister on top of her.

I screamed and fell, and our foreheads collided. My head rang with pain as I rolled down the stairs and smashed into the wall. She shrieked and scrabbled down the stairs on her bottom, using her hands to push herself down, movements jerky but fast as a spider. I stared up at her distorted face, unable to move as pain shuddered through my back – and then she was on top of me holding the knife above my chest, her eyes wild and split with streaks of blood.