Lily shook her head. Silly superstitions making me paranoid, she thought. It’ll be nothing.

She walked the final few steps around the side of the cabin and stepped up onto the porch that led directly to the entrance. Her frown deepened when she saw that the door was hanging open, carelessly left to swing in the forest breeze.

This, she knew, was wrong.

In all their years of friendship, Alice had always been intensely private. Her door was closed and locked, even if she was only leaving for a stroll.

Lily felt her heartbeat quicken as she placed the basket and the flowers down on the warped wood. She didn’t know what she was going to find inside, but she felt sure she would need both of her hands free if she was going to face it.

She was suddenly reminded of the tales that had spread through the village a few weeks earlier, and the warning Alf had given her earlier that day. There had been whispers and mutterings of children being taken from their homes in the dead of night. Of violent unsolved murders and disappearances. Of blood-soaked beds and gurgling cries in the darkness. Of the Lightkeepers of local lore blackening their light and venturing out with their cleavers to seek out waifs and strays. But the tales had come from the unreliable mouth of Jemima Darroch and her hoard of cronies and conniving gossips, who had said that the stories originated from the coast, many miles away. To most, though, they felt close enough to encourage caution in even the bravest of souls.

Lily, who had always been dubious about anything that didn’t have a logical explanation, had ignored the cautionary whispers and decided that these rumours were nothing but scary stories designed to frighten children, just like the ones she herself had been told.

And yet, something about the scene before her eyes – the darkness of the cabin, the open door, the eerie silence – made her stop and wonder whether she should have done more to protect Alice, whether she should have left her alone, so far away from other people. But at seventeen, Alice was hardly a child. She was sensible and capable, if a little unstable at times. Surely there would be a reasonable, logical explanation and things would become clear the moment she stepped over the threshold. Still, Lily felt sure that something was amiss and, gathering her courage, she entered the cabin.

The interior was small and cramped. Alice had insisted once when Lily had commented on its size – or lack thereof – that it was ‘cosy’, but Lily still found it to be oppressive, as though the ceiling was pressing down on her from above. It was single-storey and set out as one room. The windows let in a small amount of daylight that cast gloomy shadows across the stone floor. Alice didn’t own many possessions, and a swift glance around the room confirmed to Lily that she had left in a hurry, maybe even just hours after their argument. The fire in the grate had died out, drawers were hanging open and empty, and Alice’s beloved tarot deck and the huge grimoire were also missing. It was unnerving.