Shadows were growing through the earth. They spread like a disease from the western wall, thinning the estate of colour. Leaves had clustered around the last step by the manor’s front door and now crunched beneath Ben’s boot. The fresh air hit him like a strong mint; ice against his eyes. Behind the oak, the evening sky was a cloudless, orange cocktail of light. The sun skulked between their branches like a guest slipping away from a party, not wanting to be seen.

Ben didn’t look back until he was sat in the driver’s seat, belt on, key in the ignition.

‘Come on, Chloe,’ he whispered, squeezing the wheel with both hands.

She had dithered by the door, hesitant to abandon the safety of Sparling’s home. But she was brave despite his best attempts to make her doubt herself. The engine sputtered before it growled into eager action. Ben clicked the headlights on full, illuming the lonely shape of Alec Sparling shuffling toward the front step.

Chloe sat in. Her seatbelt swished and clicked.

‘You good to go?’ he asked.

She nodded, biting her lips in indecision.

‘It’s okay,’ Ben added, reaching out a hand to squeeze her shoulder.

Sparling returned their gaze, his leaden pallor bleached in the headlights. Ben had hoped the doctor would offer them some acknowledgement so he could flip him the finger as one final fuck you. But the man just inspected his wristwatch and stood there, watching them as though they had boarded a sinking ship.

Chloe turned to Ben. ‘Are you sure about this?’

‘Absolutely; there’s only one creeper around here and he’s standing right in front of us.’

‘You really don’t believe any of it?’ she asked, seeking some reassurance like a kid hiding under her bed.

‘Not a word,’ he replied, watching Sparling return indoors.

Ben wished he could have witnessed the ritual of his lockdown, the sight of all those shutters rolling – sealing the bastard inside – like a wall of eyes closing their lids for the night. Despite his obvious intellect and perfectly ironed shirts, Sparling was no better than the Tír Mallachts – a prisoner of his own phantasms.

The smooth tarmac fell away with a thud that made the whole car rattle. It felt good to be in the open, like fresh ocean air for the soul. Just over an hour of daylight remained. The red-brick wall smouldered in the dusk, its barbed wire gleaming.

*

Chloe’s face was turned towards the passing fields; rising and falling, but never offering enough variety to hold her interest. Ben suspected that those big eyes stared inward, imagining only the horror that Sparling had forced upon her.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know.’ Chloe sighed, finally turning to face him. ‘He believes it all, doesn’t he?’

Sparling might as well have been sat in the back seat, whispering in her ear.