Hell was home to nine circles. Likewise, the Mayan and Aztec underworlds each descended nine levels. Norse mythology divided the universe into nine worlds. Beliefs were invented. But there must have been some cause for such widespread effect. Christ died, or so it was written, at the ninth hour. Nine represented completion, derived from the Trinitarian and Divine number three. It was the culmination of wisdom and experience. It was the beginning and the end. But it was not yet the answer.

The creeper was once a man – flesh and blood like any other – corrupted centuries ago by something truly malevolent, enslaved and mutilated in both body and mind. If only Alec knew what was responsible, maybe then he could conceive some means to release its curse. However, after a lifetime of intellectual pursuance, he sat beside his wall of books none the wiser, sipping coffee that was still too hot.

The creeper’s legacy of menace and murder escaped every tome and decrepit journal in Alec’s possession. At times, the man felt a rising madness, a self-doubt brought to bear by the singularity of his plight. Had no other man of words and mind ever suffered the same horror? Such was the man’s obsession that he saw the creeper everywhere, during his dreams and all waking hours.

Countless towns and villages in Ireland’s troubled history had fallen foul to misfortune. Populations were ravaged. Over the course of a single week, whole communities ceased to be. Disease and famine were the obvious explanations. But what if this wasn’t the case? Should knowledge of the creeper have spread to an unknowing society, then they could be wiped out in a few short nights. Fear would disseminate through every household. The curse would spread through their voices, and all knowledge of it would die with them. Alec often found himself in this wildering predicament – too many questions, not enough answers.

The rotary phone chimed. Alec correctly supposed the caller’s identity.

‘Good morning, Detective,’ he said. ‘You know that I don’t appreciate being disturbed in the morning unless it’s absolutely necessary.’

‘Yes, Doctor, I know, and I do apologise, but it’s regarding what we spoke about yesterday evening.’

‘Did they contact you as I anticipated?’

‘They did,’ Barry replied.

‘And what did you do?’ Alec asked him.

‘I did as you said.’

‘Which was to do nothing, yes?’

‘Not exactly,’ the detective said nervously. ‘I drove to the housing estate where Chloe Coogan lives and I parked by its entrance, just to keep an eye on their movements.’

‘I see, and were there any movements?’

‘They left the city at first light. I followed them for a while, at a distance, naturally.’

Barry relayed the route that Mr French and Ms Coogan had taken up until he lost sight of their car. Of course, Alec knew it well. It was the exact journey that he had marked out for them.