‘What the holy shit!’ Chloe shrieked, holding her hands to her ears.

He moved up behind her to see what had happened.

The tripwire was a length of fishing line tied across the forest’s only path, right at its treeline, where the promise of fresh air invited clumsy feet to run. It was set high and tensed against Chloe’s waist; unavoidable unless you knew to expect it.

It was an alarm. And they had blundered right into it.

‘Sparling never said anything about traps!’ she shouted over the ringing.

‘I think there’s a lot that the doctor hasn’t told us,’ Ben replied, a few steps behind her, his eyes directing her to look up.

There were more. Bells hung across the woodland’s edge, amongst the brittle nests on the uppermost branches, as far as the eye could see. The trap was set too high to alert for animals. Ben guessed this but kept his mouth shut.

‘Well, that’s probably the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen,’ Chloe said, carefully lifting the line, but still the bells jangled like wind chimes in a gale.

‘Bells aren’t so bad, you know!’ he called from behind her. ‘Herdsmen used to tie them around the necks of their flock. The belief was that the sound of them could chase away evil spirits.’

‘Could they chase them away a little quieter?’ she yelled back.

‘I hear you,’ Ben said, crouching low, crimping his aching knees as he ducked his rucksack under the wire. ‘It’s safe to say that they’re expecting us.’

Ben saw Chloe flutter her shoulders as if chilled water had just trickled down her neck. The sudden noise had startled her, scared her even. And that was perfectly understandable. Ben was shaken, too. Only she hadn’t seen him jolt back like he had just jammed his fingers into an electrical socket.

‘They haven’t left their village in two hundred years.’ Chloe smiled, almost convincingly. ‘There’s no chance in hell that they’re expecting us. We’re practically from the future.’

*

Sparling closed the lid of the laptop and took his papers in hand. He tapped them on the lectern, and then slid the stack into his satchel.

‘One last point, Mr French,’ he said. ‘When you’re conducting your interviews, there’s one particular superstition that you might mention, for curiosity’s sake, to see if it still exists.’

‘And what superstition is that?’ Ben asked confidently.

‘The creeper,’ Sparling replied. ‘I do believe it’s known as the creeper.’

‘I’ve never heard of it.’

‘No,’ the doctor said, taking his satchel in hand. ‘I don’t suppose that many people have.’

3