‘“Daisy wheels”,’ Kym continued. ‘“Patterns of varying complexity, and frequently found where a house might be deemed to be most vulnerable, at windows or thresholds, for example. Carved into stone, or more commonly into wood, ritual in purpose, and often referred to as witch marks. Their function is unclear, yet we must assume they held value and meaning for these houses’ original occupants”.’

Ahead of them, Flossie barked joyfully as she ran up and down the beach. ‘How old is Elder House, do we know?’ Kym asked.

‘Built in the late fifteen hundreds,’ said Evie.

Kym nodded. ‘My gran reckons that sometimes when they were building then, they used timber from older houses too, waste not want not and all that.’

The flowers were very precise, Evie thought, as if someone had used a pair of compasses to draw them, precise, faithful, important. ‘Should we tell someone?’ she asked.

‘I’m not sure,’ said Kym, ‘I mean, they’re not uncommon, and they’re not – sinister. Only – there’s that shoe.’ She shoved her phone into her jeans pocket. ‘What are you doing today?’

‘Revision,’ said Evie, ‘You know how it is.’

‘I don’t suppose you fancy bunking off for a bit?’

‘Tempting.’ Evie could feel the blush beginning to rise, she turned her attention back to Flossie who was investigating the tide line. ‘But no. I can’t, sorry.’

‘Later, then.’

‘I suppose . . .’ Evie looked down at Flossie’s lead and began winding it slowly around her hand. It would be tricky, getting away from the house, finding an acceptable excuse. ‘Yeah. I could sort something out.’ She cleared her throat, looked up. ‘Why? Do they bother you? The marks?’

‘No, that’s just - history. But that knocking – it was weird.’

‘That was Tyler, wasn’t it?’

Kym looked down at her boots as they walked. ‘I was wondering,’ she said, ‘why you came out last night, when it was all kicking off.’

‘I was in the kitchen, and then the yard light came on and I saw you, and . . .’ Evie stopped, her eyes widening. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘right.’

‘If it was Ty, then why didn’t the light come on before I tripped it?’ said Kym, smiling. ‘I didn’t think, everything was so – intense.’

‘Maybe he didn’t come down the steps, maybe he was hiding.’ The dog had discovered something of interest in a heap of seaweed and driftwood and was gnawing at it. ‘Sorry, I think I need to sort Floss out, and I need to get back.’ Evie raised her voice. ‘Flossie, come here. Here. Bad dog.’

Flossie looked up and after a moment’s consideration, began to trot back towards her.

‘OK,’ Kym persisted, ‘but if it wasn’t him? What then?’

‘I don’t know,’ Evie said.

‘I’d like to be sure, you know?’ Kym pushed her hair out of her eyes, serious, determined. ‘I’d like to know that it’s not going to happen again.’

*