The three of them followed the glistening stream of Holly Beck to Blackfield Park. Overlooking it was Chapel Bank, but if seeing his old home affected Ernie, he didn’t show it. The beck led to the well, beyond which was a reconstruction of the old church’s lychgate, and a laminated sign with a diagram of the original church.

Nothing about a long barrow, but even in Dr Bayliss’ day there wouldn’t have been much left. A team of archaeologists might find something, given a few days, but they had one night, if that. No need to dig down, anyway, not with those things digging their way up.

They went through the lychgate – silly, really, as it stood surrounded by empty space – and shone their torches around. “Lads?” called Laura, shining her light at a spot ahead of her. There was a ragged, circular cut in the turf, marking off an area big as a manhole cover. The cut was an inch wide, and Noel easily dug his fingers in. The turf’s edges crumbled, but it rose in one piece; below it a burrow, a little wider than Noel’s own shoulder-breadth, led down and away.

On the underside of the turf a latticework of what looked like pale sticks, bound with thin rubbery cords, was fixed in place. Which meant the things could use tools, at least to some degree. Not comforting.

Also, Noel realised, the sticks weren’t sticks. He told himself the bones were too thin to be human. The cords were probably sinew. Efficient. Waste no part of the animal. Narrow grooves scored the inside of the burrow; Noel pictured those long thin fingers scrabbling, raking handfuls of earth away.

“So that’s how.” Ernie looked up towards Chapel Bank above, then along the ruins to his old home. He stood for a moment, then stepped away and swept his torch around. “There’s another here.”

Laura studied the inside of the burrow. “Looks pretty fresh.”

“Must have kept clear of this spot for a while,” said Noel. Whatever had been done centuries earlier, either by Christians, barrow-builders, Saxon pagans or Norse, it had worked, at least till now. Had they known about something else these things hated as much as light? Or had the creatures just abandoned the exit after being driven back time after time?

“See if there are any more,” he said. “Then let’s figure out what to do when the bastards pop up.”

“I like that idea,” Ernie said.

They found four turf “hatches” in all; Laura and Ernie set eight jerrycans of petrol at intervals around them, while Noel, having found the optimum spot inside the perimeter; lay on a piece of tarp peering through his rifle’s telescopic sight, adjusting it as he sighted on the cans. The protective firelight crept across the melting snow towards them, fading a few yards short of Laura and Ernie.