The piglet stopped squealing. The woods were silent, too, as if the world had died.

Liz advanced to the far embankment and the edge of the hole, then raised her stick and banged it on the slab. Clumps of snow fell loose, exposing the stone in full: the stone, and what was on it.

Liz’s stomach cramped; she wanted badly to run back to the farmhouse and bar the door behind her, but that would do no good. The stone had been marked with charcoal, scored by a chunk of charred and blackened wood. There was a triangular symbol, like a jagged, back-to-front capital D, and below it, three short, vertical lines. Or rather two lines and one smudge, where the third had been rubbed away.

The piglet squealed again, squirting hot piss down Liz’s trouser-leg. She cursed and shook it, stabbing the walking-stick into the ground. It squealed louder, then fell silent. Liz stopped and looked down at the sinkhole, trying to convince herself she’d heard no sounds from the shaft.

Do it, quick, and go.

She gripped the piglet’s front legs in one hand, the back legs in the other, then raised it in the air and said the words as it squealed and thrashed and shat itself, liquid turds running down her gloved hand. It didn’t matter. She’d dealt with worse. She said the words again, then a third time, then tossed it down.

It squealed again, sounding almost human. There was a thud of impact from the bottom of the shaft, and a clatter of loose things. Then nothing. Nothing. The fall must have killed it. Waste of good meat. But those marks had come from somewhere.

Anyway, it was done. Best go now. But she could hear movement in the shaft. The piglet; the unlucky beast had survived the fall and was thrashing in pain and fright. But the noises were too loud and numerous for something so small. It began squealing again, sounding more human than ever before as its shrieks became louder and higher and more anguished, to a crescendo that was like the sound of a drill in Liz’s ear; then it was cut off, and there was only the sound of things being torn and snapped.

Liz fumbled blindly for her stick and pulled it out of the ground. She stumbled backwards, gathering speed as she went, not daring to turn around until she backed into something.