“What do you want?” she said, her voice cracking.

The child stepped back into the darkness, became one with it, but Sara knew she remained there, waiting. Sara got to her feet, used the island for support as she walked to the rear of the kitchen, seeking the child in the dark corners of the back hall. She stepped through, saw the child slip into the extension, keeping to the dim pools as the first hints of light crept through the glass of the patio doors. Following, careful where she placed her feet, she searched the shadows for the girl, found her crouching by a row of cement bags, propped against the wall. On top of them, a large chisel, and a mallet.

Sara looked at them for a time, one idea chasing another through her mind, until she understood. She went to the bags, lifted the chisel in her left hand, felt the heft of it. This was not the tool of a woodworker, not made for carving and shaping. It was heavy, and its blade was wide and stout. This was made for breaking concrete and splitting stone. A masonry chisel, she thought it was called. She lifted the mallet in her right hand, and it was heavier still.

A good blow from the chisel would shatter the glass of the patio doors and set her free. And then what? She could walk to the village and get help. Maybe knock on the door of Buchanan’s Grocers, just like Mary had done sixty years or so before.

She realised then that the small girl, or the shadow of her, no longer crouched by the cement bags. Sara turned in a circle, searching for her. She found the girl in the doorway leading into the back hall, and the kitchen beyond. The shadow-child stared back at her for a moment, then retreated.

Sara followed, entering the hall, seeing the child merge into the light and shade of the kitchen. And the boy there, over by the fireplace, guarding the stains, waiting for her. She entered the kitchen, its deep blue turning to grey as the birds outside awoke and began their morning songs.

In the half-light, the stains appeared quite black against the deep grey of the stone. Sara knelt down beside them, let the chisel and mallet drop to the floor. She felt their weight through her knees as they impacted the surface. Her fingers traced the rough grout between the flagstones, her nails scratching at the coarse borders.