“Yes, you can,” she said.

Tony glanced up at her and away, scratched at the back of his neck.

“Say it.”

He took a breath, then his shoulders slumped.

“It’s just . . . there’s a bad vibe about the place.” He looked at her now. “I can’t tell you what it is, exactly, just a bad feeling. Not all of it, not all the time. But it’s there. The basement more than anywhere else. I did the wiring down there, and it was . . .”

His gaze dropped once more.

“It was what?” she asked.

“I didn’t see anything down there, nothing like that. But it would get cold sometimes, all of a sudden, for no reason. I’d feel like there was someone looking over my shoulder, and I’d look up from my work and turn to see, and there’d be nothing there. And there was this thing my mate told me.”

“What did he tell you?”

He scratched at the back of his head then spread his hands out in the air, as if giving something up. “My mate John Joe. He’s a plasterer. He told me he was upstairs, not in your bedroom, one of the others, working late. It had gotten dark. He told me he looked through the door and he saw a wee boy playing on the landing up there. Just a wee lad running and jumping about. John Joe went out onto the landing and there was no one there. Mind you, John Joe likes a wee puff on the weed, so I don’t know. It was probably his imagination.”

He gave a breathy laugh, dismissing his own words. “It was my imagination too, I know, but with everything that happened here, it puts things in your head.”

“What happened here?” she asked.

Tony stared at her now, as if he couldn’t understand the question.

After a moment, he said, “What, you mean you don’t know?”

“I heard there was a killing,” Sara said, “but that’s all. I don’t know what happened.”

“Neither do I. Not really. It was a long time ago. Sixty years, maybe more, I’m not sure. Before the Troubles started up, anyway. The whole lot of them was killed, except the woman who had this house, she was the only survivor. That’s as much as I know about it. I tell you who might know more, though.”

“Who?”

“Mr. Buchanan, he has the grocer’s shop on the way into Morganstown. I think he used to bring food out here for her. Might be worth asking him about it.” Tony pushed his stool back and stood. “Anyway, thanks for the tea. I should get back to my work. But, when I’m done, do you want me to run you into the village?”

“Yes, please,” Sara said. “I’d like that.”

6: Mary

6: Mary