Christine glances up at the window. ‘That’s odd. Maybe the storm’s messing with the electrics.’

They pick up pace as they make their way through the wood, Alice still clinging to Leon’s hand. He’s jittery, his palms sweaty. She wants to say something to comfort him, but has no words.

‘The cottage isn’t far,’ Christine calls, her voice shrill. ‘Come on, you two. Keep up. We must stay together.’

There are lights up ahead, and, as they emerge into a clearing, a pretty cottage appears, every window glowing orange, beautiful, yet there’s something equally eerie about the place that Alice can’t put her finger on.

The gate squeaks as Christine opens it. She hurries up the path towards the front door, and starts to hammer on the rusty knocker. ‘Cameron! Cameron! Are you in there?’

Leon and Alice join her on the doorstep, as Faith steps over a small white picket fence onto the lawn. She presses her nose against the window, and rests her fingertips on the glass as she peers in. ‘There’s someone in there,’ she says, her voice quivering. She looks about her, as though searching for something to use to break the glass.

Christine continues to bang the knocker. ‘Cameron. It’s me – Christine. Please let us in.’ She presses the heavy wrought-iron handle down. The door eases open. ‘It’s not locked,’ she says, entering the house, everyone close behind her. ‘Cameron?’ She switches off her torch as the brightness of the lounge engulfs them. ‘Cameron?’

Leon

‘There’s nobody here,’ Leon says, looking about him. Under different circumstances, the room might seem cosy, if a little dated and worn. Two floral sofas and a wing-backed armchair cup an open fireplace. A small TV stands in the corner, and a lamp gives off the orangey glow they’d noticed from outside. A heavy-wooden sideboard under the window has a photo of Cameron and a woman smiling from a silver frame, and there’s a shelf full of books. Leon peers closer, noticing all of Alice’s father’s novels.

He turns and takes the narrow staircase two at a time. ‘Cameron,’ he calls, peering into a bathroom, heart thudding. He steps into the room, which smells faintly of bleach, and yanks back a stained, polka dot shower curtain stretched full length across a lemon-coloured bath. There’s nobody there.

Floorboards creak as he makes his way across the landing towards three more doors. Two stand open with lamps on inside the rooms. The third is closed.

‘Is there anyone up there?’ Alice calls from the foot of the stairs.

‘I don’t think so.’

He searches the first bedroom decorated in blues and yellows, pine furniture, and a double bed. It’s homely, yet gives nothing away about the cottage’s owner.