‘The farmer had a key to the back door but he didn’t need it because the door was standing open, and when he went from room to room calling her name she didn’t answer. Eventually he came back out and stood in the doorway, and that’s when he saw one of her shoes lying on the grass, partway down the garden.

‘He went over to investigate and saw her other shoe further down, by the base of an oak tree. The bottom of her garden ended in a copse of trees that divided it from the next field over, and as he walked along the little path through the trees he found her stockings and her headband. Eventually he found her dress, hanging from the branch of an elm. It was torn and had blood on it. Then, a little way further in, he found her.’

Mr Stevens let out a sigh and shut his eyes, just for a second, before opening them again.

‘She was hanging by her neck from a large oak at the back of the copse. She was naked, and someone had cut her throat and written the word “witch” in jagged red letters across her stomach. They’d written it in her own blood.’

Mr Stevens started to say something else, then stopped himself. James stared at him, his stomach suddenly feeling very heavy and full with the meal he’d eaten hours before, and although most of him wanted Mr Stevens to stop talking a small part of him wanted to hear more, to hear every detail Mr Stevens knew.

His gran had never told him a story like this before. The audiobook he’d swiped from the library had had nothing similar either, nothing quite so real. Even the sick stories Gary liked to tell in the playground weren’t the same.

Mr Stevens suddenly looked unsure of himself. He took his glasses off, wiped the lenses and looked around at the boys. Then he cleared his throat and stood up.

‘Right, it really is time we all got some sleep I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘It’s past midnight. Very early start tomorrow.’

Gary groaned. ‘But what happened after that? Did the men who did it get in trouble?’

Mr Stevens glanced down at him as he folded up his green chair. He suddenly looked distracted.

‘No, no, they didn’t catch anyone,’ he said. ‘No one in the village wanted to talk about it, and as no witnesses came forward there wasn’t much they could do in those days. No forensics, no DNA – nothing like there is now. Anyway, it really is just a story, Gareth.’ He glanced at James and then over at Matt, who looked pale. ‘Don’t take it to heart. I doubt any of it ever even happened, anyway.’

He smiled and gestured to Tim, who slowly got to his feet.