‘Right, Timothy and I are sharing a tent, and I believe the rest of you have sorted out your sleeping arrangements, so I think we’ll bid you all goodnight.’

‘But I thought you said you heard the story from a historian?’ said Gary. ‘Someone who studies local history and knows about all this kind of stuff?’

Mr Stevens, who had turned away from the fire towards his tent, paused for a moment. For a second there was just the sound of the wind, and then he cleared his throat and carried on towards his tent without turning round.

‘Alarms set for 5.30am and I’ll see you all out here for a quick breakfast before we set off,’ he said.

He unzipped his tent and disappeared through the entrance. Tim glanced back at them with an unreadable expression and then followed.

A gust of wind blew through the campsite and caused the slowly dying fire to gutter, making their shadows dance in the orange light.

4

James lay awake staring at the roof of his tent. He could hear the wind outside, howling like a dying animal, and the sound of a light rain that had begun not long after they climbed into their sleeping bags. It pattered against the canvas like thousands of tiny fingers.

He knew the minute he’d climbed into his sleeping bag and Gary had turned his torch off that he wouldn’t be able to get to sleep.

His mind was still swirling with images from the story Mr Stevens had told. The slim, beautiful redhead with the green eyes. The farmer’s wife twitching back her curtain to see a girl standing in a field, just standing there staring straight back at her in the dead of night while a cat wound its way around her legs. The same girl hanging from a tree with her throat cut.

This last one was the worst, because although it made James feel sick to his stomach there was also something else, something tied up with the girl’s naked body that he felt deep down in the lowest part of his stomach. In his mind, the hanging girl’s green eyes were still open, staring back at him as if she were accusing him of something.

After about an hour of checking his watch and listening to the wind mingling with the sound of Gary’s heavy breathing, James had given up even trying to sleep.

At one point he thought he’d heard a whispered conversation coming from one of the other tents – his mind had shot back to the woman in Mr Stevens’ story and his back had itched with fear before he realised it was probably just Matt and Tom, nothing more than that – but when he sat up in his sleeping bag and strained his ears the whispering stopped.