Clive put the kettle on and made small talk about air pressure and Seasonal Affective Disorder and wouldn’t it be great if a Chinese takeaway was nearby. Derry took a mop and bucket out to the hallway, and I realized with stinging embarrassment that she was cleaning up my vomit. When she returned she sat down with me and rubbed my back. I was shaking like a leaf in gale force winds. Tom paced up and down and a few minutes later Gaia appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. I saw her eyeing me with concern. The little minx. I wondered if she’d been responsible for the door closing, locking me in that horrible, haunted basement. No wonder Maren had told me to stay out. This was clearly not the first time someone had encountered whatever lived down there.

‘Go to bed!’ Tom roared suddenly, and I saw Gaia stiffen with fright before racing off down the hallway. I wished I’d had the strength to comfort her. When Clive poured me a cup of steaming hot tea, I gulped it back, trying to restore my calm, but in fact only managing to burn my mouth.

‘Should we call a doctor?’ Clive asked Derry.

She looked at me carefully. ‘Did you fall?’ she asked. I shook my head but could say nothing more. My mind was churning and churning with the voice I’d heard and the feeling of something grabbing me, pulling my nightie so hard I thought it would rip. I had read Jane Eyre. Maybe Tom’s dead wife was being kept in the basement. He definitely had an air of Rochester about him.

‘Why were you down there?’ he barked, thrusting me out of my memories of GCSE English, and I jumped.

‘Tom …’ Clive said.

‘I …’ I said. ‘I …’

Derry rubbed my back. ‘You’re shaking! Can we get another blanket?’

Someone threw a duvet around me, which actually worked – it felt like a big hug, and I squeezed my eyes shut and concentrated on my breathing. After a few minutes I explained in a weak voice about coming to the kitchen for a bottle for Coco and how the door was open and I worried that Gaia might be down there.

‘Rubbish,’ Tom said. ‘The door hardly opened itself.’

‘Tom …’ Clive said again.

‘So the basement door was just … open?’ Derry said, and I nodded again.

‘It’s been locked for months,’ Tom countered, folding his arms.

‘It’s an old house, mate,’ Clive said.

‘Maren?’ Tom called. ‘Maren, are you upstairs?’

‘Did you have a fall?’ Derry asked me.

‘No,’ I said. ‘The light went out, so I couldn’t see.’ I went to mention the thing that spoke and grabbed me, but decided I’d be best skipping that part. ‘And then … then I tried to open the door but it was locked …’

‘I thought you said the door was open?’ Tom said, glowering.