‘I. Did. Not. Open. The door,’ she said adamantly.

Her tone was enough to snap him out of denial for a moment.

‘She was standing behind me. She was there and then she wasn’t. I saw her. Then she vanished.’

‘Can you describe her?’

‘She was horrible. So horrible. She had on a sort of long, blue dress, like really old-fashioned, with yellow shoes and a really wrinkled – wizened – old-lady face. She spoke to me.’

‘What did she say?’

‘God, her voice was kind of croaky, and vile – really nasty. Evil.’

‘What did she say Em?’

‘She said, No one ever leaves here. Then something like, You’ll be joining me, soon. You and your husband. Everyone here always does. Don’t bother buying him any birthday presents. He won’t need them here.’

He wrapped his arms around her, aware of the surgical gloves on his hands. She was shaking uncontrollably.

‘Babes, we’re going to sort this out.’

‘I saw her. I saw her. She touched me. I heard her speak. And, oh yes, she said something else. She said to tell you her name is Matilda.’

‘Matilda? Why does that ring a bell?’

‘Why? I’ll tell you why it rings a bell. That history book you brought home from the library, remember?’

It was on his desk. ‘Yes. The one we googled.’

‘I read the bit out to you last week.’ She marched over, picked the book up and thumbed through it. Then read aloud.

‘Cold Hill House was built to the order of Sir Brangwyn De Glossope, on the site of monastic ruins, during the 1750s. His first wife, Matilda, daughter and heiress from the rich Sussex landowning family, the Warre-Spences, disappeared, childless, a year after they moved into the property. It was her money that had funded the building of the house – De Glossope being near penniless at the time of their marriage. It was rumoured that De Glossope murdered her and disposed of her body, to free him to travel abroad with his mistress, Evelyne Tyler.’

‘Matilda De Glossope is the woman you saw in the garage?’

‘You tell me.’

There was a loud bang above them.

The room was plunged into darkness.

79

Thursday 27 December

With the torch beam from his phone, Jason made his way downstairs, closely followed by Emily, through the kitchen and into the utility room. He found the fuse box, opened the lid and immediately saw the red master switch that had tripped. He flipped it back up and the lights came back on. He closed the lid.

‘It didn’t just trip by itself,’ Emily said.

‘These things are very sensitive. A bulb blowing can trip them.’

‘Or a ghost?’

Just as he smiled, it tripped again with a loud report.

As loud as a pistol shot.

The lights went out.

Right behind them they heard a hideous cackle of laughter.

Jason froze. Then he turned, shining the beam of his torch into the darkness. It lit up the washing machine, the tumble dryer and a stack of laundry awaiting ironing; then the stark terror on Emily’s face.