Stig rushes to the door and checks the bolt, which is still drawn from last night. ‘I’ll check all the windows are locked!’ He dashes from the room and I follow him. Standing between the lounge and bedrooms, I watch as he runs into Mormor’s room and rattles the window. He does the same in the spare room and the bathroom.

He darts past me. ‘You check the kitchen.’

I step into the lounge, then stop. There’s something in the middle of the floor.

The rag doll from the chest.

Its yellow hair is fanned out around its face, making it look even more grotesque than before.

‘But how?’ I mutter.

I watched Stig run in and out of Mormor’s room just now. He didn’t have time to go into the chest, even if he could have opened it and taken the doll without me seeing.

I step forward and a smell of mildew and rot fills my nose. When I found the books stacked by themselves, the doll was the only thing left in the chest. That, and Karina’s journal. A shiver runs through me. Somebody wants me to find the doll, but why?

Stig opens a kitchen cupboard and grabs a bottle of brandy. I watch as he takes a swig, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

The doll stares at the ceiling with its missing eye. It wears a stained dress, grey with age. The skirt is torn and frayed and one of the sleeves is ripped, exposing a lumpy mottled arm. It doesn’t have hands; the arms end in crude stubs. Gandalf sniffs at it suspiciously, then slinks away.

I kneel down and Stig mutters a warning. He drops the bottle of brandy and it rolls under the sofa. I reach out my hand, then sit back on my heels, a bitter taste in my mouth. Surrounded by flickering candles, the doll looks like some kind of sacrificial offering.

Another distant howl.

The image of Yrsa’s frozen face flashes into my mind.

Taking a deep breath, I hover my hand over the doll.

‘No, Martha! Don’t!’

I grasp the valknut charm around my neck and it instantly calms me. Without knowing or understanding what I’m doing, I focus my thoughts on the doll, until my consciousness becomes a single dot of intention. At the same time, part of my mind rushes away, expanding …

I touch the material and my eyes snap open.

The doll twitches its head. I hold my breath as it rolls over and slumps onto its front, then crawls towards me.

The floor slams into my cheek. Everything goes black.

17

Don’t be afraid of the dark.

I keep my eyes shut tight, too scared to move or speak.

The voice whispers again. I know you’re afraid, but the darkness is your friend. I am your friend.