On all fours she is soon bumping and panting her way through a narrowing of the fissure, passing objects that remain entirely indistinct. Eventually, when so deeply inside the structure that she could be mistaken for believing she has passed from the room in which the mound exists, she closes upon the glowing handset screen. The insistent scream of the phone vibrates the darkness. At the far end of the passage, where she is forced to duck her head between her shoulders, Jess slows to peer at whatever it is that she has crawled onto.

There is the phone. And lit up by the screen is a strange circular arrangement of odd and unappealing objects. A dirty linen parcel the size of a shoebox, bound with twine. Bird feathers are stuck to the stained fabric. The object has been placed in the centre of a spoked wheel made from sticks. One she recognises. The pattern resembles the sundial of the stained glass above the front door. And it is the shape that was constructed for the garden celebrations at the vicarage in the ‘70s.

Around the edge of the twig-wheel, an assortment of curious objects has been placed and abandoned, perhaps years before. A tiny sheaf of wheat. A rustic loaf of desiccated bread. Several small wooden bowls. One bowl contains an oil, another powdered incense.

A grotesque homemade shrine.

Jess empties an age-grimed bowl of dried fennel. The base of the container is inscribed with a wheel-shaped sigil.

She can’t bring herself to touch the soiled parcel in the centre of the arrangement. Instead she glances at the phone screen contained inside the wooden wheel. The screen reads: CALLER UNKNOWN.

Jess snatches up the handset and swipes the screen.

‘Hello?’

No answer. Only silence.

Jess drops the phone. Down on all fours in the darkness, she bows her head over the dirty shrine. The confining walls press around her head. Trapped by confusion and buried by fear, she doesn’t understand what’s happening. She’s exhausted.

FLAP-CRACK-FLAP!

From out of the darkness next to her face a trapped bird explodes into terrified, frantic life. Jess screams and clutches her face as it is beaten by a flurry of dusty wings.