Maybe it’s nothing, I tell myself, sitting back in the chair. Maybe one of the others brought it to the house and Tara burnt it to be polite. Or maybe, I think, she lied to you and she does believe in witchcraft. A shiver runs down my spine and I think of the witch’s ladder shoved up into the chimney, before raising my eyes to the ceiling, to the bedroom above, where the book, An Introduction to Witchcraft, lies hidden beneath the mattress. Shoving the laptop to one side, I run up the stairs and pull out the book, carrying it carefully back to the sitting room.

The pages fall open naturally, as if the book has been thumbed through before, and when I look down my blood chills. The book has fallen open to a page entitled The Witch’s Ladder – an introduction. The accompanying photo shows a braided cord, similar to the one I found last night. Taking a deep breath, I let my eyes drift to the text, suddenly afraid of what I will discover.

The Witch’s Ladder usually constitutes a spell, each step on the ladder counting towards an incantation. I pause, absorbing the words, my hands feeling clammy and shaky, before reading on. The Witch’s Ladder may have many uses, but it is believed that witches of old used this method to cast a death spell, by tying knots and then hiding the cord where it was unlikely to be discovered.

I slam the book closed, my heart pounding so hard in my chest that I can barely breathe. What the fuck? Questions flash through my mind. Who left the ladder in the chimney? Why? And what do I do about it? I throw the book onto the table, as if it will scald me, inadvertently nudging the laptop screen back into life. Tara’s photo of the smiling women appears, with the grey smudge of smoke in the background.

Sage. Sage is a healing plant, a cleanser. I reach for the book, flicking through until I find the correct pages and start reading about how to cleanse my home using sage, ignoring my mobile as it buzzes on the table. I find a section about how many rituals involve beginning by sitting in a circle and something registers in the back of my mind. I click back onto the photograph of Tara’s drinks and pay attention to how the women are sitting. They are all cross-legged on the floor, in a circle.