‘Oh my God.’ My blood runs cold, the hairs on my arms rippling to attention. The shrill cries that have dragged me from sleep echo in my ears and I have to resist the urge to cover them with my hands. ‘What happened to her? What happened after her child was lost?’

‘The children started disappearing.’ Miranda’s voice is barely above a whisper and I can smell her shampoo as she leans in close to me. ‘One by one, the children of the village began to disappear. Some went to the market for their mothers and never returned, others went out to play and vanished. The parents tried keeping them home, and then they started disappearing from their beds. The villagers … they said Agnes took them, in revenge for the loss of her own child. More than one parent said they had seen her, hanging around watching the children before their child was taken. She was burnt at the stake as a witch less than three years after Isobel. Strange things have happened in and around Gowdie Cottage ever since – it’s believed that Agnes still haunts her old home to this day.’

My throat feels thick, and I can feel the hot sting of tears behind my eyes. The baby stirs in the pram and I know I won’t have long before he starts to shout for a feed. ‘Did they ever find any of them? Did they ever find Agnes’s child?’

Miranda shakes her head. ‘No, they never found the children. Locals believe that Agnes’s daughter still calls for her mother from the woods, wandering barefoot and lost, wearing a white dress with long, blonde hair. I’ve never heard or seen anything, but others have said they have. Are you all right? You look very pale.’

I get to my feet, the book sliding from my lap, sure for a moment that I will fall as my vision blurs and I feel dizzy. I think I can hear her, the child, crying in the distance, and I see her in my mind, crouched beneath the trees, shrouded in white. It passes as quickly as it comes on and I let out a shaky breath, my hands gripping the handle of the pram tightly. ‘I’m fine. It’s just … I wasn’t expecting quite such a story.’

Miranda is on her feet beside me, pressing her book back into my hands. ‘Interesting, isn’t it? It’s not the most well-known legend around here, The Colonel can take the credit for that, along with the Highwayman and the White Lady, for haunting Frights Corner and the church, so I’m really looking forward to working on a book about Agnes next.’

‘It’s … yes, interesting. Fascinating, actually.’ Although fascinating is not quite the word I would use to describe the feeling I had in the hallway, with the tickle of eyes on the back of my neck from an empty staircase.