I spin around. The shadows by the door are growing darker and lighter, expanding and deflating like they’re coming to life. There’s a skittering movement as something jumps across the wall, and then a patch of grey in the opposite corner begins to slowly pulsate.

‘What’s happening, Ivy?’

He pleads at me with his eyes and I look away. How can I tell him that the demons that were inside him are now in the room with us?

‘Rest now. We can talk more in the morning.’

I adjust the sleeping bag on his bed and he grabs my arm. ‘You know what’s happening. I can tell you’re afraid. The demons we read about in that book, is that what’s inside me? Your mum said the lighthouse is a portal to another world – is that where the bird-woman came from? Are more things going to come and –’

‘Please, this isn’t helping.’

I know how frightened he must be, but I’m worried that if we talk about them it will make them real somehow; we have to look to each other for the light. We have to keep it together – I have to keep it together.

Movement flickers in the corner of my eye, near the door. A patch of shadow draws close, like someone stepping into the room. I tear my gaze from it, hoping Tom doesn’t see.

‘The best thing you can do is sleep.’

He laughs bitterly. ‘Sleep! How am I meant to sleep with …’ He looks around and swallows the rest of the sentence as if he can’t bring himself to say it.

‘I know, but you have to try.’

Another fit of coughing takes him. ‘Just tell me …’ Cough. ‘I deserve to know …’ Cough.

Unable to speak, he leans forward and holds his chest. His shoulders shake as he brings up a string of thick, black phlegm. He wipes his mouth and stares at his hand.

‘What the hell is that?’ he asks.

It drips from his fingers onto the bed, filling the room with a foul stench. Amidst the slime are lumps of something fibrous, something that looks suspiciously like human tissue. I grab a towel and wipe it away before either of us can look too closely.

Throwing the towel to the floor, I reach behind him and yank out the pillows. He falls back with a defeated sigh and I straighten the blankets over him then jump into my own bed. I brace myself for another barrage of questions, but he turns his back to me. I don’t know whether it’s exhaustion, shock at what just happened, or if he just plain hates me right now, but I’m relieved. The more he demands to know the truth, the worse I feel for not telling him.