The woman begs the dog to stop, tears streaming down her cheeks, but it keeps shaking. Just when I think it will never end, the poor thing whimpers and collapses. A moment later, the shadow slides across the woman’s face and I gasp as her expression changes – the bewilderment and fear in her eyes replaced by a blank stare. Her bony knuckles tighten on the handle of the trolley and then relax. She repeats the movement, her hand clenching and unclenching.

Run. I need to run.

I turn and race away and she follows me, her trolley bumping and banging down the steps. My lungs ache as I charge across the car park but I don’t stop to catch my breath. I get to the car and shove the key in the lock. As I snatch open the door, I glance over my shoulder. She’s twenty paces away, moving fast, her face a mask of fury.

Tom appears alongside her and I shout. ‘Quick, get in!’

‘What?’ He runs past the lady and goes to the driver’s side.

I jump in and then reach over and open his door. He slides in next to me, just as the trolley slams into my side of the car.

‘What the hell’s happening?’

I throw the keys at him. ‘Drive!’

The woman backs up a few paces and then shoves away the trolley. She stands motionless, her eyes bloodshot and her long hair flying wildly all about her, then charges at the car. I stifle a scream as her forehead smacks into the glass, leaving a smear of blood.

‘Tom!’

He starts the engine and she backs up and comes at me again, but this time she doesn’t make contact with the window. Tom accelerates hard and we screech out of the car park.

6

We’ve been driving for more than two hours and the silence grows heavier with each passing mile, taking on a weight and shape of its own until it feels like there’s another person in the car with us. At first we couldn’t stop talking. We went over and over what happened – Tom trying to persuade me that being attacked by two strangers on the same day is an unlikely coincidence but still within the realms of possibility. After I said there was no rational explanation, he gave me a worried look and went quiet.

But then Tom doesn’t know the things my mum told me. He didn’t see the shadows or the dog shaking itself. Several times I decide to tell him everything, but I can’t bring myself to do it. He’ll think I’ve lost my mind, and how could I blame him? Right now, it feels as if my mother is the only one who can give me answers.

I try the boatman’s number for the tenth time, but there’s still no answer.

According to the map on the website, we’re only a few miles from the harbour. I point up ahead. ‘You need to take the next right. Aberdaron’s that way.’