Helen nodded, relieved that someone else could finally take over. She hesitated, then stepped over Peter’s arm. For a second she had a sudden conviction that she would feel his fingers clamp onto her ankle. Like in the movies where the villain was never dead. But that didn’t happen. He wouldn’t be grabbing anyone ever again.

Helen pushed open the lounge door. Matt, Mills and Lydia sat together on the couch, their arms around each other, staring into space, no one talking. Clive was cowering in his bed in the corner. He always hid from loud noises. Fearless he was not.

“Helen, are you ok?” She was touched by Matt’s concern. “Is Dad ok?”

“Erm, yes, your dad is sorting it out and calling the police.”

“Let me go and help him,” Matt insisted.

“No, Matt. Leave him.”

He said nothing else, but his eyes fell on her hands and the red stains she hadn’t wiped away. He started to weep quietly and she went to him, wrapped her arms around his broad back. He leaned into her, shuddering. Helen ignored the grunting and groaning sounds coming from the hallway, but she could imagine Hugh wrestling with the body.

What the hell was he doing?

“Mum, what’s going on? Matt said Hugh and Peter were fighting?” Mills asked. She was trying to see over Helen’s head.

Before Helen could answer, her phone pinged in her back pocket. The spell with Matt was broken and he pulled away, swiped at his eyes, went to sit in the far corner in embarrassment.

Helen looked at the message.

LET’S PLAY A GAME. COME AND FIND ME. HOT OR COLD.

Diana. Helen had forgotten about her. She shot to her feet.

“She’s here. In the house. I want all of you to go outside. Now.”

“But—”

“I mean it, Mills, go outside and wait for me there. Diana is in the house somewhere and I don’t know how dangerous she is. Matt, please? Take them.”

He nodded and shepherded them out of the lounge. Helen stepped into the hallway. Hugh was gone, a trail of slick blood signalling that he had dragged Peter into the basement. The basement door was still open. She stepped towards it, but her phone pinged.

COLD.

She turned back to where a dark red stain on the carpet was all there was to prove that Peter had been here, had died here, that it hadn’t been a bad dream. She stepped over it and continued up the stairs.

At the foot of the next staircase, she listened closely, but there was only silence. Her phone chirped again.

GETTING WARMER.

She climbed up to the next floor and pushed open her bedroom door. The room was empty.

That left the attic.

She moved back into the hallway, saw the staircase was lowered.

She took a deep breath and climbed the stairs.