I suddenly recalled the strange shapes I had noticed carved into the beams in The Green Man and felt quite light-headed.

‘The bottles are proper fascinating,’ he went on. ‘The one I found was a real work of art – stoneware, all decorated with little flowers and bearded faces. I gave it to a local museum in the end – the wife wouldn’t have it in the house. I s’pose I can understand why. Full of teeth and little bones and bent pins, it was – and fingernail clippings. And to top it off, there was pee in there too. Bloody stank to high heaven, it did. The idea was that the urine would draw the witch into the bottle when she came down the chimney, Christ knows why, and then the sharp things would trap her there. Poor old Santa had better watch his arse, eh!’ He laughed bawdily. ‘It all sounds daft to us, I know; but it still goes on in some places, or so I’ve heard.’

‘Jesus Christ. There’s another one, Dad.’ From the roof, Shaun, the older of Kenny’s two boys, held a similar bundle aloft, his face contorted in distaste. He climbed down and placed the dead creature carefully on the lawn. We all stared down at it. The cat’s appearance was much the same as the first, its front legs extended as though reaching out for something. The eyes were open but dried out, the thin tail stiff and string-like. It was like something from a horror film.

‘So you say people used to do this years ago?’

‘Oh arr, back as far as the 1600s, I think.’

I peered dubiously at the two pitiful bundles, now placed side by side at my feet. My initial revulsion replaced by curiosity, I looked more closely at Shaun’s discovery. Again, the cat was wrapped in a rectangle of indeterminate material, although it was in a marginally better state of repair than the first. I suddenly noticed a small, frayed square of cloth protruding from its outer edge.

‘That looks remarkably like a label to me. I don’t think they put labels on things hundreds of years ago, did they?’

Kenny scratched his head. ‘No, I don’t imagine they did.’

He bent down to scrutinise the tiny scrap of fabric, turning it from side to side, then looked up at me with a smirk.

‘You’re right. And I’m bloody sure they didn’t have Woolies then, either.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Woolworths. Winfield – that’s what it says. You can just about make it out. That was their brand name. I remember my old gran having a lot of stuff from there.’

‘So these poor things probably haven’t been in the chimney all that long, then.’ I was thinking aloud, remembering what Lucy had said about cats going missing in the area, and felt suddenly nauseous.