That night I lay awake once more, mulling over the events of the day. I wondered initially about Reggie. What exactly was going on beneath the façade of her outwardly perfect existence? And what had provoked such an extreme reaction towards my friend from Mrs Barley when she didn’t even know her? My mind soon became a jumble of witchcraft, the unfortunate mummified cats, the man in the garden. So much was going round my head I felt it might explode.

A low squeaking sound shook me from my thoughts.

It had started again.

My heart in my mouth, I strained to listen as the floorboards groaned slowly overhead. I considered waking Jack, but he was snoring loudly and reluctantly I thought better of it. I desperately wanted him to hear what I had been hearing, but he’d had a long day and looked exhausted that evening – it seemed unfair to disturb him. I wriggled to a sitting position, holding my breath. Not as loud or obvious as on the first occasion, but something was definitely moving in the attic. I got up and padded out onto the landing where the hatch was immediately above me, illuminated by the light of the full moon pouring through the bathroom window. I wouldn’t attempt to climb through it, but I could have a peep …

There was a torch in the kitchen. I groped my way downstairs and rummaged through the drawer. The floor felt cool beneath my bare feet, although the air was warm and humid. All was silent except for the background hum of the fridge. Jobie stretched and came trotting to greet me from his basket, but I coaxed him back gently, closing the door behind me. Adrenaline coursed through me as I climbed the stairs. I fetched the wooden storage stool from the bathroom. Brandishing the flashlight, I pulled myself up, poised to release the catch that opened the trapdoor, and quivering in anticipation. For a moment, I thought I heard whispering from above and stood, perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe as I tried to make out the words.

I don’t know what happened. I can only assume I must have become dizzy. The next thing I knew, I was lying on the landing, Jack frantically rubbing my arm.

‘Stina! Are you okay? What the hell were you doing?’

With his support, I eased myself up to a sitting pos-ition, still dazed. My head throbbed; I had somehow cut my leg and there was blood seeping through my pyjama trousers. The distorted beam of the torch was angled towards the bathroom. Its lens must have cracked when it fell to the floor.

‘I heard noises again – up there.’ Wincing, I waved a hand towards the hatch.