Uneasy now, Martha felt her heart begin to race. The light had worked less than half an hour ago.

‘It doesn’t matter. You can’t go down there in the dark. Why don’t you come back tomorrow?’

‘What’s up with you? I’m not scared of the dark, you know. Have you not got a torch?’

Martha nodded and walked back to the sideboard where she opened the drawer and pulled out a big torch. He took it off her.

‘I’ll have your drains sorted in ten minutes. You see if I don’t.’

He went back to the cellar with Martha lagging behind. She watched as he ran down the steps into the blackness and prayed to God that, even though he was probably a crook and a thief, he would be safe. The memories from eighty-five years ago came rushing back as if it was yesterday. He was whistling away to himself until she heard him mutter, ‘Fuck me.’

‘Is everything okay?’

‘Apart from the smell it’s fine, miss; don’t you worry. I’ll get this sorted out for you in a jiffy.’

Martha couldn’t stand there any longer. Her legs were shaking so much she needed to sit down, so she went into the kitchen and filled the kettle up. She would make a pot of tea for them both. After what he’d done he deserved it and it might make her stop feeling as if the world was about to end. She could hear some banging and clattering then some muffled curses, which made her smile. Footsteps came running up and he came into the kitchen.

‘I found the drain and it looks like something big is jammed in the bottom of it. No idea what it is but I need something to poke it with. If I can dislodge it then it should move along the sewer pipes. Then I can chuck some buckets of water down to flush it out.’

It didn’t sound very technical but she didn’t care. As long as it worked and got rid of the smell she would be more than happy.

‘There’s a shed outside full of my father’s old tools. I’m sure you’ll find something in there.’

He nodded and went out of the back door to the shed, which she could see from the kitchen window. He came back in with an assortment of tools and smiled at her.

‘You know, you have a beautiful old house and garden, miss. Do you not get lonely living here all on your own?’

‘Thank you, I do. I get terribly lonely but it’s always been this way and it always will be until the day I die. I know what’s in the shed by the way, but if you manage to sort out my problem I will let you take whatever you want.’

He began to laugh. ‘Well now, that’s very kind of you.’

He went off to finish the job and she felt a lot better. Maybe, after all these years, whatever it was had moved on. After all, it had nothing to feed on so there wasn’t really any reason for it to be hanging around beneath her house. She went back to the shortbread she had begun to roll earlier.

Seamus walked back along the corridor and was surprised to see the cellar door was now shut when he knew he had left it wide open. Probably a draught – this was a big house and he’d gone outside. He pulled it open and pressed the button on the torch. Before he could move he heard some strange, tinny music coming from somewhere down in the dark. It reminded him of the old jack-in-the-box his dad had given to him when he was a kid. It had a scary clown that freaked the shit out of him every time he wound the little handle, never knowing when the fucker would pop up and make him scream. In the end, he’d given it back to his dad and told him that it gave him nightmares. His dad had laughed until he’d cried and called him a big girl but Seamus hadn’t cared. He hadn’t wanted it in his bedroom.

He was much older and wiser now and shrugged to himself. He must have knocked something over on his way out of the cellar. The quicker he got out of here, the quicker he could pocket the cash before his mates turned up. He made his way down the steps and got a whiff of something that smelt of rotting flesh, smoke and lake water.

Martha was clattering around in the kitchen. The kettle was boiling. She had just slid the tray of shortbread into the oven and slammed the door shut. After she’d poured the milk and set the teapot on the table to brew, she heard the noise and her heart missed a beat. She knew that sound. It was for ever etched into her memory. That jack-in-the-box had been Joe’s favourite toy and he had spent hours turning the handle and playing the music. She felt her legs begin to wobble. Either that man was messing around or something terrible had happened.

Forcing herself to move, she walked slowly towards the open cellar door. The first thing she noticed was that the smell had gone. He must have cleared the blockage and be rooting around in her belongings. She reached the top step, her fingers brushing against the ancient Cree Indian symbols her father had carved into the back of the cellar door a long time ago to protect them all from the monster that lived down there. He had promised her when they had been done that the thing could not come past them because they were full of ancient Indian power, and she had believed him wholeheartedly. She looked down to the bottom of the steps and saw the circle of light shining into the blackness from the torch, which was now on the floor.

‘Are you all finished? I’ve made you a cup of tea and if you’ve got a few minutes to spare there will be some fresh shortbread coming out of the oven to go with it.’

She was greeted by silence. Then something began to shuffle in the dark and she heard a high-pitched shriek of terror, but it sounded as if it came from somewhere underneath the ground miles away. Terrified, Martha stepped back and slammed the cellar door shut, sliding the bolts across as fast as her shaking hands would let her. She couldn’t do anything to help and she crossed herself, begging God for his forgiveness. Picking up the phone she did the only thing she could think of and rang the police.

Chapter Four

When Annie got into the station she passed the sergeant’s office and heard Inspector Cathy Hayes muttering on the phone to someone. She carried on to the small changing room and hung her jacket up, zipping herself into her body armour and taking hold of her belt. She walked through into the office and was surprised to see an older man sitting at Jake’s desk. Looking at his collar number she saw it began with a seven, which meant he was a special constable and, judging by the sheen of sweat on his brow and the way he kept tapping his foot, a very new one at that.

‘Hi, I’m Annie. Is this your first day?’

He nodded, then jumped up and held out his even sweatier palm.

‘Morning, I’m George and yes it is.’

She shook his hand. ‘Don’t worry about it. You will be fine. It’s a good job you didn’t start yesterday. Have you heard about the severed head my colleague Jake found?’

His face turned white.

‘Oops sorry, I guess you hadn’t. Don’t worry. Things like that don’t happen very often around here.’

She didn’t add that this was unless he had to work with her, and then it might be a whole different ballgame. She’d terrified the poor guy enough in the space of two minutes. He’d be making a quick exit and never coming back if she told him how in the last two years she had been stalked by a serial killer who had abducted her and tried to kill her down in the cellar of an abandoned mansion, which had once belonged to none other than Jack the Ripper. Thankfully she had overcome Henry Smith to live to tell another tale.

Then there was her run-in with a nine-year-old ghost called Sophie and the evil Shadow Man who wouldn’t let her go to the light because he collected souls. Annie had fought him with the help of her now good friend Father John, and together they had managed to banish him to the darkness for good and set Sophie free. Last but by no means least was her run-in with Betsy Baker, the woman who, in 1732, had lived in Apple Tree Cottage, which was now Annie’s home. Betsy had poisoned her mother, then set her sights on the most eligible widower in town, killing his children and parents so she could have him and his house all to herself. Betsy had made Annie’s life hell when she and Will started renovating the cottage, giving Annie terrible nightmares and almost killing her in a car crash. Annie had been in a coma and watched the tragedy of Betsy Baker unfold while she was unconscious. Betsy had been hanged for her crimes by a group of angry villagers and buried in her own front garden in an unconsecrated grave.