‘Better?’ Gran asked kindly, fishing the charred potatoes out of the grate as Callum laid the table.

‘Yeah.’ He gave her a little smile.

‘You should keep your torch in your bag this time of year.’

‘Probably,’ Callum replied. She was right about that. He wouldn’t be caught out again.

Gran continued to fuss over him as they ate, giving him the two biggest potatoes and most of the baked beans to go on top of them, but Callum didn’t mind. After the horror of the woods, it felt OK to be looked after for a while. Gran seemed to relax too, laughing as she recounted the latest gossip from the town.

Finally, after they had both finished eating, Callum plucked up the courage to ask the question he’d been brooding on all evening.

‘Gran, do any of your books mention ghosts in Marlock Wood?’

Gran raised a surprised eyebrow.

‘Ghosts? I thought you didn’t read about anything but music and sport.’

‘Well, it’s for a school project,’ Callum improvised, trying to throw her off the scent. ‘On, um, local history.’

‘I haven’t got anything like that. There’s a book of old photos of Stockport,’ Gran replied, shaking her head as she glanced around at the shelves that lined the room, sagging under the weight of the hundreds of books they held. ‘But I’m not sure where.’

‘Never mind,’ Callum said with false brightness. ‘I’ll try the library.’

*

Lying in bed that night, listening to the rising wind rattling the old window in its frame, Callum tried again to make sense of what had happened earlier. Something was different, that much was certain. Something had changed in the spirit world around him, but what it was and what it meant for him, Callum couldn’t tell.

He shifted restlessly. Gran had gone to bed half an hour ago and the cottage was silent, but he still couldn’t get to sleep. His brain kept playing tricks on him, telling him there was something moving in the darkest corner of the room. Creeping towards the bed.