in gale-force winds. Tom paced up and down the kitchen and a few minutes later Gaia appeared in the doorway. I saw her eyeing me with concern. The little minx. I wondered if she’d been responsible for the door closing, locking me in that horrible, haunted basement. No wonder Maren had told me to stay out. This was clearly not the first time someone had encountered whatever lived down there.
“Go to bed!” Tom roared suddenly, and I saw Gaia stiffen with fright before racing off down the hallway. I wished I had the strength to comfort her. When Clive poured me a cup of steaming-hot tea I gulped it back, trying to restore my calm, but in fact I only managed to burn my mouth.
“Should we call a doctor?” Clive asked Derry.
She looked at me carefully. “Did you fall?” she asked. I shook my head but could say nothing more. My mind was churning and churning with the voice I’d heard and the feeling of something grabbing me, pulling my nightie so hard I thought it would rip. I had read Jane Eyre. Maybe Tom’s dead wife was being kept in the basement. He definitely had an air of Rochester about him.
“Why were you down there?” Tom barked, thrusting me out of my memories of high school English, and I jumped.
“Tom . . .” Clive said.
“I . . .” I said. “I . . .”
Derry rubbed my back. “You’re shaking! Can we get another blanket?”
Someone threw a duvet around me, which actually worked—it felt like a big hug, and I squeezed my eyes shut and concentrated on my breathing. After a few minutes I explained in a weak voice about coming to the kitchen for a bottle for Coco and how the door was open and I worried that Gaia might be down there.
“Rubbish,” Tom said. “The door hardly opened itself.”
“Tom . . .” Clive said again.
“So the basement door was just . . . open?” Derry said, and I nodded again.
“It’s been locked for months,” Tom countered, folding his arms.
“It’s an old house, mate,” Clive said.
“Maren?” Tom called. “Maren, are you upstairs?”
“Did you have a fall?” Derry asked me.
“No,” I said. “The light went out, so I couldn’t see.” I went to mention the thing that spoke and grabbed me, but decided I’d be best skipping that part. “And then . . . then I tried to open the door, but it was locked . . .”
“I thought you said the door was open,” Tom said, glowering.
“Maren must have been down there,” Tom said, pacing and running his hands through his hair. I couldn’t quite work out why he was so furious. “Maren! Come down here, please!”
“It doesn’t matter who shut the bloody door,” Derry shouted. “The wind probably caught it. Let’s get poor Sophie to bed.”
She rubbed my back again. “Thanks,” I managed to say as I rose to my feet, glad of the opportunity to head to my room and hide under the covers. Nothing they had said or done had diminished what I knew had happened—something was in that basement.
Maren was suddenly there, her hair damp and askew and her cardigan inside out as though she’d emerged from the shower and hastily thrown on whatever clothes came to hand. She looked from me to Tom, who remained furious.
“Why were you in the basement?” he roared at her. “I’ve said it a hundred times. Nobody goes in the basement!”
Maren took this in without answering. Her eyes fell on me and widened in horror. “Are you all right?” she asked me. I nodded and gave a thumbs-up, grateful that she cared enough to ask.
“Answer me!” Tom thundered. “Why were you down there?”
Maren looked too shocked to speak. Her eyes trailed across our faces, embarrassed. Tom was giving her a complete dressing-down for no good reason. He continued ranting.
“. . . and when you blatantly disregard these simple rules it makes me feel like I just can’t trust you, do you understand? I’ve trusted you with my house, my business . . .”
“Mate,” Clive said, putting his hand on Tom’s shoulder. “We get the point. Can we drop it now?”
Tom shoved off Clive’s hand. I saw Derry stiffen, as though braced for a fight, and at the same time Clive lifted up both hands in surrender.
Maren straightened, having found her voice at last. “I can well understand why you’re upset,