The clock struck two and Libby jerked awake. Despite her best intentions, she’d fallen asleep, sitting uncomfortably, her back against the wall and a chill creeping up from her feet.
‘It’s all right,’ Max said. ‘It’s just the clock.’
Just then, someone loomed into view, waving a torch.
Rosalind.
She hissed, ‘There’s something interesting happening in the refectory.’
‘What? And where’s the refectory?’
‘North side of the cloister. Come quickly, but don’t make a noise. And don’t wave your torch about.’
As silently as possible, Libby and Max left their space, which had begun to feel like home, and made their way down the passage and up the stairs to the refectory.
As they slipped through the door, Angela Miles joined them. ‘Mandy and Steve have gone off. I’ve no idea what they’re up to and I don’t really want to know.’
‘I think we can guess.’
In moments, a group had gathered, huddling together at the top of the stairs, all torches turned off.
‘Look. Over there.’ Angela said. She was pointing to the west where the old farmhouse had been built.
Libby narrowed her eyes, trying to see through the gloom. Was that a shape, moving along the wall? She blinked hard. There was definitely something there. Or was it her imagination?
To her right, Rosalind was operating an infrared camera.
The shape swirled. Was it real? Was that a monk’s hood over its face? For a second, Libby was almost sure she’d seen something, but then it was gone.
At that moment, the still air carried an unearthly cry.
It came again.
‘It’s coming from the gatehouse,’ Rosalind gasped, turning and running down the steps, the group following as hard as they could go.
They ran across the grass, and the cries were louder. ‘Someone help us.’
Angela shouted, ‘Steve?’ and ran ahead, through the archway into the gatehouse. ‘What’s going on?’
***