Hiding From the Light. Barbara Erskine

We need to see if we can capture a bit of this atmosphere on film.’ He took a deep breath.

      Colin nodded. ‘Want me to go first?’ The Welshman raised an eyebrow, baiting him. The footsteps had stopped. They were all aware of the sound of traffic outside again, almost as though, before, it had not been there.

      Mark nodded. He gave a wry grin. ‘If you like.’

      ‘OK.’ Colin hefted the heavy camera up onto his shoulder.

      ‘I’m not going up.’ Alice’s voice was shrill. ‘I don’t think any of us should.’

      ‘Alice.’ Joe’s tone was half reproach, half mocking. ‘Come on. You’re not scared, surely? Great big girl like you!’

      Alice blushed scarlet. ‘No! No, of course not. I think this job sucks.’ Tossing the clipboard down onto the counter, she turned towards the door. ‘You don’t need me, anyway. I’m going for a walk.’

      ‘Alice!’ Joe shouted.

      ‘Leave her,’ Mark said quietly. ‘It’s getting to her like it’s getting to me. Come on. Let’s go up.’

      Colin was already halfway up the stairs when the shop door opened. They turned to see a young woman standing in the doorway. With short dark hair and intensely bright blue eyes she reminded Mark of nothing so much as a woodland elf as she hovered on the threshold, gazing at them.

      ‘Can we help you?’ Mark turned away from the stairs with something like relief. If the new tenants were arriving they would have to hurry and the sheer number of people on the premises would perhaps do something to help dispel the atmosphere.

      Her eyes were enormous. He found himself unable to look away as she took a cautious step inside, leaving the door open behind her. ‘What are you doing?’

      Behind him Colin retraced his steps and put the heavy camera down on the counter. Mark smiled and stepped forward, holding out his hand. ‘Mark Edmunds. We have Mr Barker’s permission to be here. I’m sorry. We meant to be finished before you arrived.’

      She looked anxious suddenly. ‘You were expecting me?’

      ‘Well, we were expecting someone.’ Mark dropped his hand as she had ignored it. ‘I gather you want to start stocking the shop as soon as possible? If we could have perhaps just an hour more, we could then get out of your hair.’ He gave her his most charming smile. It was not returned.

      ‘I am not here to stock the shop.’ There was a slight frown between her eyes. ‘I came because you are here to make trouble for us. For all of us who live here.’

      Mark glanced at Colin, who raised an eyebrow and gave a mock scowl. ‘I can assure you, Miss …?’ He paused for her to fill in the name. She ignored the invitation and stood silently, her eyes fixed on his face, obviously waiting for him to continue. He went on, slightly flustered. ‘We have no intention of causing anyone any trouble. And we are here, as I said, with the full permission of Stan Barker.’

      ‘Stan told me you are here to film the ghosts.’ For the first time her eyes left his face and she glanced past him at the stairs. Mark resisted the urge to turn and follow her gaze.

      ‘We are making a documentary. One of a series about haunted houses,’ he said guardedly.

      ‘You have to stop it.’ Her voice was stronger suddenly. She rammed her hands down into the pockets of her trousers – tight-fitting jeans, cut off raggedly below the knee which emphasised the slimness of her figure. ‘You have to!’

      ‘May I ask why?’ he asked gently. ‘You said we were here to make trouble. I assure you that is not the case. Programmes like this are usually immensely popular –’

      ‘And stir things up.’

      He realised with a jolt that the emotion which was fuelling the brightness of her eyes was anger. ‘It will make no difference to you. You and your friends –’ she glanced witheringly at Joe and Colin – ‘will finish your filming and disappear back to London and never come back here again, and leave us to deal with what you have left behind.’

      ‘I am sorry you should feel like that.’ Mark kept his voice even. ‘But as I said, the worst you will probably find will happen is an influx of sightseers. I find the locals usually like that. It’s good for the economy.’

      ‘I’m not talking about sightseers!’ She licked her lips nervously, an infinitesimal darting movement which reminded him of a small reptile. Her tone was dismissive.

      ‘Then what?’

      She held his gaze for a moment, then for the first time she seemed to hesitate. ‘You are stirring things up,’ she repeated.

      ‘What things?’ Colin put in.

      ‘The energies …’ She bit her lip. ‘Your interest, the filming, talking about him. It is feeding the energies. I can feel it. The whole town is changing. The atmosphere. The feel of the place. It’s centred here. In this shop.’

      ‘Why?’ Joe had surreptitiously switched on his mike. The tape was turning.

      ‘This shop – the site – it has always been a centre. So much happened here.’

      ‘What happened here?’ Joe asked.

      ‘He brought the women here. Some of them. It was the house where Mary Phillips lived.’

      ‘One of the witchfinder’s accomplices?’ Mark nodded.

      The three men glanced up towards the ceiling.

      She did not appear to notice. ‘Their fear and anger and confusion permeates the walls of this place!’ she cried passionately. ‘Can’t you feel it? No one stays here. No one can bear it. Those women were dragged from their homes, accused, tortured, terrified and killed on the say-so of one man.’

      ‘That surely is what makes the story of the witchfinder so fascinating,’ Mark put in slowly. ‘The villain is the man who ostensibly was on the side of the right, and the victims are the women who might have possibly been real witches worshipping the Devil, causing all kinds of mischief.’

      ‘They weren’t!’ She turned on him, her face suddenly hard. ‘They were at worst silly old ladies, not knowing what was happening to them. And the ones who did know were guilty of no more than using herbal medicine and the harmless spells that were part of the recipes in those days.’

      Mark nodded. ‘You would make an excellent contributor to our programme. Why don’t you let us film you so that you can put your point of view …’

      ‘No!’ Her eyes flashed. ‘Have you understood nothing I’ve said? You have to stop the programme. You have to go away and forget all about it.’

      ‘You still haven’t told me why.’ Mark found the memory of the scream coming back suddenly as he leaned against the counter, watching her. ‘If the old ladies were innocent, why should telling their story stir up trouble? Surely they would welcome vindication? And Hopkins himself was a sadistic and violent man by our standards but from what I have read he was sincere in what he believed.’

      ‘He was paid by the head, Mark,’ Colin put in softly. ‘However sincere, the chap had a good incentive to root out anyone even remotely qualifying for his detection methods.’

      ‘He was not interested in mercy or justice,’ the young woman put in. ‘And he does not sleep soundly. Neither do his victims. Please, please go away.’

      ‘We are going.’ Joe gave her a reassuring smile and folded his arms. ‘Today. Don’t you worry, love. We’ll be out of your hair by teatime and away, and all your energies can calm down again.’

      ‘And you will destroy your film?’ She narrowed her eyes.

      ‘We’ll think about everything you’ve said, very carefully,’ Mark put in reassuringly. ‘I promise.’

      She stood for a