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and watched Samuel disappear inside the cottage. He glanced around him, a hunted look on his face. He was nervous, edgy. He had been watching Samuel from the darkness of the trees for the past ten minutes or so, standing under the snow-laden branches,his feet frozen into blocks of ice. He’d watched Samuel emerge with the coal bucket and make his way to the barn where the coal was stored. Then he had seen him stand in the middle of the lawn and listen to the unearthly silence and stillness of the moor. But there was someone else watching as well, and Charles could feel her presence. He was haunted here in his own home where he was supposed to feel safe; haunted by threats and dire warnings that interrupted his sleep. He shook his head. It had just been a stupid dream, he told himself; it meant nothing. But as he stood there in the snow he sensed the dark-clad figure somewhere behind him, outside his line of vision. He spun round, but the figure moved and vanished, quick as lightning. It simply melted back into the darkness of the forest.
    Despite the cold he felt himself beginning to sweat. Hands in pockets, he made his way back to the house. From the trees the dark figure continued to watch him. He could feel her eyes drilling into his back, but refused to look round a second time, not wanting to show that he was frightened, or that he knew she was there … Maybe if he pretended she didn’t exist, she would simply go away …

Strange Noises
    It was later that same day that Samuel first heard the Weeping Woman in the drawing room of Dunadd House. He had the place to himself and was attempting to copy the drawing of the map on the window seat when he was disturbed by her footsteps crossing the room. Afterwards he was badly shaken. His mother came home later that afternoon to find him outside, too afraid to go back into the house. He hadn’t finished his drawing, but preferred not to do it while the house was empty and made odd sounds, he said.
    “All old houses make strange noises,” she told him, trying to reassure him. “Doors bang in the wind, radiators creak and wood settles. It’s just what old houses do.”
    He said he didn’t want to talk about it any more, and decided to go and wait in the kitchen for the Mortons to come home, which they did at teatime, just as it was beginning to get dark. Granny Hughes had emerged from her room, and was back at her post in the kitchen, fretting that the whole family would be lost if they stayed out much longer. Lettuce the rabbit was still hopping about the worktop, which seemed to put Granny into an even worse temper.
    “Be blessed if I don’t cook that rabbit one day, by mistake,” she muttered under her breath, wiping down the counter where the rabbit had just walked. “Wretched thing! It’ll begiving us all E. Coli, so it will.” Worry was fraying her nerves.
    At last there came the sound of skis clattering in the boot room, and doors banging. Mrs Morton appeared, her cheeks crimson with exertion.
    “Well, that was quite something,” she breathed ecstatically, wrestling herself out of her padded jacket. “Didn’t get as far as the village though. Bit too far.”
    Samuel watched them enviously, wondering what it would be like to be part of a “team” or “clan,” with numbers on your side, instead of just him and his mum. He wished now he’d agreed to borrow a pair of skis and go with them, instead of staying at Dunadd to draw his stupid map.
    “It was great fun,” Sebastian enthused, which only made Samuel feel worse.
    “Maybe next time you can come with us?” Mrs Morton suggested.
    “I can’t ski,” Samuel reminded her.
    “We can teach you. It’s all a matter of confidence and trust.”
    “Or falling over on your backside and maybe breaking a leg,” Charles added.
    Mrs Morton shot him a sharp look.
    He ignored her and flopped into the nearest chair. “I’m dying of hunger,” he groaned.
    Granny fetched them something to eat, and suddenly the