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“Oh sorry.” I stare down at the stones, and that’s when I see it. It’s at the back almost hidden by the others—a long, flat stone. “Is that my cottage?” I exclaim.

“Yes, it is. You like that one?”

“It’s lovely.” The cottage has been painted in the summer, and the artist has captured the glory of a cottage garden in full bloom. A figure is depicted in one of the windows. “Who is that?” I ask.

“Ah, I do not know,” he says. “Mayhap it was a former inhabitant. It is, after all, a cottage with a lot of history.” He clicks his tongue. “Reach out and take it, Mr Black. That one is yours.”

I hesitate but when his eyebrow rises, I lose the battle with my manners and hasten to pick it up. “It’s warm,” I say, surprised.

He gives me a crooked smile. “Is it?”

I stare down at the stone. “Yes. Shouldn’t it be cold?”

“Not this one.” He nods at me. “Well, I think I will be seeing more of you.”

I blink. I’m so intent on the stone that the words seem to travel from a long way away. “You will?”

His smile is very wide now, his eyes dark and fathomless. “Oh yes.”

I slip the stone into my pocket, and I think I see triumph pass over his face, but the next second it’s gone. “Goodbye,” I say. “Thank you for the stone.”

As I start to walk away, he calls after me, “I’ll know you the next time I see you.” I pick up my pace, waving my hand at him without turning around. “Say hello to your husband.”

I’m shivering by the time I reach the cottage. The rain is so heavy now that my hair is plastered to my head, my clothes soaked through and clinging clammily to me. I look back at the spot where the man had been. It’s empty.

“Weird,” I say under my breath and then climb the steps to the cottage. Inside, it’s cool, the heater not on yet. I hasten to switch it on. I was intending to have a quick shower, but I’ve changed my mind. There’s a huge cast iron bath in our en suite and I’m going to have a nice long soak.

I make my way upstairs and after starting the bath, I add some of the bath salts from a green glass jar, inhaling the scent of lavender and eucalyptus. Then I strip off my clothes and throw them on the chair. I poke my head around the bedroom door, but Blue is still asleep, only the top of his blond head showing over the mass of covers. I shiver in the cold air and hasten back to the bathroom.

The bath has filled, and I slip into the water, giving a loud sigh of contentment as the water warms my cold toes and fingers and eases my muscles.

The wind howls outside the window, rattling the glass and making the blinds bang against the frame. I add a bit more hot water and lie back. It’s cosy and quiet in here.

I lose myself to relaxation for some time and come to awareness when I hear a faint sound, almost like a whisper. I glance at the door, but no one’s there. Then I hear it again—another soft murmur of voices. I listen intently. Blue must have put on the radio downstairs.

“Are you finally awake, sleepyhead?” I shout. “I’ve been out on a run so the least you can do is bring me a cup of tea.” I brush my fingers through the water idly. “And then we can test whether this bath is really big enough for the both of us.”

There’s no reply, but the voices have stopped so he probably heard me. I ease back and stare up at the beamed ceiling. In the corner, a tiny spider spins its web. I wonder if it was friends with the ones who met their death under our duvet.

I reach for the soap idly, and my eyes widen. The bath salts had made the water a cloudy white, but a strand of red has begun to unfurl over my legs. I watch the colour move lazily in the water. Is that blood? I frown. Did I cut myself while running and not realise? It’s happened before.

The strand is getting bigger, the red stain spreading. Within seconds, the bath water is a deep crimson red.

“What the fuck?” I sit up, running my hands down my legs, checking for injuries.

My heart pounds, and my breath huffs out in a panicky moan. What is happening? As I splash around, looking for the drain plug, the water starts to move. And it’s moving strangely—little waves that churn gently from side to side. As I watch, frozen, they churn more forcefully, and suddenly, red water is sluicing over the bath’s sides, splattering onto the tiled floor.

I look around frantically. The bath isn’t moving. There hasn’t been an earth tremor. So, why is the water moving like we’re at sea?

As the thought forms, the scent of salty water fills the room, leaching the sweet muggy warmth from the bath salts. This new smell is rank, like a harbour when the fishing boats come back, and there’s a dank, dead scent that clings to my nostrils.

“How is this happening?” I breathe. The water stops moving as abruptly as if I’d commanded it, and I suck in a startled gulp of air. The water’s calm surface shimmers and, as I blink, the water clears. No milky bath salts. No blood. My heart keeps pounding.

“Blue, can you come up here?” I shout. “Something weird just happened.”

I listen for the sound of his footsteps, but they don’t come. Well, I’m not going to wait. I’m getting out of here. I fasten my hands to the bath’s sides and… freeze.

“What the fuck?” Something is moving. Beneath the bath water, inside the bath. With me.