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Kelly blinked.

‘In fact,’ Glynnis added casually, ‘there are several of them here right now.’

Kelly’s blood ran cold. She nearly dropped the tray carrying the pumpkin pie.

‘I can’t … see anyone,’ she said.

‘You can’t see ultraviolet light,’ Glynnis replied, ‘but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there.’

‘Can you see them?’

Glynnis smiled mysteriously. ‘That would be telling, wouldn’t it?’

She nodded towards one of the chairs.

‘You sit down here while I fetch the stew.’

‘No, no, no,’ Kelly said quickly. ‘I’ll help carry things.’

‘Don’t worry, dear,’ Glynnis assured her. ‘They won’t harm you. They’re very interested to meet you.’

With that, she disappeared back towards the house, sliding the door closed behind her.

Kelly remained frozen where she stood.

The room suddenly seemed very quiet.

And, apparently, very crowded.

‘Hello, everyone,’ she said eventually, feeling utterly ridiculous. ‘My name’s Kelly. Please don’t steal my soul. I’m just passing through.’

She hesitated.

‘Also … you wouldn’t happen to know whether Jack Mellion is still in the village?’

Another pause.

‘Or whether … Edward Dawkins likes me?’

A faint breeze rustled somewhere behind her, despite all the doors being shut.

Kelly could have sworn she heard a snigger.

Then the summer house door slid open, making Kelly jump. Glynnis appeared, carrying the stew pot, and from the grin on her face, Kelly wondered how much Glynnis had overheard.

The food was exquisite, its exceptional taste urging Kelly to stuff herself far beyond what she had felt capable of. By the time Glynnis went to retrieve the profiteroles from the fridge, Kelly felt barely able to get out of the chair.

Up until now, their conversation had, for the most part, been lighthearted, with Kelly keen to wait for the right moment to ask Glynnis what she knew about the strange goings-on around the village. Instead, Glynnis—like a long-lost great aunt—had wanted to grill her on her love life. They had spent a good twenty minutes dissecting Kelly’s failed relationship with Barry while assessing what Kelly was looking for in a possible suitor.

She tried not to give a direct description of Edward Dawkins. Although, whenever Glynnis pressed her on such things as build, eye color, and hairstyle, even down to the timbre of his voice, Kelly found herself picking attributes that perfectly suited Edward. At one point, when Glynnis had asked her to give a physical description of what her ideal man looked like, she had picked up a sketchpad and begun sketching while Kelly spoke.

Concerned that her description was getting a little too close to Edward, Kelly added in the most unattractive additional features she could think of, which happened to be a mullet, followed by a handlebar moustache. When Glynnis revealed her drawing, Kelly was shocked by the old woman’s skill, and questioned why Glynnis was working in a small village museum rather than being an artist of some kind.

‘It’s the arthritis, dear. My hands start to ache after an hour or so. I do have a decent portfolio stashed away somewhere, though. I’ll leave it all to Brian when I die, and hopefully it’ll make him rich.’

‘That drawing is amazing.’

Glynnis turned it around and tilted her head as she perused it. ‘It’s not bad, is it? It’s a shame about the mullet and the moustache. Otherwise, he’d look just like Edward Dawkins.’