i feel a shudder echo through me and through the room. instead of the impact i am anticipating, i sense instead what seems like a whisper, like something threading itself through me. i look down and there is a vague wisp of luminous light, but apart from that there is nothing there.

i scream again. "harriet," i yell. "harriet, what's going on, where are you?"

i turn and see harriet, standing behind me, eyes fixed incomprehendingly on the stairs. the little girl appears to float up them and out, into the dark and lifeless night, still screaming and wailing, leaving behind her a trail of misery and despair.

"what in the hell was that?" i ask harriet, the hair on the back of my neck standing straight out.

"i don't know. and i don't think i want to." she says, her voice trembling. harriet shines her torch on the dirt floor as we slowly walk further towards the rear of the room. "no footprints, carlee; no blood either."

"god, harriet, she was a ghost."

"well, an apparition at any rate." she says. she flashes the torch around the room, alighting on cobwebbed corners unseen for god knows how many years, disturbing spiders and interfering with the mouldering process of neglect which had continued unabated for decades. "it would be a complicated stunt, carlee, but she may have been a hologram," she explains. "someone would have had to spend a lot of time setting it up, though." she looks like sherlock holmes, as she peers into the dark recesses of the room, frowning and probing and examining.

"now which of the dickheads you've met would have sense enough to create something like that? jim bob, jason, issy?"

"j.p., carlee, or even murphy, i don't know, i'm just suggesting."

"harriet, the power of christ is compelling me, i'll be right back."

i rush back upstairs, into the storm-tossed night, and relieve myself of four pounds of water: in my desparation, i'm fortunate it isn't running down my legs before i get settled. girls look so ridiculous when they pee outdoors, and i would as soon have my father catch me naked than harriet see me in this position. god, that's better, though, the relief.

harriet is digging, i can hear the sound of her shovel wafting up the stairs. i carefully descend once more, and see harriet crouched on the dirt, scraping furiously at it.

"find anything?"

"no, nothing, this is a dead end, the ground is as hard as a teenager's prick and other than our screaming friend, there's nothing here." as if to taunt harriet for her glib assertion, at that instant we hear a vibrating sound, low and eery, coming from outside. tossing caution aside, we dash up the stairs again. as we do so, i see a light in a large out-building behind the house.

"do you see that?"

"yes, i do. what the hell is it?" harriet answers.

"could it be the child?"

"i hope not."

the building is squat and stone-built, dilapidated like the rest of the place, but somehow it seems to have its own energy, a lifeforce unique to itself. it is an anonymous looking building, unassuming and plain, and yet it screams at you, warning you that looks are deceptive, that something is not quite as it should be. the vibrating sound is definitely emanating from it, and there is an electric light pulsing within, intermittent and very dim. a loud clap of thunder startles both of us, presaging a sudden downpour, and indeed it immediately starts to rain harder, the drops landing plump and warm on our skin.

harriet and i run towards the building. the light subsides, dropping to a ghostly, pallid hue, and then disappearing altogether. my heart is pounding, heavy and loud in my chest, as we enter very slowly. it is dead still. harriet shines the flashlight all around, creating flickering arabesques on the walls, crazed and manic shapes flitting in and out of our eyesight, dancing to the tune of harriet's torch.

"wait!" i cry. "up!"

meat hooks, dozens of them, everywhere. they glint in the light of harriet's torch, implacable and resolute, horribly definite, sharp and irregular. i shiver instinctively and look away. the floor is slanted, making it look like some mad film set: i expect doctor caligari to appear any moment. as harriet scans the flashlight around, flicking over the walls and down onto the floor, it becomes clear that the center of the room is at the lowest point. as we approach the center, we see a drain.

"what is this place, carlee?"

"an old slaughter house, i think." the building is divided into cubicles. each has its own purpose: holding cube, killing cube, dressing cube and so on. the drain in the center, where we are now standing, is for disposal of the blood. outside, the rain is falling dreadfully, hammering on the flat roof of the building as though demanding entrance, and the lightning and thunder is relentless. an oppressive, humid heat overtakes us, and the smell of the rain, washing up the accumulated dirt and detritus of the day, assails our nostrils.

"and i left my £1000 a month flat in kensington to be in weaver morgan's slaughterhouse on halloween." harriet says, her voice very low key. i put my arms around her and kiss her on the cheek.

"but, you're with me, love." harriet smiles, for the first time in a long while.

"we need to find a bone, carlee. for the challenge."

we leave the slaughter house and take turns digging outside. the rain has calmed some, but we are soaking wet.

"when we find our bone harriet, we'll go back to my place and open a bottle of strawberry hill."

"what's that." she asks, still digging relentlessly in the mud.

"a very fine american wine." i answer.

"great. what year?"

"probably day before yesterday, but it's really good." we smile at each other.

"you should have brought a bottle with you."

harriet continues to wield her shovel like she's digging for gold in the yukon, and as she drives it into the ground once more the metal catches on something solid, and a rifling crack resounds around the clearing.

"what's that?"

"i'm not sure, carlee, something solid though."

"sounded like a bone."

"maybe." she digs faster, and in our haste to get at it, we both begin to scratch at the ground with our hands. mud oozes under our nails, cloying and insistent, the odor fetid. we feel something solid, something square, and scrape feverishly in an attempt to dislodge it. finally we manage to pull it clear of the ground, and harriet grasps it in her hand. it is a metal chest, a treasure chest, a child's toy. it is black and muddy, after its burial in the ground, and is about six inches across and four inches deep.

"is it locked?" i ask.

"difficult to open, i'm not sure." harriet answers. she tries to prise the top open, her long fingers gripping it tightly, joints locked, the muscles in her arm prominent with the strain. finally, the top flies open and after a pause, harriet shines the flashlight on it. inside, we see a typical collection of children's "treasure": an old watch, a couple of marbles, a photograph and a piece of paper. she hands me the watch, an old ingersol, while she studies the photo.

"what is it, harriet?" i ask.

"the morgan family, i suppose." she hands the photo to me and shines the light on it. yes, it is the whole clan. god, weaver morgan was the essence of evil. some people simply radiate hatred and contempt for others. it is something to do with their eyes, i think, they can never conceal the depth of their loathing, for themselves and for everyone else.

the picture is a typical 1930s style family gathering. poor people, but dressed in their sunday finest, putting on a show for the world. i am about to pass it back to harriet when suddenly my attention is drawn to one of the children, and my heart leaps in my chest.

"look harriet, the little girl, second from the end." i can hardly control my voice in my excitement.

"jesus, it's her, carlee!" we look at one another, immobile through shock. there is no question, the little girl in the picture, dressed in her fine skirt and black boots, is none other than the fearsome and fearful apparition we had seen in the basement earlier. she is smiling broadly, a mischievous grin lighting up her face, in stark contrast to the others in the photo, who have stern, serious expressions and rigid stances. she looks adorable, beautiful and cute, and my heart sinks when i contemplate the vision we had of her earlier, agonised and pitiful, tormented and alone. i'm too upset to continue, and i can find no words to express my emotions, so i walk away for a moment, heading towards the main house, my mind racing and my heart pounding.

harriet follows me a minute or so later, with a piece of paper in her hand: the paper from the child's treasure chest, i suppose. i had forgotten about it. she holds it in the air and shines the torch on it, and i read it.

"god help all of us" it says.

"what does that mean, do you think?" harriet asks.

"love, i have no idea. but we have to keep digging." i am suddenly convinced, and i have no idea why, that there is something to be found here, a story waiting to be told, a wrong which needs to be righted. i feel a curious connection with the little girl, and a warmth and affection for her which is quite ridiculous, but which i can't deny. we return to our spot and continue digging, faster than before. we become almost manic in our activity, furiously sawing at the ground, stabbing it and assaulting it, launching our shovels in unison. another flash of lightning lights the whole sky, so close we can almost hear it fizzing, and it casts a hazy, golden light on the clearing around us.

"look!" harriet says, pointing towards the trees. i follow her arm and see it. something decomposed, a solid, but putrefying mass, about thirty feet from us, poking out of which, clearly visible, are a series of bones.

"what is it?" i ask. harriet fixes me with one of her english looks, as if to say "how the hell do i know?" and we walk towards it, staying close to one another for mutual support.

"the power of christ, maybe?" she smiles grimly.

the thing looks to be a month or so old, with the tendons rotting and the bones beginning to separate.

"stinks," i say.

"shit, just grab one, carlee, one that looks vaguely human. we'll clean it up with strawberry hill." with the rain washing over me, and the thunder and lighting persisting all around, with the experience in the basement, and the ominous, passionless sight of the slaughterhouse, with the discovery of the little girl's chest, the little girl we had seen earlier, in such different, painful circumstances, that sounds like a very good idea to me. i have had enough of this place. i choose a large leg-looking bone. god, it is horrible, nearly all bone, but with remnants of flesh and tendon hanging from it, the final vestiges of the creature - or person - it was, a hideous reminder of the way of all flesh. maggots swarm over it, oozing and melding against the stark white of the bone and the putrid, formless yellow of the tatters of flesh clinging to it. they appear to make the dead living, and that is their horror, the way they make the lifeless appear animate. the smell would knock down a butcher, rank, heaving and hideous. it looks like it had been a goat, but i'm not sure. and right now, i don't care.

the rain starts to beat harder against us, and harriet looks like a drowned pup. so do i, i suppose; i certainly feel like one.

"we've got to find something to wrap this up in, harriet. i don't want that damned thing in my trunk." we look around, but can't find anything, and our spirits, now that the excitement of the evening is over, begin to drop.

and then we hear it. a voice, a deep, looming, booming voice, coming from morgan weaver's house. we can't make out a word, the rain prevents us understanding anything with any clarity, but from the cadence, the rhythm, the rise and fall of his voice, he is quoting something. christ knows what.

"fuck it." i say. "let's get the hell out of here!" sliding on the mud, we run towards the car, the cavalcade of events from the evening whizzing through my mind. i fancy, as i pass the house, that i see a shape in the doorway, but it's probably just my imagination. please, sweet jesus, let it just be my imagination...

"just get the hell out of here!" i yell as we run to the car. "and don't drop that bone!!!"