All that evening Aunt Lilian appeared distracted. Twice Aveline saw her visibly twitch – once when a log burst and spat in the fire, and again when Aveline accidentally banged her tea mug down too hard on the table. Normally her aunt sat as still and as rigid as a statue.

But it wasn’t just Aunt Lilian that seemed jumpy. The whole house felt unnaturally tense, like a simmering pan coming slowly to the boil. Usually Charlie dozed peacefully in front of the fire, but tonight even he seemed restless, too. Every now and then he would whine softly, unable to settle into his regular routine. If she’d been at home, Aveline would have put some music on, but she didn’t dare suggest that here. Something told her that Aunt Lilian wouldn’t share her taste in music.

As the evening wore on, the tension became almost unbearable. Her aunt began knitting, the clack-clack-clack of the needles like a ticking clock. Aveline stared at her phone, picked up her book, put it down, played with her hair. She couldn’t relax. The diary and its unnerving contents played on her mind. She found herself glancing occasionally into the corners of the room, convinced that she’d seen something move. She knew she would read the diary to the end. She’d come too far to stop. Only she wanted to wait until her aunt had gone to bed. This felt like a private affair between herself and Primrose. Part of her wished she’d never picked it up. Or the book of ghost stories. They appeared to be leading her to a place she wasn’t wholly sure she wanted to go.

Just as Aveline felt a yawn coming on, they heard a series of thumps make their way across the ceiling. A thin drizzle of dust drifted slowly down to the floor from the overhead light.

In her short time here, Aveline had heard the house make some pretty odd noises – popping and banging and wheezing as the temperature changed and pipes warmed and cooled. She’d seen that the house was old, but even so.

This sound was unmistakeable.

Footsteps.

“Did you hear that?” Aveline whispered.

Aunt Lilian paused before answering, as if considering how to respond. “Yes. As I said to you before, the house is old and somewhat eccentric.”

Something in her tone suggested fear, despite her rational explanation. And there was no doubt in Aveline’s mind that the noise had been footsteps. In truth, nobody could have entered the house without them seeing or hearing anything. That left only one explanation, as far as she could see.

The house was haunted.

That would certainly explain the weird happenings she’d experienced. But she didn’t have the courage to suggest anything of the sort to her aunt, who’d already made her feelings known on the subject of the supernatural. Yet, with the handprint on the window and now this, the longer Aveline stayed, the more she became convinced that it wasn’t just the two of them living here.

Aveline excused herself and her aunt decided to go to bed, too. Normally Aunt Lilian would stay up late, but tonight Aveline felt relieved that she’d have someone to go upstairs with. The lights didn’t quite reach to the top of the staircase.

Aunt Lilian clicked off the lamps and placed the guard in front of the fire. Reluctantly, Charlie left his warm spot in front of the fireplace and trotted into the kitchen, before curling up in his basket. When her aunt locked the back door, Aveline noticed she tugged on the door handle three or four times to check that it was secure.

“Aunt Lilian, I saw that picture on the wall earlier, the old one of the house – where did you get it?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think I found it in the attic. Lots of junk up there. Anyway, come on, let’s get to bed.”

At the top of the stairs, both of them paused.

“Well, goodnight then,” Aunt Lilian said. “Don’t forget, I’m just across the landing if you need me.”

It seemed an odd thing to say, almost as if Aunt Lilian could sense Aveline’s growing nervousness about the house and its quirks. But it did have the effect of making Aveline feel a little less uneasy. After hearing her aunt’s bedroom door close, Aveline grabbed the diary and jumped into bed. This was it. The moment she’d been both dreading and excited about. Pulling the sheets up to her chin, Aveline ran her hand over the cover of the book, the sense of anticipation almost unbearable. Did Primrose have any inkling of what was about to happen to her? And was there more to her disappearance than simply sleepwalking? Swallowing hard, Aveline opened the diary. There were only a few pages left and the entries were still short. It felt like time was running out, as if Primrose were struggling against something unseen.

Hello, Diary, I hope you’re feeling better than I am. I’m having trouble sleeping at night. No more nightmares, thankfully, but I can’t stop thinking about that lady from my dream. She was just someone in an old story at first, but I can’t help thinking that by reading about her, I’ve somehow made her real. I’m afraid to go to sleep. I’ve got bags under my eyes and keep yawning at school. My teacher even noticed and asked if I was okay. I’ve got a confession to make, too. Promise you won’t tell anyone? I scribbled out that story in the book that’s been creeping me out so much. I hope it’ll make me forget about the creepy lady. I feel bad but it’s my book and I don’t want anyone else to read that story in case the same thing happens to them and they start seeing people that aren’t really there, too.

Finally, Aveline had her answer.

She understood now why Primrose had done it. While frustrated at being denied a chance to read the story for herself, Aveline felt desperately sorry for her friend from the past. Imagine being that afraid of a story…

Aveline realized that this was proof Harold had been right about the pen, too. She needed to let him know that his suspicions had been correct – credit where credit was due. His talents obviously extended beyond setting the world record for Number of Chips Stuffed in a Single Mouth.

Lowering her head, she read on, eager to see what else she could learn.

Dear Diary, I thought there was someone in the house this evening when I got home. Mum and Dad had gone out to pick Kevin up from football. The front door was wide open and the house stank like a fishing boat. I didn’t go in and waited in the front garden until they came home. Dad went in and checked, but there was nobody there. He said they might have forgotten to close the door because they were late and in a rush. Doesn’ t explain the smell though. It reminded me of what the harbour smells like after a storm, when all the driftwood and rubbish gets washed up on the beach. All those horrible scarecrows around town are getting on my nerves too. What’s that all about anyway? Dad says it’s just some crazy local Halloween thing, but why would you want to put a load of scarecrows up that look like sick kids? Dad asked if we wanted to make one but I told him no way. It’s stupid and creepy.

Aveline chewed on her bottom lip, Primrose’s fear leaking out of the diary like a trail of black smoke. So the scarecrows happened every year. That was interesting. It was also another thing that she and Primrose agreed on – they were unsettling, to say the least. Aveline hadn’t forgotten her two creepy scarecrow neighbours only a few hundred metres away. Burrowing down under the covers as far as she could go, Aveline turned the page.

Dear Diary, someone sat down on my bed in the middle of the night. I woke up but there was nobody there. But I don’ t think I dreamed it. I felt a real heavy weight and there was that weird smell again. It’s hard to describe how I feel, but it’s like being chased, only you can’ t see who’s chasing you. I tried to talk to Kelly about it, but she said I was imagining things. I’m not though. You believe me, don’ t you?

By now, Aveline wanted to take the diary back to the bookshop and bury it in the box where they’d found it. At first it had been fascinating. Now it was quickly becoming terrifying, but she couldn’t stop. She had to get to the end.

Dear Diary, today I think I saw a ghost. The same woman who I dreamed about. She was standing on the beach as we were walking home from school. She had long black hair and looked dirty, like she hadn’t eaten or washed for a long time. Just standing there in the water. I grabbed Kelly and pointed to the beach, but I swear as soon as Kelly looked, the woman wasn’t there any longer. I didn’t imagine it though. Or maybe I did. I don’t know – it feels like I’m going crazy. I’m scared. I’ve always wanted to see a ghost, but when you actually see one for real it’s not like you expect. It’s horrible and freaky and the worst thing is that nobody believes you.

A dog barked in the night. Aveline stared nervously at the window. The curtains moved slightly, blown by an invisible breath.

Dear Diary, didn’ t go to school today. Stayed in bed. I don’ t want to go outside in case I see that lady again, but I don’t want to stay home either. It’s Halloween tomorrow and some of my friends have asked me if I’m going out but I can’t face it. I donn’ t know what to do. Maybe if I just try and stop thinking about her she’ll go away, but I’m not sure that’ll do the trick. Because I think I’ve worked out who the lady is and, if I’m right, she’s been coming to Malmouth for a very long time now and isn’ t about to stop. The worst thing is, I think I know what she wants too.

She wants me.

It was the final entry.

Frantically, Aveline flicked through the rest of the diary, but the remaining pages were blank. She reread the last entries. So Primrose believed she was being haunted by a lady she’d read about in the ghost book. It seemed too crazy to be true, but what other explanation was there for the things she’d experienced?

The really uncanny thing was, tomorrow would be the anniversary of Primrose’s disappearance.

Halloween.

Aveline had read Primrose’s final diary entry on the same day of the year that it had been written. Also, if Primrose had believed – rightly or wrongly – that someone or something was after her, then it seemed more than just a coincidence that she went missing shortly after.

Poor Primrose.

She’d tried to do everything she could to help not only herself, but others, too, by scribbling out that story.

If only she hadn’t deleted the one clue that might help solve the mystery of her disappearance.

The next morning, as Aveline debated what to do about the diary’s unsettling revelations, she heard a knock on the front door. Aunt Lilian was upstairs in the bathroom, so reluctantly she went to answer it.

Harold was huddled on the doorstep, rubbing his hands. The tip of his nose and cheeks glowed a frosty pink. Surprise registered on his face as he glanced up and saw Aveline frowning at him.

“What are you doing here?” he said.

“I’m staying here, what’s your excuse?” Aveline replied.

“With Ms Jones? Oh. I didn’t know. I’m…um…here for a lesson.”

Aveline couldn’t help but laugh. “You have private lessons with my aunt?”

For once Harold seemed stuck for a smart answer. The rest of his face reddened and he nodded. As soon as she saw him blush, Aveline regretted laughing. Hurriedly, she replaced her smile with a more serious expression.

“I mean, my aunt is an excellent teacher, I know she only takes on really smart pupils.”

This seemed to do the trick and Harold shrugged his shoulders, as if silently conceding that, yes, he was indeed very smart.

“Did you find anything in that creepy diary then?” Harold said as she led him into the kitchen and called her aunt down. Aveline held a finger to her lips and motioned in Aunt Lilian’s direction. For the moment she wanted to keep it a secret, just in case it proved to be unrelated to Primrose’s disappearance.

“Yes, I did actually,” Aveline whispered. “Primrose admitted crossing out that story in my book.”

“Ha! Told you, didn’t I?” Harold said loudly.

“Shush!” Aveline said, as Harold didn’t seem to grasp what a finger held against the lips meant. “That’s not all either. You wouldn’t believe some of the things she wrote in there. She thought that—”

“Hello, Harold, you’re early for once,” Aunt Lilian said, entering the kitchen. “You should have warned me, I could have died from shock.”

“Hello, Ms Jones,” Harold mumbled, glancing nervously at Aveline as if checking that she wasn’t laughing. She wasn’t. In fact she felt relieved that it wasn’t just her who seemed a little anxious in her aunt’s presence.

As Aunt Lilian led him into the living room, he turned back to Aveline and hissed loudly, “I want to know what you found. Wait for me, I won’t be long. You’ll need my help again.”

Once he’d gone Aveline rolled her eyes, but knew it would be useful to discuss her discoveries with him – after all, he’d been helpful once already.

It turned out to be almost an hour before he appeared again. Aveline told her aunt she was going with Harold to get some fresh air, then they walked slowly along the seafront, which gave Aveline the opportunity to update him on what she’d found.

“Do you think we should tell the police?” she said.

The wind whipped Harold’s fringe, making his long hair swirl in every direction like he’d been trapped in a tumble dryer. Cursing, he angrily swept it aside.

“What, tell them that the girl who disappeared thought she saw a ghost? Yeah, great idea, I’m sure they’ll be really interested in investigating that.”

The maddening thing about Harold, Aveline decided, was that he would often make a good point, only to spoil it by saying it in a really sarcastic tone of voice. About to snap back at him, she followed the advice that her mum had given her once and took a deep breath before replying. It seemed to do the trick.

“We don’t need to mention that part,” Aveline said, as calmly as she could. “But we do need to let them know about the diary. There might be stuff in there that helps the investigation. Do you know where the police station is?”

“Yeah, but you can do the talking. I don’t want them thinking I believe in all this ghost stuff, too.”

As they reached the end of the beach road, Aveline gasped and pointed. “Look!”

A large porcelain doll had been hung outside one of the houses on a length of rope. It pirouetted slowly and sinisterly around in the breeze, its glassy eyes and crafty smile making it appear as if it knew a secret about them. Aveline couldn’t stand to look at it for long. It hung there like a whispered threat.

“Ugh, what is it with the people in this town?” she exclaimed. “There are two scarecrows down where my aunt lives and now this. Hasn’t anybody told you lot that you’re supposed to put out pumpkins and plastic skeletons on Halloween?”

“I didn’t make the rules,” Harold said, throwing up his arms in a show of innocence. “But I suppose it is a bit creepy to an outsider.”

“But you do go out trick-or-treating?”

“No. The streets are even more deserted on Halloween. I told you this town was dead.”

Aveline’s mouth dropped open. “What, even the little kids don’t get dressed up? Do you know why everyone’s so weird about it here?”

“No idea. They all dress up as lobsters on the first of May and push each other around in wheelbarrows, too, and I don’t know why they do that either.”

Aveline laughed, sneaking a sideways glance at Harold, though all she could see was hair. “Primrose thought it was really creepy, too, you know.”

“What’s that?”

“Oh, just something Primrose wrote in her diary. She said the scarecrows looked like a bunch of sick kids.”

Harold snorted. “I’d say she was right about that. Now you know why all the tourists leave at the end of summer.”

It only took a couple of minutes to reach the police station, a small building set back from the high street with a solitary patrol car parked outside. Inside, there was a waiting room and a counter with a glass window, alongside an invitation to ring the bell for assistance. While Harold skulked behind her, looking uncomfortable, Aveline banged the palm of her hand down on it a few times, like she’d seen people do in films.

“Yes, can I help you?”

The woman behind the counter wore normal clothes and a stern expression that suggested she didn’t appreciate being summoned by a fidgety girl with messy hair and big glasses. Sensing she needed to be quick, Aveline placed the diary on the counter and got straight down to it.

“Hello, we’ve found this diary. It belonged to a girl called Primrose Penberthy. She went missing. I thought you might want to look at it.”

A brief look of surprise flickered across the woman’s face. Obviously she’d been expecting them to report a cat stuck up a tree or a stolen bicycle. You couldn’t treat a missing person case lightly.

“Could you tell me the name of the missing girl again please?” the woman said.

“Primrose Penberthy,” Aveline replied. “P-E-N—”

“It’s okay, I know how to spell it, it’s a common enough name around these parts,” the woman said, a little curtly. “And do you know when Primrose was first reported missing?”

“The thirty-first of October,” Aveline confirmed.

“Last year?”

“No, the thirty-first of October 1984.”

The woman laid her pen down and frowned at Aveline. “1984?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. I see.”

Aveline could sense the woman’s relief. In a matter of moments, this had gone from a potentially urgent situation to a couple of amateur detectives investigating a case that was over thirty years old.

Panic over.

“And what is it in the diary that makes you think the police need to look at it?”

“Someone was after her,” Aveline blurted out. “I mean, she thought someone was after her, and I think it’s connected to a story in a book I’m reading, but I can’t be sure because it’s crossed out.”

“And who did she think was after her?” the woman pressed.

“I don’t know exactly, but I think it might have been a ghost.”

Behind her, Harold coughed loudly.

“Um…or maybe she’d just imagined it,” Aveline added. “But it sounded very much like a ghost to me, because I’ve read a lot about them.”

She turned and glared at Harold, who swiped his finger across his throat while hurriedly shaking his head in a no-no-no-don’t-say-anything-more-about-ghosts gesture. But the cat was out of the bag. Aveline hadn’t intended to mention anything supernatural and cursed inwardly. The disdain on the woman’s face was plain to see and Harold wouldn’t be able to resist saying I told you so.

“Well, thank you both for bringing this…matter to our attention,” the woman said. “I’ll pass your information on to the duty sergeant and they’ll contact you if they have any further questions.”

“Should I leave the diary with you?” Aveline asked.

“No, but if you could leave me a contact phone number where we can get hold of you, along with your name and address…”

A few minutes later, Aveline and Harold walked despondently out of the station. Aveline knew she’d made a hash of things, but thought their discovery would have generated a little more excitement. The police didn’t even want to see the diary. Perhaps sensing her frustration, Harold had wisely decided not to crow about it.

They paused to stare at some fudge in one of the many ice-cream shops that did a roaring trade in the tourist season before switching to a rather sad and lonely existence. It wasn’t really ice-cream weather. The Closed sign on the door told them business wasn’t exactly booming.

“I think it’s safe to say we won’t hear from them again,” Aveline said.

“Nope, reckon you’re right.”

“But I do think Primrose saw a ghost. She didn’t think anyone would ever read her diary, so why bother making stuff up?”

“Maybe,” Harold said, chewing on a nail. “But lots of people think they see ghosts. Doesn’t mean they’re real.”

“I think it was real to her. That’s all that matters. Same as when you’re young and you think there are monsters under the bed. They’re not real either, but it doesn’t stop you being terrified. I mean, if she thought a ghost was after her, she could have been running away from it and fallen into the sea. That’s possible, isn’t it?”

Harold pursed his lips. “Who knows?”

“Well if we can find out what that last story was about in my book, then maybe we’ll know?”

Not waiting to see if Harold followed her, Aveline headed towards the one place where they might find answers.

Somehow, she needed to discover more about the story of The Lady in the Waves.

And going back to the bookshop seemed as good a place as any to begin.