Primrose stood by the boy scarecrow, her hands tucked in the side pockets of her parka. Drawing one pale hand out, she beckoned Aveline towards it. Despite her fear of the twisted figure that had haunted her thoughts since she’d first seen it, Aveline knew she had no choice and quickly jumped over the garden wall.

Crouching down, she glanced up at the scarecrow with its demented grin. It loomed above her, rain streaming down its crude, lifeless face, so it almost appeared to be crying. Reaching out, Aveline grasped its coarse sleeve and tugged it towards her, grimacing as she did so. For a second it wobbled precariously, and Aveline shut her eyes, expecting it to topple onto her, but it settled itself, still upright. Now it hid her, just about.

Pull your feet in.

The voice could have been Primrose’s, or it might simply have been inside her head, but Aveline obeyed it nonetheless and huddled deeper beneath the embrace of her creepy accomplice. She became aware that Primrose had come to sit beside her.

“You be quiet now. As quiet as the grave,” Primrose whispered.

While she feared whatever had been trying to get into the house, Aveline didn’t feel at all alarmed by Primrose’s presence, which was odd considering she was a ghost, too. Instead she felt comforted. What’s more, Primrose had once been in this exact situation herself. There wasn’t anyone better to have at her side. Glancing down at Primrose’s pale hand, Aveline wondered what would happen if she tried to hold it. Would her hand pass straight through Primrose’s? All the ghosts she’d read about had that kind of transparent quality to them, as if a cloud of mist had been made into the shape of a person. But Primrose looked solid enough. She couldn’t be sure, but she also thought she could see the rise and fall of Primrose’s chest, the girl’s breaths a little panicked and ragged, just like her own.

Suddenly, Primrose stiffened.

“She’s coming,” Primrose said, her words a whisper on the night air.

For a moment, Aveline lost the feeling in her limbs. Her lungs refused to expand. Her heart refused to beat. Fear gripped her in an iron fist.

And over the din of the storm, she heard footsteps.

Not the panicked dash of someone trying to get out of the storm and home to a warm house.

Slow, measured steps, slapping in the water.

Someone searching.

Hunting.

Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, Aveline concentrated on making herself as small and as quiet as possible. In her head, she urged herself to be brave. She regretted leaving the house without a word. Her aunt would be beside herself with worry. She thought of her mum and wished she wasn’t so far away. And Aveline wondered whether she’d soon become like Primrose – here, but not here.

And all the while, the footsteps came closer, until Aveline had to resist the urge to run screaming to the cottage door.

Then the footsteps stopped.

Nails scraped along the top of the stone wall.

The smell of brine and dank rock pools washed over them. Unable to keep her eyes shut a moment longer, Aveline glanced up.

A white hand stretched overhead, merely centimetres away. A tangle of seaweed hung from spiny fingers, the nails splintered like shards of black glass. The hand opened and closed, as if it was breathing.

Or sniffing.

Claw-like, the fingers tried to grip the head of the scarecrow, slipping on its smooth, wet surface. The hand drew back, then tried again, softer this time, letting its nails slide slowly down the plastic face as it searched for something to cling to.

And then, for one awful moment, a pale face loomed into view. The skin was cracked like the surface of an antique vase. Bedraggled strands of the blackest hair hung down like creepers, concealing parts of Cora Poole’s face but not all. Aveline stifled a whimper. Because where there should have been eyes, all she could see were deep, bottomless black holes.

Next came a rasping breath, like a pebble rattling in a dry throat.

Holding her breath until her chest ached, Aveline remained as rigid as the human statues she’d seen, who stood frozen on a plinth with a bucket for loose change placed in front of them.

I’m not going to let her take me.

In her mind she repeated it over and over again, all the while resisting the urge to cry out as those terrible fingernails scrabbled frantically over the surface of the scarecrow’s plastic face, raking it with confused fury.

Suddenly, the hand snatched itself back as if burned, then it flew at lightning speed, swatting the scarecrow’s head clean off its shoulders. It rolled through the wet grass before coming to a halt on the path, where it leered back at Aveline as if this was all part of some hilarious joke.

The shock of seeing the disembodied head made Aveline gasp.

The tiniest breath. Nothing compared to the whirling roar of the storm. Yet loud enough to be heard.

Instantly, she covered her mouth.

Too late.

A gleeful shriek echoed through the night, causing what seemed like every dog in Malmouth to start barking. Then those long fingers scuttled back over the wall like some terrible spider, before reaching down to caress the hairs on Aveline’s head. Their coldness spread through her skull, down into her jaw and then down further still, until her entire body stiffened.

Like a corpse.

“You leave her alone, Cora, she won’t be coming with you tonight.”

In the shock, Aveline had all but forgotten that Primrose sat beside her. Now the girl got to her feet and, for the first time, she drew back her hood. Primrose looked pale, but her black eyes shone and a fragile smile played on her blue lips as she stared defiantly at Cora Poole.

“Don’t worry, Aveline, you’re not going anywhere while I’m here.”

As feeling and warmth rushed back into Aveline’s body, a triumphant screech made her ears ring. Jumping to her feet, she saw Cora had grabbed Primrose and was now dragging her down the beach towards the frothing sea.

It was happening again, just like it had all those years ago.

Cora Poole taking Primrose off to a watery grave. Only this time it was all Aveline’s fault.

And she couldn’t stand it.

Aveline jumped over the garden wall and sprinted towards the beach where the pair of them struggled like a black whirlwind. It was impossible to tell one from the other, so Aveline crept nearer, waiting for the right moment. The wind roared in from offshore to push her back with invisible hands, but she bowed her head and took another step towards the desperate struggle.

“Primrose!” Aveline cried. “Give me your hand!”

“No!” Primrose yelled. “Don’t come any closer!”

Aveline caught sight of Primrose’s face, her features locked into a determined grimace as she grappled with the flailing, ragged figure of Cora Poole. With one almighty heave, Primrose tried to rip herself free of Cora’s grip, but a thin skeletal hand gripped Primrose’s as tightly as a vice, black fingernails digging into pale flesh.

“Run!” Primrose screamed again. “Leave her to me!”

Aveline hesitated. She knew that Primrose was trying to save her. But as much as she wanted to get far away from the grim shade that had once been Cora Poole, she didn’t want to leave alone. If she could only free Primrose, then perhaps the girl might be able to live again? To return from wherever it was that Cora had taken her all those years ago.

Yet, a second later, Aveline knew that delaying had been a mistake.

Possibly the last one she would ever make.

Cora’s hand shot out and dug into her wrist like an icy fishing hook. She felt the sting of brine in her eyes, the taste of something fishy and rotten on her lips, and that paralysing sensation of cold – a deeper more penetrating cold than she’d ever thought possible. Digging her feet deep into the shingle, Aveline fought to anchor herself on shore, but the limpet-like grip on her wrist dragged her forward, a cruel pincer that deadened all the feeling in her arm and drained her spirits. The black waves came closer, roaring now as if eager to swallow all three of them up. Aveline tugged again, sensing that Primrose was trying with all her might to help her get free, yet Cora Poole marched on, eager to return to the sea with her prize, two new daughters to replace the ones she’d lost.

Aveline felt her thoughts drift. She felt sad at not being able to say goodbye. Guilty that her mum and family might not ever know what had happened to her. Her body sagged, her grip on Primrose weakened, and she felt her knees buckle.

And Cora Poole laughed, a joyless chuckle of dark desire.

Then Aveline saw a light in the dark.

A torch, cutting through the night like a long golden sword.

“Hey, what’s going on down there?”

The crunch of footsteps running through the shingle. A shock of hair made crazy by the whirling wind. And then warmth, beautiful warmth, as Harold reached out and grabbed her by the arm. Strength and courage surged into Aveline’s limbs. Her mind cleared and in a single movement she tore herself free from Cora’s flailing fingers, falling back onto hard pebbles. Aveline heard a splash as Cora and Primrose entered the water and she tried to get to her feet again, to launch one more desperate attempt to free Primrose, but Harold hugged her to him.

Cora Poole stood at the water’s edge, one hand still latched onto Primrose, and turned to stare at Aveline. Her mouth opened and she moaned, and in it Aveline heard the desperation of a lost soul. She took a step towards Aveline and stretched out her other hand, as if silently pleading for Aveline to take it. Only now it was Primrose who yanked Cora back towards the sea, their roles reversed. In the same instant, Primrose’s eyes locked onto Aveline’s and she saw the girl with the choppy hair mouth one unmistakeable word.

Run!

Then, locked into their final embrace, they disappeared beneath the black waves.

“Primrose!” Aveline cried.

But her only answer was the pounding surf on the shore.

Harold helped Aveline to her feet and together they stumbled back towards the safety of the path. Aveline looked at Harold, his wet hair plastered to his face, and could see only fear, his eyes wide with shock and confusion.

“What was that all about?” he gasped. “It looked like someone was dragging you into the water.”

Aveline didn’t have the strength to reply.

Cora Poole had gone. She was safe. But Primrose had gone, too, which made her want to cry out in anger and grief. In a short time, she’d made and lost a friend. Her only comfort while fleeing Cora Poole had been knowing she wasn’t alone, that Primrose had come to help. Part of her had also hoped to find some way of bringing Primrose back from whatever cold place the lady in the waves had taken her to. But finally she had to accept that her friend had gone.

Maybe for ever.

Pulling off his rain jacket, Harold draped it around her shoulders. “Here, put this on.”

“Harold, where did you come from? Did you see…anyone?” Aveline stammered.

“I heard something, but I don’t know what exactly – this storm makes everything sound peculiar,” Harold said hastily, though Aveline noticed how his hands shook as he used the torch to guide them back towards Aunt Lilian’s house. “And then I saw you at the water’s edge, looking like you were about to go for a swim, only…there was this strange black fog wrapped around you. It was really weird.”

“What are you doing here anyway?” Aveline said. “I thought you said you were staying home?”

“Oh, I just thought it’d be cool to take a walk out in the storm, you know, see how high the waves were,” he said, a little evasively. “What were you doing out here?”

Aveline shook her head and sniffed. “I was with a friend, she was trying to help me.”

She didn’t have the energy to tell Harold everything right now, and although he screwed up his face, he didn’t ask any more questions.

As they approached the house, an ashen-faced Aunt Lilian ran down the road to greet them, folding Aveline up in the tightest of hugs.

“Oh, Aveline, thank goodness. When I finally got the lights working I came back up and you were gone. I’ve been searching high and low for you, I thought you were hiding in a cupboard somewhere. What are you and Harold doing out here in this horrible storm?”

Aveline and Harold exchanged a nervous glance, but neither of them offered an explanation and thankfully Aunt Lilian seemed more concerned with getting them out of the rain.

After guiding Aveline gently back to the house, Aunt Lilian made her and Harold sit in front of the fire and wrapped towels around their shoulders, before going off to make them some hot chocolate.

“It was her, wasn’t it?” Harold whispered, staring at the floor as if unwilling to see Aveline’s reaction. “Cora Poole.”

“Yes,” Aveline replied, without hesitation. “I couldn’t make the scarecrow in time, but Primrose came to help me.”

“Primrose?” Now Harold did stare. “Primrose Penberthy?”

Aveline smiled to herself. “Yes,” she said quietly. “She saved me.”

“Harold,” Aunt Lilian said, coming in with a steaming tray of cocoa. “I’ve called your uncle and he’s coming to pick you up in a minute. I’ll leave you to explain why you’re wet through.”

As promised, Mr Lieberman arrived shortly after. Aveline saw her aunt whisper something to him by the doorway, before she led him in.

“Thank you for looking after this drenched rascal, Lilian,” Mr Lieberman said. “I’ll get him home and into a warm bed. Aveline, I suspect you’ll be wanting to do the same.”

Once they’d gone, and Aveline had dried out a bit, Aunt Lilian crouched in front of her.

“What happened? When I came back up, the doors were all open and the house was filled with the most pungent smell of seaweed. It smelled like a group of fishmongers had just finished having a meeting.”

Aveline couldn’t help but laugh. Wiping her nose, she told her aunt all that had happened. Or what she thought had happened. She didn’t even stop to worry whether Aunt Lilian would believe her. It was the truth, after all. But her aunt didn’t interrupt, or question her, or even raise her eyebrows.

“You know Primrose isn’t really gone, don’t you?” she said at last, once Aveline had finished. “You may not be able to see her any more, but you’ll think about her and remember her and that’s what really matters. I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

Aveline nodded, nudging a tear away with her knuckle. “That’s okay.”

“You know, how about this, Aveline? Your mother will be here in a couple of days. Let’s agree to no more talk of ghosts or scarecrows. No scary books. Let’s lead very boring, ordinary lives for a while, and drink hot chocolate, and eat fish and chips, and watch films. We’ll go to bed early and sleep late, and snooze on the sofa in the afternoons in front of the fire. How does that all sound?”

“Um…perfect?” Aveline replied, feeling a grin spread across her face and up to her ears. An odd sensation. It didn’t feel like she’d properly smiled for a long time.

Inevitably, after all that had happened, the smile was followed by a yawn, and a stretch, and then another yawn, and before she knew it, Aunt Lilian took her up to her bedroom.

“I would tuck you in, Aveline, but I don’t want to put you off coming again.”

Outside the storm began to blow itself out, the clouds outside her window breaking apart, through which the occasional star could be seen.

The winds died, the rain stopped, and all that remained was the soft lullaby of the waves.

Aunt Lilian made good on her promise and the days that followed were full of nothing much and that suited Aveline just fine. Mr Lieberman and Harold came to the house and together they retrieved the books from the attic for his bookshop.

“Ach, there are some real treasures in here,” Mr Lieberman said as they sat in the living room and catalogued them.

“Aveline doesn’t want them, she only likes weirdo books,” Harold said.

“You should stick to eating chips,” Aveline replied, sticking her tongue out and getting a grin back from the boy she was beginning to think of as a good friend. Once you got past the stupid haircut and the rudeness, he was actually okay.

Later, Aveline told them all about the events of that stormy Halloween night, though her memory of it was increasingly hazy and muddled, the same way a dream drifts away not long after waking. Like Aunt Lilian, they listened, but didn’t pass comment. It didn’t seem like anybody wanted to talk at length about what had happened. Almost as if they’d made an unspoken vow or pact.

A secret never to be told.

Her mum called the next morning to say she was on her way and arrived (right on time, much to Aunt Lilian’s satisfaction) bursting with a happiness that none of them could resist. Granny was much better, she said, so they could all relax.

After deciding to stay on for the remainder of half-term, their time together passed in a haze of sweet treats and huge meals. Feet were pushed into warm slippers in front of the fire, and the smell of roast dinners and baked puddings made the air smell rich and festive. When the weather stayed kind, they would take a walk on the beach. With the scarecrows all gone, the town lost its sinister atmosphere and became a more pleasant place to be. Occasionally, Aveline’s thoughts drifted to Primrose. There hadn’t been any odd occurrences in the house since Halloween. During a moment when they were alone, Aveline asked Aunt Lilian if she thought Primrose was still in the house.

“You know, Aveline, I don’t. I think Primrose is at peace, don’t you?”

Which made Aveline feel both happy and sad.

But Aunt Lilian hadn’t got it quite right.

It seemed Primrose had one more thing left to do.

A promise to make good on.

On the day they left, Aveline woke to find a pair of red Dr. Martens boots at the bottom of the bed. They hadn’t been there when she went to sleep, and there was only one person who would have brought them. But the thought of Primrose being in her room didn’t scare her. It was, after all, Primrose’s bedroom, too. Gleefully she tried them on and found that they fitted perfectly. She would tell her mum that she’d got them from a charity shop with the money she’d been given. Easy was better than truthful on this occasion.

Once her suitcase was all packed up again, and while Aunt Lilian and her mum talked, Aveline sneaked upstairs and retrieved Primrose’s diary. Opening it, she took a pen and wrote in it.

Then she tucked it away in her luggage.

Downstairs, Aveline hugged Aunt Lilian tightly, pushing her face against the warmth of her aunt’s cardigan.

“Don’t you dare be a stranger, Aveline, or I’ll come up to Bristol and fetch you myself.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

Mr Lieberman and Harold arrived a few minutes later, loaded down with an armful of books.

“It’s a long drive back to Bristol, Aveline, I think you’re going to need some reading material,” Mr Lieberman said.

“Thank you.”

Lowering his voice, Harold nudged her in the ribs. “I sneaked a few ghost ones in there, but don’t tell your aunt, she’ll give me extra lessons.”

“It’ll be our secret,” Aveline said. “As long as you stop calling me a weirdo.”

“I’ll see what I can do. How about Ghost Girl instead?”

“How about Book Boy?”

“Ghost Girl and Book Boy. I like it. We sound like superheroes.”

Reaching out, Aveline gave him the briefest of hugs, which he seemed to like, as he quickly hid behind his fringe.

“Anything else strange happens, give me a call,” Harold said, handing her a slip of paper with a phone number on it.

“Will do, I promise.”

“Come on then, love, let’s get going,” her mum said.

Her mum’s voice brought her back into the present. Waving madly to them all, Aveline settled into the car seat, feeling a mixture of relief and regret. As their car turned onto the beach road, Aveline touched her mum’s arm.

“Could you stop here a second, Mum? I’ve just got to do something.”

Aveline’s mum frowned, but pulled the car to a stop. Opening the door, Aveline ran down to the water’s edge. Dark clouds bloomed like black flowers, but the rain was yet to come. A stiff breeze blew off the water, tangy with salt.

Kneeling among the pebbles, Aveline opened her backpack and took out Primrose’s diary. She’d made the decision earlier that day. If the police did eventually call, she would simply say that she’d lost it.

Which wasn’t really a lie.

She knew what had happened to Primrose, but there was no way the police would ever believe it.

She waited for the next wave to come rushing up over the shingle, before gently placing the diary in the water.

Then she watched the retreating tide carry it away.

Looking across to the harbour wall, Aveline saw a small girl with a rather severe haircut watching her. The girl raised her hand and waved. Aveline waved back, before running back to the warmth of the car. The journey home would be long, boring and completely uneventful.

Aveline couldn’t wait to get started.