Aveline didn’t have to wait long to see the mysterious girl again. The next morning she was lounging on the sofa when she heard the unmistakeable clip-clop of horse’s hooves. She’d seen a few people riding horses along the narrow lanes and bridle paths since they’d arrived. It made a pleasant change from cars and buses. Curious, she clambered to her feet, opened the front door and made her way down the path to the gate.

A black horse trotted down the lane towards her, unlike any she’d seen before. Tall and sleek, the horse swung its head arrogantly, as if to confirm that it was indeed magnificent. Its flanks shone with sweat, emphasizing the outline of its muscles. As it tossed its shiny fringe out of its eyes, Aveline was momentarily reminded of her friend, Harold, and his floppy hair.

As the horse trotted closer, Aveline’s attention switched to its rider, whose long and lustrous black hair matched the horse’s mane. It was the same girl she’d seen the day before at the stones. Aveline had always thought horse riders were legally bound to wear helmets, just like motorcyclists, but the girl’s hair trailed freely behind her like a black pennant flying from the turret of a castle. She wore leather riding boots, jodhpurs and a padded olive-green coat. She really did resemble some warrior queen from the pages of history, riding into battle at the head of her army. Suddenly terrified of being caught staring for the second day running, Aveline shrank back into the shadow of the apple tree that stood guard by their gate.

But it was too late.

Her stomach cramped with anxiety as the girl pulled on the horse’s reins. Stamping its feet impatiently, the beast wheeled around and flashed Aveline a haughty glance. The sun flared behind horse and rider, making Aveline squint as she peered up at the black silhouette surrounded by golden rays. Why can’t I make grand entrances like that? she thought. She usually ended up fumbling with doorknobs or tripping over her shoelaces.

As she stood there, shielding her eyes from the sun, she had a similar sensation to the evening before when she’d found the bottle. A tingle of electricity ran up her back and around her neck, as if she’d sidestepped into another world for a second. Shyly, she pushed up her glasses and raised her hand in a hesitant wave. The girl seemed to be sizing her up and it felt like a long time before she responded, but as the horse stamped again, the girl raised a gloved hand. A subtle gesture, but a friendly one.

Just as Aveline was considering saying something, the girl lightly pulled on the reins and the horse turned and continued trotting down the lane until they vanished around the corner. Taking a deep breath, Aveline followed cautiously. She didn’t want to be caught spying again, but she did want to see where they went. But when she turned the corner, horse and rider had disappeared.

Which was odd.

She couldn’t see them in the village high street. They wouldn’t have had time to reach the far end, which made Aveline think they must have turned off somewhere. Idly, she continued to walk down towards the village shop, which she’d been in once already to buy sweets. It stocked fresh bread and eggs, cold meats and cider from the local farm, along with a few canned goods that looked like they’d been sitting on the shelves for years.

As she stood outside the shop, wondering whether to walk further down into the village, she heard the bell ring behind her as the door opened. Turning, she saw a bizarrely dressed person emerge. The woman was short, around the same height as Aveline, and broad, with a reddened, lined face, as if she spent a lot of time outdoors. Dressed in long flowing black robes, she wore heavy boots without laces, out of the top of which poked a pair of rainbow-coloured socks. Oddest of all, on her head she wore a bowler hat, which Aveline had only previously seen on pinstriped businessmen in black-and-white photographs.

“Morning to you,” the woman exclaimed, taking her hat off for a minute to fan her face. “Phew, it’s hotter than a monk’s flip-flop out here.”

Aveline smiled hesitantly.

“Don’t believe we’ve met before,” the woman said, speaking in a brisk, businesslike manner. “What brings you all the way out here to Norton Wick, may I ask?”

Aveline caught a whiff of something sweet and herbal. “My mum and I are here on holiday. From Bristol.”

“I see. A welcome break from the big city, I’m sure, though I hope you don’t find it too dull. Not many people your age live here, I’m afraid.”

“Actually, I just saw a girl around my age riding a horse. I was wondering which direction she went in. Did you see her?”

The woman frowned. “Can’t say I did. What did she look like?”

“Oh, long black hair. Pretty,” Aveline said, blushing as she did.

“Just like you then, my dear,” the woman said, which made Aveline warm to her. “But I’m not certain who that could be. I certainly can’t recall seeing anyone like that riding a horse.”

The woman trailed off, a far-away look in her eyes, before sticking out a grimy hand.

“I’m Alice, by the way, the vicar of Norton Wick. You must come and see me up at St Michael’s sometime.” Aveline must have looked blank, because Alice added, “St Michael’s is the church. You can’t miss it. Big stone building with stained-glass windows. You know, where they put all the dead people. It’s close to the stones, just on the other side of the field. I assume you’ve visited our famous Witch Stones?”

“Yes, we’re staying right by them,” Aveline said, a note of pride in her voice.

“Well, good for you. I can’t think of a better spot. Just mind you don’t pay any attention to any tall tales you might hear.” Alice lowered her voice. “There are still people in the village who won’t go near those stones once the sun has set.”

“Really?” Aveline said, edging a little closer. This certainly sounded worth listening to.

“Oh, yes, local superstitions take a long time to die out around here,” Alice continued in a conspiratorial whisper. “They’re passed down from generation to generation. You know the sort of thing, I’m sure. Ghosts and ghouls and goblins. Evil faeries that’ll snatch you away if you happen to linger there during a waning moon.”

Aveline nodded. As it happened, she knew exactly what Alice was talking about.

“Mind you, I’d take it all with a pinch of salt if I were you. Most folk around here still think the moon is made of cheese. It wasn’t that long ago they were busy—” Alice suddenly stopped herself mid-thought, shook her head and clamped her bowler hat back on her short salt-and-pepper hair. “Anyway, I must be off. I didn’t catch your name by the way.”

“Aveline. I’m here with my mum.”

“Aveline and her mum. Righto. I shall remember you in my prayers.”

They exchanged smiles and handshakes.

While she hadn’t learned much, their brief conversation had added another touch of intrigue to the day. The Witch Stones were proving to be as mysterious as their name.

She deliberated about returning to the cottage or walking up a little further, to see if she could spot a house with stables. In the end, her curiosity won. Her mum knew she wouldn’t wander off too far.

The houses down in the centre of the village were quite grand. Old, like the rest of the village, but owned by people who obviously had money. Large stone mansions with immaculate lawns and gravelled drives, on which were parked shiny BMWs and Mercedes. Some of these homes looked big enough to have stables, though Aveline didn’t dare walk up the driveways. Satisfied that the girl must have ridden into one of these, Aveline wandered on, enjoying the warm hum of the late summer morning and the smell of freshly cut hay in the air. She passed the village green, beside which was the local pub, called The Moon & Sickle. The sign depicted a large standing stone, next to which a gaunt man with a long beard and white robes raised a sickle blade into the night air. Aveline realized that the man was intended to be a druid, one of the mysterious Celtic priests she’d read about. They often had long beards. More research into them could be useful if she wanted to find out more about the stone circle. Were they good or evil? Aveline had no idea. Another thing to add to Harold’s list. The druid on this sign certainly appeared to be pretty sinister. The sign had been painted in black and silver, the artist doing a good job of making the stone appear eerie and a little threatening. It seemed to capture the moment before something horrible was about to happen. Despite the heat of the day, Aveline shuddered.

Further on, the houses became smaller, linked together in a terrace. After that, the village pretty much ended, the lane narrowed and the hedgerows rose up into steep leafy banks on either side of the road. Satisfied that she’d just about explored everything Norton Wick had to offer, Aveline returned to the cottage, where she found her mum sitting outside, sipping a cool drink.

“Find anything interesting?” Aveline’s mum said. “There’s some home-made lemonade in the fridge if you want some.”

“There’s not much to see,” Aveline conceded. “I saw a girl on a horse, met the local vicar and walked past a pub with a creepy sign.”

“Everything’s creepy as far you’re concerned, Aveline,” her mum said. “Go on, get yourself a drink. Sounds like you’ve worked up a thirst.”

Later, after a lazy day relaxing at the cottage, they’d eaten and Aveline had beaten her mum at cards. Then she went to her room and yawned long and loud. Being tired when you were on holiday didn’t matter so much. It wasn’t a school night and with her mum in no rush to get up and do anything in the mornings, she could sleep for as long as she wanted. Her room was small and cosy, her bed soft, and she had a perfect view of the stones from her window. Being late summer, the sun was only just setting, but it had decided to go out in a blaze of glory. The horizon glowed, as if an artist had squeezed blobs of tangerine, scarlet and pink onto a gigantic brush and swept it through the sky. The sweet smell of grass and hay perfumed her room like incense. Somewhere in the distance a tractor rumbled along, the farmer probably gathering up the last of the summer hay bales.

Sinking to her knees and resting her elbows on the windowsill, Aveline watched the sun disappear from view, enjoying the songs of the birds as they bid one another goodnight. A silhouette swooped low through the stones, but as she watched its flight, her eyes drifted to something else.

Someone else.

A figure stood in the centre of the stones. Although it wasn’t yet fully dark, in the twilight it was impossible to make out who they were. Yet even though she couldn’t see their face, Aveline had an uncanny feeling that they were looking directly at her. She stared for a minute or two, unsure if her eyes were deceiving her, as the figure stood rooted to the spot. For a moment she wondered if she’d mistaken one of the stones for a person, but no, the shape was unmistakeably human. Aveline’s elbows slipped from the sill, and she reached slowly to draw the curtains across, never once taking her eyes off the figure. Once the curtains finally obscured her view, Aveline waited for a minute or two before slowly opening a small crack in them to peer through.

The figure had gone.

All she could see was a circle of stones, as solid and still as they had been for thousands of years.