I remember it showed me an old cradle, piled full of rubbish, a rusty scythe hung in the rotting sash of a window, a few lengths of stove-pipe and a plough in one corner, and three staring white owls that sat on a beam above the doorway.

The rain roared on the old roof shortly, and came dripping down through the bare boards above us.

A big drop struck in my face and I moved a little.

Then I saw what made me hold my breath a moment and cover my head with the shawl.

A flash of lightning revealed a tall, ragged man looking in at the doorway.