I went up to Alison's door, and walked away again five times before I got up the courage to knock on her door. I was shaking, physically shaking, and I wasn't sure whether I was nervous that she wouldn't open the door, or nervous that she would.

The door opened, and she stood there, so fragile and small, so angry.

"What the hell do you want?" she demanded, and there was no warmth in her eyes.

"I...I was worried about you."

"I'm fine." she said, slamming the door in my face, but I stopped the door before it closed.

"The walls are coming down?" I asked.

"It's none of your business, Robert. You made your choice, and you chose to walk out of my life."

"I know, and I'm sorry...but Alison...I was here the other night, outside the door...the footsteps and the banging. I want to help. Please, let me help."

She stared at me a moment, that intense piercing stare that cut through any defences I'd built up. Then she stepped back, and let me in.

I went into the kitchen. It looked just the same, a hodge-podge of styles and patterns and colours that was uniquely Alison. The only thing that was different was my book, crumpled on the floor and covered in dust, as if she'd thrown it down there in the corner months ago and never bothered to pick it up again.

I picked up the book, and flicked through it. The margins were covered in scribbles, in pencil at first, then in pen, the writing getting harder until it tore through the paper. On one page she'd scribbled 'No, No, NO!' and there was nothing else written after that. Obviously she'd thrown the book aside at that point.

"I read the book." she said, from behind me.

"Sorry."

"You should be." she walked past me, very close, and I felt the air change around me as she brushed past, a sudden surge of electricity. As if, for one moment, I was inside the other-worldly aura that surrounded Alison.

"What do you want, Robert?" she asked, sitting up on the counter, legs crossed, her body language firmly insisting that she didn't want me to be there.

"To help."

"I don't need your help."

"I'm sorry for the book. I think I was wrong."

"You think?"

"I know."

She went silent. She didn't ask me why I'd written what I had. Perhaps she knew.

Upstairs, something cracked. Wood settling, perhaps. Nothing unusual. It was an old, ramshackle house, full of noises. Except Alison suddenly tensed, her hands gripping the counter so hard the knuckles went white.

"Alison..." I started to say, but she interrupted.

"Alright, you've made your apology, you can leave now."

The cracking sounds expanded, continued, one after the other.

"What's going on?" I demanded.

It wasn't cracking any more. It was footsteps. Heavy, distinct footsteps.

"Alison..."

"You have to leave now, Robert." she said, trying to hustle me to the front door. But she was shaking and her eyes were wide with fear.

More than one set of footsteps. People. People were upstairs in Alison's empty house.

"I'm not going anywhere, Alison. Not until you tell me what's going on."

"Robert, please!" her voice was rising now, tinged with pure terror.

I could hear a man, and a child. The click of a woman's high heels. And the lowest of low murmurs.

"Get out!Get out!" I wasn't sure if she was screaming at me or them. The footsteps, the voices, whispering, a hiss that permeated through the ceiling, down into the kitchen, down to Alison and I, Alison, whimpering in the corner. She backed away from me, towards the counter.

"The walls are coming down." she whispered, staring at the ceiling, shaking so hard the plates on the counter top rattled.

"Who are they?" I asked, but she couldn't answer me. And now I could hear the voices clearly. The hiss was a long drawn 's'...they were saying her name. Whatever they – it- was upstairs, it was saying Alison's name over and over again, and she seemed powerless against them. And now I could hear them coming closer, closer, on the stairs.

"I've had enough of this." I said, reaching to fling open the kitchen door, but Alison let out an incoherent scream and stopped me, reaching the door before me. She flung it open and shouted up the stairs.

"You can't have him! It's me you want, not him, and I won't let you have him!"

There was silence for a moment, and then a long drawn-out sigh. I pushed her aside, gently.

There was nobody on the stair. Just the darkness, at the very top, where the light had burnt out. Alison was too short to reach the light fitting, and I'd had to change the bulb last time.

I turned back to her, and she looked up at me, her face tear-stained, and so worn and pained it broke my heart to look at her

"Please go." she said, gently.

"In a moment." I went to the cupboard and took out a light bulb. I went to the top stair, nervous, remembering the footsteps, but determined not to leave one patch of darkness in Alison's house.

"Thank you." she said, once I'd changed the light. "You have to go now."

"You have to leave too. Alison, please..."

"I'll be safe now. They only come once. Just once a day, at dusk."

"Who?"

But she turned her back on me. I knew I couldn't argue with her in this mood.

"I'll go, but I'll be back tomorrow. At dusk."

"You won't." she said, and I don't know if she meant I'd let her down again, or that she didn't want me to come.

"I will." I promised her, and left, closing the door gently behind me.