Jock had a key that fitted the padlocks, and he dragged back the bolts without any hesitation. We stepped inside the old stone building, with the atmosphere immediately oppressive. I could feel the evil, seeping from the walls. It was a malevolence that a previous inhabitant had left, an essence of himself that had soaked into the stones.
“A hangman lived here in the olden days,” Jock told us, pretending nonchalance. “The place has been empty ever since.”
“Who was that?” Peter asked.
“Old Hangie,” Jock said with a curious little laugh that betrayed his stretched nerves.
The interior was in worse condition than I expected with loose masonry in the roof, and the floor crumbling beneath our feet. Jock knew the place, leading us to the furthest corner. “Walk where I walk,” Jock said, “and
