All day, we sit in nervous silence, hands shaking around our teacups, praying that no shuffling of feet came from the attic. Our new tennants generally tiptoed across the creaky wood panelling but from time to time, something would fall or a child would cry and if anyone heard… that was it.

Our neighbourhood used to be full of children, screaming with pleasure and rolling hoops across the cobbles. Now the only screams came from mothers being pulled into packed carts. It seemed to happen every night, another terrified family disappearing into the night.

The night came, and the tea went cold beneath our fingers. A deathly silence settled along our already quiet neighbourhood. Then they came. And every family in every attic held their breath.

They had never come to us, never banged on our front door. But then something smashed, a vase of some kind, and then three heavy knocks made our front door tremble, and we readied ourselves for the screams.