The rope was too short. He’d secured one end round a post and slung it over the wall, but it still dangled thirty feet above the rocks. He could see the end of it writhing in the wind, lit by the pale luminescence which seemed to be coming from the froth of the waves crashing on the shore below. There was no other way. He tried to gauge how far out the water became deep enough to break his fall, but beyond the white of the breakers the darkness was complete.

He swung a leg over the wall, and with his eyes on the one window in the dark mass of the tower behind him which blazed with light, he began to descend. His foot slid off a wet stone and he fell several feet, the palms of his hands erupting into burning agony as he slowed himself with the rope.

Then there was no more rope between his knees. Above him the fiery glow of the window looked brighter, like a hole through the night into a sunny day. He looked below. Waves thrashing like a violent fog over the rocks, and beyond them the calm blackness of the sea. He bounced away from the wall still clutching the rope, again and again, wider each time. The window in the tower swayed above him like a waving torch. Before letting go he looked up at the black shape who had appeared against the light. It was square, with no discernable neck or head, but he knew it was watching him. He released his grip on the rope and the waves were suddenly silenced as he traversed the blackness. He couldn’t tell if he was falling away from the tower or towards it. It was above and below. The pale waves were a froth of waving corpses, and something dark reached out to welcome him back.