Sally thought moving to Number Eight Farmers Avenue in Bumpton would be a fresh start. The new house had other ideas. The key barely turns before the front door judders open with a sigh that sounds too much like "Go away." The taxi driver from the station hears the address, goes pale, mutters something under his breath, and drives off like a demented maniac. The estate agent's details are doctored; the photos are all of next door. Someone was clearly desperate to sell the house. Upstairs, the first real clue is waiting on Sally's bedroom wall. Six crayon outlines of the same girl in a blue dress covered in tiny white flowers, each one a little taller than the last, each wearing a birthday badge. Three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Then the tallest steps out and asks to play. Her name is Daisy. Every day at exactly half past five the staircase shakes with a crash that rattles the whole house. In Daisy's hidden diary every adult is a risk. Her father is never named. He is just "Him." Daisy is certain that he is close, very close. When Sally and her dad check the old newspapers, they find it. Six years ago a girl vanished from this exact address and was never traced. Now Sally and her mum Sandra are gathering the pieces. They find a metal dog cage bolted in the loft, and a dark stain at the foot of the stairs that will not scrub out. They are not investigators. They are the new family, still living out of boxes. But if they cannot piece together the murder, the forged disappearance, and the dangerous secrets buried under Number Eight, Daisy will keep crashing down the stairs at half past five, and Him might still be close enough to hear.
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