The Stag Do, pt 1

I don’t like camping. I think anyone who genuinely likes camping is broken in some fundamental way. Where were you over the last few millennia of human advancement while the rest of us discovered things like houses and central heating?

The Darkhouse, pt 5

Fearing that I might be too overwhelmed by the dread I had been seized by the last time I had touched this new, lower trapdoor, I wrapped my handkerchief around my fingers and immediately pulled upon the hatch’s handle. It opened upwards without a sound.

The Darkhouse, pt 4

A most astonishing thing has just occurred. I am trembling with nerves and barely able to write. But write I must! I am stricken with terrible delight! If I do not capture these thoughts, then I fear that I will come to dismiss them as the result of some feverish, sleep-poor delusion!

The Darkhouse, pt 2

Illuminated by only a single lantern and with naught but the sound of our breathing and the muted sea, the air in the room became uncomfortably close. I felt a chill pass down my spine, even as I became aware of quite how far I was leaning towards the retiring Skipper…

The Darkhouse, pt 1

2nd June, 184__

Dearest Philippa

As promised, I began writing this as soon as I was able to do so on my safe arrival. 

I hope you received the letter I sent prior to leaving the mainland. The owner of the inn assured me that he would have it sent on my behalf, and I tipped him well for it. I was exhausted after the long journey across the Pennines and fear my handwriting may have been illegible. Hopefully my instructions to him were not!