Right, I hope you’re sitting comfortably with the doors and windows shut as you prepare yourself for the terrifying tale that awaits you. I’ve been a top journalist for about twenty years now and have written many articles about all sorts of curious incidences and strange happenings in life, but this story I am now about to tell you, may well be one of the most unfortunate tales that I have come across in my career.

It was a perfectly normal day for me: I went out to the market to pick up some mince meat and Turkish Delights, and then returned to my abode to begin my latest article, when on my doormat I found a brown envelope addressed to me in scrawled handwriting. I recognised the writing straight away: it belonged to David Wickham.

It had been a while since I had spoken to him and his sister Bronwyn and I opened the letter in eager anticipation. The news they had to tell me was most unpleasant.

Their parents had drowned in a recent and tragic canoeing accident and they were to move from their Welsh hometown of Camdwyn, to live with their only living blood relative, Edgar O’Riley, whom I better know from the children as Uncle Edgar. He resides in the misty town of Wroxall on the south coast of England; not a town I personally would recommend visiting. It’s a small yet grim place which often appears in the newspapers for all the wrong reasons. Many crimes have taken place there and even in the heights of summer, the sky shines over it in murky grey tones, casting haunting and negative energies all around.

It takes quite a lot for me to be shocked or surprised, but quite frankly, this news bothered me and I was fearful for the future of the Wickham twins.

Pleasant as their Uncle was, he was a bachelor, and was use to working on his own, within his own space. He enjoyed his own company, but had never really experienced the company of children up until now. The news came as an unexpected surprise to him and he quickly set to work at cleaning up the spare room for David and Bronwyn to sleep in. He scanned the house for dangerous substances that he would have to store more carefully from now on.









Edgar was a Scientist, who aspired to be a great one at that, many people who knew him would describe him as a genius. He spent a great deal of his time, every morning and well into the late evening working on experiments. He had invented all sorts of gadgets, trinkets and miraculous potions, but being an eccentric sort of fellow, personal hygiene and housekeeping were two of his less appealing qualities in life.

Edgar was overall excited about the arrival of the orphans staying with him.

Meanwhile David and Bronwyn bid a sad farewell to the town which they’d grown up in and reluctantly boarded the train. Their hands were tense as they carried their brown leather cases to the luggage rack. They were the youngest people travelling alone and got a fair few concerned looks from passersby.



They sat in awkward silence for the first part of the journey, both a bit on edge, everything had happened so quickly and the news was still sinking in. It was a bumpy journey and the heating on the train had broken so they kept their coats on.

Bronwyn looked out of the window and watched the houses she’d once traipsed around trick or treating and the buttercup fields she had once picnicked in, flash past her like distant memories.







David tried to read, but found it hard to focus with all that was on his mind. They weren’t the sort of children to pity themselves; they took everything in their stride, but such a big change in their lives left them feeling as if they were lost pieces of a jigsaw puzzle waiting to be found and placed somewhere that made sense again.



Uncle E

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