2 November 2019 No Comments by The Northern Standard

Peter Hughes

“Another one for the van!” These ominous words told me that my number was up. Having survived chainsawwielding maniacs, witches and their dread familiars, sundry members of the ranks of the undead and an assortment of other temporary exiles from Hell, this was how it was all going to end, I thought – in the back of a rather nondescript white van from which chilling screams were issuing. Whatever was going on in the vehicle was distinctly unpleasant and spoke of a oneway trip.

But the dreadfullooking man in front of me was very insistent that I take my place in the queue. Then, suddenly, a gap in the path ahead appeared and, like the fabled Springheeled Jack of the Penny Dreadful days, with one bound I was free…free that is, to continue along my way until the next horror crossed my path in the eerily lit and darkness-wreathed theatre of Rossmore Forest Park throughout which a cacophony of screams and snarls and howls were echoing. The children of the night….

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