I like to think I am pretty fearless in my meanderings and perambulations about the parish of Horsingdon. Yet the residual spectrality which sometimes irrupts unexpectedly into its already haunted landscapes still threatens to consume even those travellers habituated to the nascent wyrd of its lanes and fields, avenues and alleyways. Caution is always advised, and the seasoned explorer of the region’s stranger byways knows to pay heed to those peculiar, passing moments of intuitive dread, which signify the advent of something terrible yet unseen.
Such was the case this evening, when I was about to take a detour down the rarely-travelled alleyway depicted above. Needless to say, I moved swiftly on to avoid the predatory, praeternatural ministrations of whatever had, if only for a short time, intruded upon that lonely ginnel to make of it a hunting ground.
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