The old man drove slowly down the country lane in his old Ford, the windscreen wipers thrashing violently to and fro in the torrential rain. “What horrible weather,” he thought. It was extremely late and the sky was pitch black. The man had been travelling for hours and he was beginning to get very sleepy. He must nearly be at his cousin’s house!

Mr Smith was very annoyed with himself, because he had left the directions to his cousin’s house at home. As he turned the corner he saw the sign for Old Dereham and that was near where he needed to be! He wondered where to go next and finally he made up his mind to knock on one of the houses. He squinted out into the distance and saw one house alone, it only had one light but that was enough.

He stepped out his car and crunched up the gravel drive, hunching over and trying to ignore the torrential rain. Then with all his might he pushed open the big black iron gates. They creaked open and he began to feel slightly afraid of what lay ahead. The sky was black, and not a star appeared at night. He was icy cold so he pulled up his coat to stay warm.

Before he had time to knock on the large oak door an old lady appeared. She was as pale as a ghost and so thin she was almost transparent. Her lips were cracked and dry and her face was like a wrinkled apple. Her hair was greasy and it cascaded over her hunched up shoulders. Her eyes were swollen and red, like she had been crying. Mr Smith apologised for turning up at such a late hour before explaining that he was looking for “Bluebell farm.” She smiled weakly and told him to step in from the storm.

Inside, the house was dimly lit and the furniture was old and dusty, everything smelt very damp. The fireplace stood at the back of the room – the flames sounded like a roaring lion. Mr Smith felt like the ancient tapestries on the cracked wall were staring down at him. “Bluebell Farm,” murmured the old lady, “that’s close by here.” She told him the directions and he stood up ready to leave.

However as he reached the door, a piercing scream penetrated the room. “My daughter died here 10 years ago. Sometimes I can still hear her, but I can never see her. Did you kill her?” With that the lady went into a sort of trance and began to stumble over to the man. He tried to open the door but it was locked. Mr Smith began to panic and beads of perspiration dripped downed his face. He felt a prickle of fear run down the back of his spine. Paralysed with fear, he collapsed to the ground, realising today was the 31^st of October! This time it was his turn to scream. He tried to move but he couldn’t, his body felt icy cold and he was motionless.

However when the lady reached him she simply glided through him and out the front door. The man lay on the broken tiles and all he could hear were the voices of the daughter crying out for help.

Days later they found Mr Smith. He was still alive but it was as though his soul was gone – and the scent of death surrounded him.