In this gaping chasm I could sense life. I turned to Wilson, who was desperately trying to light the lantern, but the ferocious wind blew it out and the rain soaked the wick making his task impossible. Resigned to blindness we entered the unknown. We both trembled with fear and started with a fright when the door slammed behind us. The silence was deafening. The only sound I could hear was my heart pounding in my ears. Gradually, my heart slowed and we inched our way into the ever increasing darkness. It was then that I became aware that I had entered another room and I could walk no further as I had reached the end of a bed. As I felt Wilson’s breath on the back of my neck . . . an icy cold hand wrenched my arm towards the abyss.

“Doctor!” a blood-curdling voice shrieked.

“Help me, I’m dying.”

A flash of lightening lit the gruesome scene that lay before me. I turned to see the horror in Wilson’s eyes and as thunder shook us to the core, Wilson finally succeeded in lighting the lantern.

“Mother of Mary!” exclaimed Wilson,

“Geoffrey . . . it’s a massacre!”

It was then that the full horror of what had occurred could be seen.

“Michael,” she lamented

“My Michael, has gone.”

“Where?” I asked urgently,

“Where is your husband?”

“I’m dying, Doctor. It’s too late… you can’t save me!”

“Please, Mrs Hargreaves,” Begged Wilson,

“do you know where your husband has gone?”

“Before I fainted from the pain, I heard him praying for us both. When I awoke they were gone.” She cried.

“The baby, the baby?” I repeated,

“has he taken the . . .?”

“Monster!” she screamed with her dying breath.

Wilson and I shook her vigorously, trying to shake life back in to her . . . it was all in vain, she had lost too much blood.

“Michael!” Wilson exclaimed

“The baby” I replied.

We turned on our heels and raced out into the storm. The lightening lit up the night’s sky, framing the hazardous cliffs before us.

“He must have headed this way,” pointed Wilson,

“otherwise we would have seen him.”

As we frantically sped to the cliff top, I saw a blood-soaked shawl clinging to the edge of the cliff.

“He’s gone over the edge!” shouted Wilson.

We braced ourselves, fearing the worst and reluctantly looked down towards the sea. “I can’t see anything,” said Wilson.

With haste we set off down the treacherous cliff path winding, snaking and stumbling our way perilously down. It felt like an eternity before we finally reached the shore. We stood for a moment in the eerie silence of the eye of the storm. As we caught our breath, we could see before us, laid the twisted and broken body of Michael Hargreaves. So horrific were his injuries that Wilson’s knee-jerk reaction was to vomit. I ventured forward, the shingle crackling beneath my feet, to see a bundle cradled in the dead man’s arms. I took a deep breath and . . .