The nightmare of Melody Lane began about nine months ago.

It’s been terrorising us daily ever since, even my laptop computer’s been infected, with strange, unwanted “pop-ups, cropping up all the time, and always with the same message, “Visit the Blind Tree!” …. But which tree? And where?

It didn”t say. It’s probably a local public house.

And all this happened because I was tired and lazy and couldn’t be bothered to change.

But let me explain. My name is Martin Failsworth. After living and working amongst the crowded streets of London, for a decade or more, my wife and I, and Jimmy, our young son, were all set for a complete life change. We’d decided that we could live and work in the country just as well as in the town.

Jane did not want to leave Jimmy with a nanny, and I was earning enough from my career as an up and coming television soap-star, to keep us going. Our house value had rocketed tremendously and so we chose to go further north, to capitalise on the incredibly low prices of property up there. I would be happy to commute to Manchester or London as the work dictated.

We scoured the “houses for sale” market, and spotted a glorious bargain in the village of Lower Crutchley, a period cottage, set in two acres of garden with unspoilt views over open countryside, plenty of room for Jimmy to play in safety.

The purchase went through like a dream and I asked the estate agent “how come it is so cheap?” He replied that the previous owner had died and that the new owners had no wish to keep it, and wanted a quick sale.

Our new dwelling was really old, having been originally built two centuries earlier.

It was all old beams and quaint doorways with an ingle-nook fireplace, the sort of cottage we’d dreamed about, but never expected to own.

After all the excitement of moving in, we settled down to explore the house and garden properly and to plan the changes we would make.

We’d been living there for about three weeks and I had just returned home after a gruelling session at the studios. I was whacked and had taken the train home in a rush to be back with my family, without bothering to change out of my television character clothes, I was dressed as a vicar, complete with dog collar and a silly black cloak.