Arnold Moreton sat down to breakfast, he was about to take a good sip of strong Assam when the telephone rang."Mr Moreton?", asked the voice at the other end of the line, "Speaking," said Moreton. "Mr Moreton, it's sergeant Davidson from Seckleston Police. I wonder if you might be able to help us?" Moreton fumbled for his cigarette lighter, "Well, I'll try my best sergeant." "A week ago constable Barwell and myself were on patrol up at Seckleston woods, we was driving down Orford lane when some bloke staggered out of the woods and right into the middle of the road, we nearly ran him over! He looked in a terrible state, he was gibbering and shaking, quite demented like. We couldn't make any sense of what he was saying, he just kept saying "the lights, they're here" . We took him back to the station, he was in a very distressed state all night, we haven't been able ascertain his identity, he didn't have any means of identification on his person, he's a complete mystery, he's not from round here we know that much, we wondered if you could make an appeal for information about this chap in the Gazette?" "Sergeant would you bear with a moment, whilst I find my notebook?" "Yes of course," said Davidson, Moreton grabbed his notebook and a pencil, "Sergeant, If you could offer me a physical description of this gentleman" "Well, let's see, he was about 30 years of age, 5' 8'', medium build, curly red hair, glasses, wearing a pair of light grey flannels, a tan coloured pullover, and a dark green raincoat. He spoke with an educated accent. I really can't fathom this business out Mr Moreton, what on earth was a complete stranger doing wondering about in Seckleston woods in the freezing cold , at that time of night?" Moreton took a long puff on his cigarette, "What time was it when you encountered this man sergeant?" "It was 11.50 pm," replied Davidson. "This really is a very strange affair sergeant, did he say anything at all that might offer a clue as to his identity or his reasons for lurking Seckleston woods?" A hint of fear betrayed itself in Davidson's voice, "Nothing at all Mr Moreton, the only thing we could get out of him was that stuff about the lights he'd seen.Between you and me Mr Moreton, them woods aren't the place to be at such a late hour, and this isn't just silly yokel superstition, weird things have always happened in Seckleston woods." Normally Moreton would have gently dismissed Sergeant Davidson's misgivings over Seckleston woods, but on this occasion he couldn't do so easily."Sergeant where is our mystery man now?" asked Moreton, "He was admitted to Hopfield hospital the day after we found him, I've spoken to a Dr King at the hospital, he said there has been no change in a week, this man just keeps babbling about the 'lights'!" "I'll get to work on a piece for the Gazette this morning." said Moreton, "That would be very helpful Mr Moreton" said Davidson, "By the way Sergeant, did anyone near to Secklestone woods wittiness anything?", "Barwell and me went up to Crowford Farm and spoke to old Jethro Giddins, he said it was goblins ,witches or the space people that put fear into that young man, Crowford is the nearest place to Seckleston woods, we didn't see any one else up there on that night except that poor young bloke." Moreton smiled to himself, Jethro Giddins attributes nearly everything to goblins ,witches spirits or the space people; the previous feeling of unease that Moreton experienced on noting the fearful tone in Sergeant Davidson's voice subsided. This was going to be a straightforward case, some poor chap driving through the area having suffered a blackout stumbles into the woods, the blackout is followed by amnesia, this sort of thing does happen. Undoubtedly his motor car will be found somewhere nearby, the whole matter will have a perfectly simple explanation. "The piece should make this weeks edition of the Gazette, in the meantime Sergeant I should be very grateful if you would apprise me of any new developments." "I certainly will Mr Moreton, thank-you for your assistance, I just hope all this business gets sorted out." "I'm quite sure it will Sergeant."
After finishing on the telephone with sergeant Davidson Moreton poured himself another cup of tea. He began mentally to construct an outline of the article, "a week ago would be 13th December, man found wondering in Seckleston Woods...police unable to establish identity...police appeal to the public for information as to...etc,etc." Arnold Moreton had worked on the Amingford Gazette for 25 years, the paper was published twice weekly and covered local stories such as 'Vicar of Amingford alarmed at dangerous state of church roof.' And 'Mrs Jenkin's wins top prize for her chutney at village fair.' Over the last 6 weeks the Gazette contained a number of reports from villagers relating to strange 'noises' and 'weird goings on' in Seckleston Woods. Seckleston Woods had always been associated with the supernatural, local legend tells of dark occult practises being carried out in the woods in the late 1500's, a coven of witches was supposed still to perform esoteric rituals in the isolated woods. Of whom this coven comprised was a question likely to provoke whisperings and nods amongst the villagers, many believed that the Devereaux family were responsible for maintaining the practise of Black Magic in the area for the last 500 years, according to some, the Devereaux's recruited members of the coven from amongst their rich and influential circle. The current Squire of Amingford, Sir George Devereaux held a senior post within the Air Ministry, Amingford Hall the family home of the Devereaux's was often the venue for Sir George's 'weekends', where senior politicians and business tycoons would gather to enjoy Sir George's hospitality. Moreton tended not to give too much credence to these accounts regarding peculiar events up at Seckleston Woods, they were mildly entertaining mystery stories that filled a couple of column inches in a small parish newspaper. However being a natural journalist Moreton could not resist the idea of going up to Seckleston Woods to examine the scene for himself, he certainly didn't expect to find anything of interest, but he felt he aught at least to carry out a perfunctory investigation. Seckleston Woods was a 20 minute journey by motor car from Moreton's house, putting on his overcoat Moreton said to himself, "I will have written this piece by lunchtime, then it will be back to the really important stories such as the imminent provision of electricity to the cottages on Forge Lane."
After scraping the ice from the windscreen of his motor car Moreton set off for Seckleston Woods, the woods lie around 3 1/2 miles from the village of Amingford. Just past the village Moreton waited at the level crossing as an 8F pulling a local goods train hissed slowly over the crossing, the train would stop at sidings not far from Amingford station a 1/4 mile down the line, coal trucks would be uncoupled, and their contents transferred to coal merchants lorries. The signalman opened the crossing gate and Moreton continued his journey, the nagging and rather uncomfortable feeling that he had felt earlier when listening to Sergeant Davidson's account on the telephone returned, he began to question his theory regarding the mysterious young man in the woods. "If he was in the vicinity of Seckleston surely his car would have been discovered by now, if he was driving through Amingford what in heavens name was he doing nearly 3 1/2 miles away in those woods? " Seckleston is a remote area situated between Amingford and the next village Woodhayes Parva, the only human inhabits to be found in the Seckleston area are the Giddins of Crowford farm, and the Waverlys at Lowerbrook farm. The Giddins farmhouse is approximately 200 yards from the edge of the woods, although the woods are on Crowford farm they are in fact owned by the Devereaux family, as indeed is Crowford farm itself. The Giddins's have always felt a great deal of resentment toward the Devereaux's, the truth is the Giddins's are ill disposed toward the majority of mankind! Apart from Jethro the Giddins family consists of Agnes, Jethro's wife, a woman whose physical strength is quite terrifying, Herbert the eldest of the Giddins children, who is convinced that he is the re-incarnation of Pontious Pilate, and who believes he must atone for the crime of condemning Jesus Christ to be crucified, and finally Mildred a strange and silent girl, whom the residents of Amingford claim has 'the sight'. The Giddins tended to keep their distance from the villagers of both Amingford and Woodhayes Parva; as Moreton approached Crowford Farm he was reminded of an incident that occurred 3 years earlier, an Amingford youth named Ronny Bayley had taunted Mildred Giddins whilst she was waiting to be served at the village store. Mildred had been sent into the village to buy 2oz of rough shag for her father; Bayley made some obscene suggestion to Mildred. Angry and embarrassed Mildred glared at young Bayley who became increasingly frightened, so much so that he soiled his trousers. "I will never forget the description Mr Rogers the storekeeper gave of the look of terror on Bayleys face," thought Moreton; he remembered Mr Rogers saying "the smell wouldn't leave the shop for a week," and "that Mildred girl has some strange power," Ronny Bayley's mother accused the Giddins girl of using 'unnatural powers' , "it can't be right a mighty prince messing himself like that," Bayleys mother a congenital imbecile referred to her son as 'Prince Ronny'; the incident attracted the attention of Dr Fenton Macintosh, Macintosh had moved to Amingford from London, where he had once ran a successful Harley Street clinic, he catered mainly for a very rich and neurotic clientele, offering the very latest in American Psychotherapy techniques, according to Macintosh the Psycho-Sexual aspects of the Bayley incident where self evident, Moreton grinned when he recalled Mrs Oliver the village seamstress' response, "He's a dirty beast that Macintosh." Moreton turned onto the small track that led into Seckleston woods, switching off the engine he could hear the crows as they circled over the woods, the noise they made produced in him that strange spooky, yet comfortable feeling. Moreton had started to make his way along the track when a rather anxious voice called "Moreton, my dear fellow!" the voice belonged to the Rev Frederick Birkswell. "Rev Birkswell" said Moreton, Birkswell dismounted from his bicycle in a well practiced move, standing on only the left pedal applying the brakes and then two feet on the ground. "I am glad to have bumped into you Mr Moreton, something quite outrageous has occurred", the Rev Birkswell was in a very agitated state. "Are you alright Sir?" asked Moreton, "Mr Moreton an act of the most vile desecration has been committed at St Jerrome's, unspeakable, quite unspeakable." Moreton took Rev Birkswell by the arm, "Rev I think you should sit down for a while", he opened the passenger door of his car and helped Rev Birkswell down into the seat. Moreton had never seen Rev Birkswell distressed in this way, "What on earth has happened?", Rev Birkswell buried his head in his hands and let out a laboured sigh, Moreton offered the Rev a cigarette which was gratefully accepted although Rev Birkswell was a pipe man. "Early this morning I left the rectory and made my way across to the church, Mrs Charlton has run up a notice advertising the Christmas Fayre, I thought I must pin this up on the notice board before I forget. As I was doing so, I happened to glance up toward the altar, it was then that I beheld the most obscene site. Above the altar were daubed a number of occult symbols, there were also the remains of several large black candles. A magic circle had been inscribed before the altar. I cannot bring myself to describe the indignities to which the Holy Bible had been subjected. Mr Moreton that church is no longer a holy place, it now possesses an atmosphere of pure evil, it is no longer the abode of Our Lord, there is a satanic presence in that place!" Moreton was dumbfounded, Rev Birkswell's eyes were red and watery. Rev Birkswell was not a man to show emotion of this kind. Birkswell was known for his sense of humour, an easy going eccentric, but someone who was trusted and who could always be relied upon. He had been an Army Chaplin in the 1914-1918 war,had travelled extensively in India and China. He read Ancient History at Cambridge, and was destined to have outstanding academic career, but instead he chose missionary work in the far East. He was not the typical missionary in that his purpose was not to convert the heathen; he was not about saving souls, he had a subversive air about him. Sir George Devereaux described him as "some sort of bloody socialist". Birkswell's aim was in some way to mitigate Imperialism. His missionary work was curtailed by the British authorities, the Governor of Chung-Ching had him 'removed back to England' after it was said he was 'stirring up the natives'. What very few people knew was that Rev Birkswell had made a detailed and exhaustive study of the Occult. "We should get you back to the rectory." said Moreton, Rev Birkswell was beginning to regain his composure "I was on my way to the police station, but what good can the police do in this matter?" Moreton just about managed to squeeze Rev Birkswell's bicycle into the back of his car, they now headed for the rectory.