The snow was nothing special. Year in, year out, Winter’s white blanket would descend in the night, coating the hills and the hamlets, refusing to leave until Spring demanded that enough was enough.

But the fog…

“Not that there’s anything wrong with fog.” the Chief Elder assured the local people, gathered for the monthly village meeting.

“Just make sure to lock your doors. And the windows… Especially the windows.”

Old Barnaby Camberwick didn’t leave the house again until Spring had tenderly passed the world into Summer’s jovial care.

Mrs Perry Smythe insisted that her little ’uns went to bed a good time before dark, and the locksmith made a pretty penny when he installed a thick bolt on the front door.

Even Dandy Jackson locked his flash car away, and went to stay in the city for couple of months.

They remembered the last time.

Nobody ever found out what happened to little James and Jenny Harris, snatched from their beds in the dead of night.

But Old Barnaby Camberwick had a pretty good idea.