The driver, wearing a red cap, looks blankly at the address on the blood-stained paper. Six hundred sixty-six Elm Street, that is the address; that is...where he is supposed to deliver his cargo. The house is old and creepy, nobody must have lived here in years. A neighbor, watering his lilies, waves at him. The driver does not respond. He cannot, it is not part of his instructions. The neighbor hopes that the new tenants of the house will be friendlier than the driver. He shakes his head and. The man who squeezed himself through the admittedly narrow doorway was about our age, and being in Wales I put him down, correctly as it turned out, as a rugby player.“My sister and I are lost and hopefully you can help us,” I went on.He was looking at Belle like a man who had just come in from the desert would look at a cool beer. I glanced at Belle and saw from the look on her face that she would be perfectly happy to quench his thirst. Well this was a turn up because I knew that her. More

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