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Goodnight from Stephanie Ellis, trying to read the story under the headline: ‘THE DEVIL KILLS IN HOOKLAND’ from across the tram. Goodnight from Jack Belford, following the paths in Long Wolver Woods gilded electrum by the last of the Hunter’s Moon. Goodnight from Hookland.
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Goodnight from Dr Ash, working on his manuscript ‘New Trajectories in Forensic Medicine’, haunted by every corpse he’s opened. Goodnight from Iris Cobb, throwing bottles of moonlight into the stream hoping it will take them to the sea as an offering. Goodnight from Hookland
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Goodnight from Den Cory, reflecting how being a copper’s nark for DI Callaghan doesn’t half have him drinking in some strange places. Goodnight from Cassie Barns, trying to trace the map of scars on her Changeling skin until it leads all the way back home. Goodnight from Hookland
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Goodnight from The Devil’s Roll pub, where all the evening’s mutterings are centred on Joe Wood’s sudden and unsettling disappearance from the village. Goodnight from Dorothy Winward, worried that there are more than satellites watching from tonight’s sky. Goodnight from Hookland
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Goodnight from Candle Row, where an impromptu party at Weychester Wax Records has summoned a crowd the police cannot shift. Goodnight from St. Mary-of-the-Woods; crypt, where certain teenagers are not finding the spider-veiled tombs conducive to pashing. Goodnight from Hookland.
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Goodnight from the Branwood Raceway, where Nathan Rush is fixing a bag-o’-bones charm to the mirror of his Vauxhall Chevette ahead of tonight’s demolition derby. Goodnight from Abigail Parish, worried she’s misjudged her offering to the Well of Shadows. Goodnight from Hookland.
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Goodnight from The Reaper Rides The Bus gig at The Black Broom nightclub, where even the bouncers are finding the fans’ outfits more than a little disturbing. Goodnight from Dr. Flag, intoning mathematical formula as an eleventh-dimensional summoning. Goodnight from Hookland.
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Goodnight from the nurses in Coreham General, unable to resist discussing the odd man in A&E whose silver jumpsuit couldn’t be cut off even with the sharpest scalpels. Goodnight from Laura Mills, wondering if she can capture souls in her compact mirror. Goodnight from Hookland.
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Goodnight from Maisy Bloom, the light from her Derek Fowler nightlight not quite bright enough after Nan’s bedtime stories of Marrow-suckers. Goodnight from Jay Rickman, stealing himself to swallow a spoon of cider vinegar to keep the Night Hag at bay. Goodnight from Hookland.
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I am a witch of stick and stone; herb-bag, hedge and bone
I am a witch of tide and wave; sand, storm and salt-grave
I am a witch of bog and moor; fear me knocking the door
– Trad. Hookland witch rhyme, still often heard in the county's playgrounds
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