receptionist that Boston had gone looking for the mysterious cottage at lunch time but had never returned, she was now very worried. Matt sped from the office in his car to draw up outside the cottage as the sun began to set. The cottage was fading fast in front of his eyes as he found himself stuck fast at the gate, unable to go any further as something intangible stopped him from aiding his friend.
A neighbour whom he had spoken to before, on seeing his distress stopped to ask him what was wrong.
"Look at the cottage." Matt cried. “It's taking him away.”
“What cottage, and taking who away?"
“What do you mean what cottage?" Matt cried desperately.' “Can’t you see it, the cottage that is right behind you?” But even as he uttered these few words he saw the last remnants of the cottage fade from view.
“Hey have you been drinking, there's been no cottage yonder for hundreds of years. I should know for my family have lived here about for even longer than yonder field has been empty." With that the old man left shaking his head saying how it was a pity, for he seemed quite a nice man.
Inside, moments before Boston had awoken from a deep sleep to feel a pain in his heart. He remembered Matt's words and staggered to the window. Outside the country side had almost faded from view but he could just about make out Matt drawing up in his car. From behind him he felt an evil so great and so close to him that the chill of it entered his heart. He whirled around to see the pretty young woman coming towards him holding one of her caskets with his name emblazoned upon its side. As he looked from it to her she changed into a fiend from hell, her hair grew long, her fingers all gnarled and each with long nails, her teeth were all blackened and her skin peeling off as if she had only recently come from the grave. Boston screamed for help as his very soul was ripped from his body to be sucked into the casket that the thing held. It slowly closed the lid and walked to the china cabinet, where it lovingly put it amongst the others there.
The next day in a country lane a few miles from Horsham a pretty young woman sat on the garden wall of a very, old country cottage massaging her ankle.