By a pumpkin field there’s an ancient inn,where the wind blows cold and pumpkins grin, and locals are distracted from their ale and rumto stare whenever strangers come. Those who choose to stay for the nightwill wish they hadn’t, with hindsight. Wrapped in sweaty nightclothes’ trammel,one ear listening for the keyhole’s rattle, the naïve and gullible groan and sighat the chilling look in a landlord’s […]
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writing in north norfolk 