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They were now standing in the cottage garden
and immediately realised that the building might be deserted.
Grasses had grown to knee height across the lawn,
while the branches of tall trees grew thick against the windows.
The flowers drooped, the last of their light sucked by the weeds above.
But they had come this far and were not going to return without
at least knocking at the front door.
Chris rapped three times, hard with the knocker. There was no answer.
They were about to turn away, when a voice called out from within.
Hello. It was a surprisingly deep voice, with a thick French accent.
Who is there? Thomas heard the knock and the latch, but not for
a moment did he think that there might be any sort of danger lurking behind.
With an eerie creek, it opened inwards and there stood an ageing man with
a thick grey beard and deep set eyes. At his feet growled an angry bulldog
for which the open door provided an immediate release.
The creature bounded forwards, evil in its features and jumped at them
leaving dirty paw prints across their tattered trousers.