The North York Moors of England seemed to be a place set in its ways and traditions. But it was not going to be the same for Tony Radley, a lecturer at a local college, horseman and part time policeman. The world was changing and so were the things happening in this cosy part of Yorkshire. Strange lights were being seen over the moors and even stranger things were happening.
Those were the bold headlines that met my eyes when I picked up the Yorkshire Post one damp, depressing Saturday morning in May.
I read on.
The hair at the back of my neck pricked. I became angry. How could a human being treat another in this way?
I read through the scant details of the discovery of the body, and then worked my way through the paper.
Suddenly I realised how little value I had put on this human life. I had continued to read the paper. But for a momentary feeling of disgust I too had dismissed it as insignificant. Was I any different to the murderer? I didn't want to answer the question, so I turned the page.
Small ads.
Lists of many things you don't want, but you feel there might just be something there, so you read. I obliged.
I went through the 'houses' column and decided I couldn't afford any of them. Anyway, I didn't want to move.
Then, in the Vacancies section, one display advertisement caught my eye: ...
