A Warning

I hate where I live, and I hate the fact that it has a reputation. Our house is just off the motorway. They call it the vanishing motorway because, well, people vanish along its route. You see, I live in Hanging Hill. That probably means nothing to you, which is why I HAVE to warn you. Everyone in Hanging Hill knows what happened that autumn, even if they don’t say it out loud.

Anyway, Dad is always going on about the importance of being fair and honest, so it’s only fair that I am HONEST with you. About what happened that is, in case you ever find yourself on the wrong side of the motorway. I’d stay far away, but if for some crazy reason you do come to Hanging Hill, don’t go into the woods without reading this first.

JUST DON’T!

That’s where he lived.

The Twig Man.

I guess you’d better read about it. You can thank me at the end.