Well?

Exiting a fine hotel on the high top of Dartmoor one misty Autumn morning and making my way to the car park I stopped in my tracks...

Could the locals have something against us visiting types?

Were they trying to tell me something?

Was a Satanic cult operating in the Duchy?

Perhaps I'd upset the group of rather lovely, but extremely odd and occasionally loud, ladies celebrating a certain ritual in the bar the previous evening? I'd only suggested they'd have been more comfortable in my suite than lolling about on the settees...

That's it! I'd got it... they were obviously a coven...

No wonder my luck seemed to have taken a turn for the worse... I'd been cursed by the Brides of Satan!