The Irresisible Summons

By Simon Dillon

The nail-biting new novel from the author of Spectre of Springwell Forest...

How far would you go to bring the one you love back from the dead?

Television producer Naomi Levinson makes documentaries debunking the supernatural. When asked to film a promotional video for computer game company Persephone, she considers the task beneath her talents. But as production gets underway at the Persephone office block on London’s Canary Wharf, a mysterious disappearance, ghostly sightings, and lingering tragedy from Naomi’s past lead her to believe she might have stumbled into a genuine haunting.

As Naomi continues to investigate, past and present collide in a horrifying conspiracy. Cutting edge technology and ancient evil meet, leading to the discovery of a shocking and terrifying secret that could change the nature of life and death as we know it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Simon Dillon
• Release date: Apr 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005562397

Simon Dillon

I was born the year Steven Spielberg made moviegoers everywhere terrified of sharks. I lived the first twenty or so years of my life in Oxford, and am pleased to have spent so much time in the place where some of my favourite writers wrote their greatest works (including JRR Tolkien, CS Lewis, and Philip Pullman). I like to think I can write a diverting tale, and as a result I have penned a few novels and short stories. I currently live in Plymouth in the UK, and am married with two children. I am presently brainwashing them with the same books that I loved growing up.

Book preview

The Irresistible Summons

By Simon Dillon

Copyright 2019 Simon Dillon

Cover Design by Yasmine Nuoraho

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, Licence Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Bonus Content: Phantom Audition Chapter 1

Dedication: For Viivi, Ville, and Yasmine

Prologue

FIRE INVESTIGATION CONCLUDES: TRAGIC ACCIDENT

A tragic electrical accident started the fire that consumed 22 Bainbridge Close, fire brigade investigators have ruled. The inferno, which killed all members of the Lane family, shocked the local community to its core, on the 17th September 2001. In their concluding remarks, investigators once again reiterated the importance of fitting smoke alarms and urged for campaigns to raise awareness.

Naomi stood at Toby Lane’s grave, clutching the same tattered local newspaper article she had read again and again over the past year. Murky skies blocked out the sun and a chill wind blew in from the east. St Mary’s church - a medieval granite building with a pointed bell tower - loomed behind her. Tree branches creaked and blew in the wind, amid a light drizzle. Naomi’s eyes fell on the article again.

‘I know there were smoke alarms. I remember seeing them just before we…’

Her voice faltered. The memories were overpowering. She had been sixteen, Toby seventeen. Out of the corner of her eye, she had glimpsed said smoke alarms during a moment when she had been greatly distracted by other matters. But the alarms had been there, even if she had only seen them for a second before her eyes closed.

Naomi had been too overwhelmed with shock and grief to tell anyone about the smoke alarms. Nor did she have reason to think there was anything suspicious about the way the fire brigade had arrived at an incorrect conclusion.

For many months, Toby’s memory tormented the utterly broken-hearted Naomi. She half-expected to see him in the streets, on the beach, in the woods, or the other secret places they had visited together. When she was alone, Naomi imagined Toby’s spirit in the room with her. She would hold imaginary conversations with him, anticipating responses and acting as though he were really present.

Often these conversations were later followed by dreams. In these dreams, Naomi conversed with Toby, clinging to every moment they had together, willing herself not to wake up.

During one such dream, Toby spoke a single sentence that haunted her throughout the years that followed.

We can be together again.

For a long time Naomi wondered if this was a subconscious, suicidal urge to join Toby in death. But as months went by, she became less convinced, and eventually dismissed the dream as little more than a small, desperate part of her burning love that refused to be entirely snuffed out by the passage of time.

‘I miss you,’ she whispered.

Naomi welled up as she placed a handful of crocuses next to the gravestone, knowing Toby would have understood the significance.

A tall figure in dark robes ambled along the nearby path. Reverend Patrick Mortimer had presided over the Lane family funeral. His bony, severe cheekbones had frightened her as a child, but now she observed a comforting warmth in his hazel eyes.

‘A year to the day,’ said Reverend Mortimer. ‘Still hard to take in, isn’t it? Thousands of people die in New York. Then six days later, our community experiences a tragedy just as devastating, in its own way.’

Naomi nodded. ‘I feel like part of me is still missing.’

‘Part of you always will be. People talk about getting over the loss of a loved one, but that isn’t how it works.’

‘So what can I do?’ Fresh tears filled Naomi’s eyes. She didn’t know the vicar well, and she knew her parents would much prefer she had a conversation such as this with one of their own congregation rabbis. Yet she felt drawn to the Reverend, perhaps on account of his refreshing bluntness.

‘The distance of time will enable you to come to terms with it,’ said Reverend Mortimer. ‘Then you will see the life of the person as someone who entered your life for a season, and was important. But they will always be missing, so a part of you will be too.’

‘It hurts so much,’ said Naomi.

‘Of course it hurts. If I cut off your finger, that would hurt too. In time the skin and flesh would heal, and you would no longer feel pain. But you would still be missing a finger.’

The words Toby had spoken in the dream returned to her mind.

We can be together again.

‘Do you believe in life after death?’

The Reverend smiled. ‘I’d be pretty bad at my job if I said no.’

‘What about ghosts?’

‘I don’t believe the dead return to watch over the living. Yet there are spirits in this world of an altogether different origin.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean be careful what you wish for, Naomi Levinson.’

With those words, the Reverend turned and walked away. Naomi stared after him for a second and then returned her gaze to Toby’s headstone. 1984 – 2001. A short life for someone with such promise. What had God been thinking, allowing him to die in a house fire? Naomi’s parents had brought her up to believe in God, but right now she found it difficult to believe he cared about humans, especially someone as lonely as her. Toby Lane had understood her, and she had trusted him completely. Now that he was gone, the isolation felt all but unbearable.

Yet over time, Reverend Mortimer was proven correct. Although Naomi felt as though she had a spiritual missing limb, the pain eased. When she eventually came to terms with the loss of Toby, she no longer gave the Lane family smoke alarms a second thought. Only years later did the tragic events of the 17th of September 2001 cast their sinister shadow over the present.

Chapter 1

London, 22nd February 2016.

Naomi Levinson sat in the driver’s seat of the company Citroen Berlingo, watching light drizzle splatter on the windscreen. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, staring at the walls of Holloway prison. Judging by the silence among her colleagues, she wasn’t the only one feeling on edge.

They had interviewed prisoners before, including the worst kinds of rapists, child molesters and murderers, but on this occasion, there was something particularly chilling about the individual they had come to film.

Naomi recalled Tanya Sutton’s mug shots from the television news, along with footage of her walking calmly to and from the court during her trial. Elegant and attractive, Tanya Sutton came from a wealthy background. She had founded what promised to be a very successful cosmetics business. During the trial she had been softly spoken, never once raising her voice. Somehow that had made her appalling crime, and the reasons behind it, all the more frightening.

Brendon, the long-haired, lanky, middle-aged sound recordist, broke the silence with a nervous question. ‘How long do we have to wait? It’s nearly lunch.’

‘It’s eleven. That isn’t nearly lunch,’ said Raven, the camera operator. Not quite out of her teens, Raven had a punk-ish look with her torn jeans, leather jacket, and multiple piercings. She gently stroked her wide-angle lens as though it were a cherished pet cat.

‘Yeah, but by the time we’re done here, it’ll be more like two,’ said Brendon. ‘That’s too late for lunch and I get headaches if I don’t eat.’

‘Two isn’t too late for lunch,’ said Raven.

Brendon shook his head. ‘Anything later than one-thirty is too late for lunch. After that time, you enter the realm of ambiguous not-lunch-but-not-teatime. That’s a scary place to be, if you haven’t eaten.’

‘Why didn’t you bring something to eat on the go?’ asked Lucy, a bright-faced, long-haired, twenty-one-year old production assistant.

‘I don’t eat on the go. I get indigestion.’

‘Oh God, here we go,’ muttered Brian, the lighting director. ‘Time for hypochondria bingo.’

‘It’s not hypochondria. I really do get indigestion.’

‘Brendon, you get everything,’ said Raven. ‘Or at least, you think you do. Remember that time you had a cold and you thought you’d developed cancer?’

‘Yeah, but I checked online, and the symptoms…’

Raven rolled her eyes. ‘Seriously, never check online. Every symptom is a symptom of a life-threatening illness.’

Lucy joined in. ‘Remember when you swallowed polystyrene and thought you were going to have a heart attack?’

‘That was your fault,’ said Brendon. ‘You told me they were crisps.’

Brian grinned and fist-bumped Lucy.

‘How you mistook polystyrene packaging for crisps is beyond me,’ said Lucy.

‘Well, at least I can find the way from Kensington Gardens to the Royal Albert Hall,’ said Brendon.

Everyone laughed.

Lucy shrugged. ‘It’s easy to get lost.’

Brendon scoffed. ‘Lost? The Royal Albert Hall is right flippin’ next to Kensington Gardens!’

‘It’s true,’ said Brian. ‘I’m sorry, Lucy, but you have the worst sense of direction of anyone I have ever met.’

‘What makes it even funnier is you’ve lived your entire life in London,’ said Brendon.

‘I think we’re missing the real issue here,’ said Lucy. ‘Brendon, what are you going to do about lunch?’

Brendon’s smile melted. ‘That is a serious problem.’

‘Brendon, I think you’ll survive until two,’ said Naomi, pleased the crew’s banter had cut through the nervous atmosphere.

‘I’m not sure,’ said Brendon. ‘Looks like I’ve got a choice between indigestion and headaches.’

Naomi glanced at her watch. ‘There isn’t really time for you to pop off and get something. Not unless you run.’

‘I can’t run. I get asthma attacks.’

Naomi smiled. Brendon Hargrave might be one of the worst hypochondriacs she had ever met, but he was also the best and most experienced sound recordist they had amongst the staff at Paranorm Productions.

‘Why don’t we just go in now?’ asked Raven.

‘No point,’ said Naomi. ‘Not until 11:10, when the Governor said he would meet us.’

‘I must admit, I’m feeling a bit freaked out,’ said Brian. ‘I didn’t want this gig.’

‘But Naomi is very persuasive,’ said Raven.

Brian nodded. ‘True... But I can’t understand why you didn’t get someone cheaper. I know you sometimes use Ed Lawson.’

‘Ed’s good, you’re better,’ said Naomi. ‘If I’m going to interview the scariest prisoner at the centre of the most horrible news story of recent times, I want it to look amazing.’

‘Ed Lawson can be a right miserable bastard,’ said Lucy.

‘So can Brian,’ said Brendon.

Lucy grinned at Brian. ‘True, but he’s my miserable bastard.’

Brian and Lucy bumped fists again.

Brendon groaned. ‘What the hell is it with you two? Seriously, it isn’t appropriate for a twenty-one-year old newbie to have this kind of partner-in-crime relationship with a seasoned veteran like Brian. He must be at least, what, fifty by now?’

‘Forty-four,’ said Brian. In truth, he did look young for his age, partly because he insisted on wearing sci-fi T-shirts and designer jeans, and partly because when freshly shaven he looked rather baby-faced. His thick dark hair had only the barest hint of grey.

‘Right, well, that means you should be like a mentor or something responsible,’ Brendon continued. ‘Personally, Brian, I liked you better when you were inside your shell, before this… distracting creature drew you out of it.’

Lucy laughed with an expression of mock offence. ‘Distracting creature?’

‘I wasn’t in a shell,’ said Brian. He turned to Lucy. ‘Was I?’

‘You so were in a shell,’ said Raven. ‘Then Lucy worked her magic on you.’

Brian shifted awkwardly in his seat and addressed Naomi in business-like tones. ‘Where are you selling this? The BBC?’

‘The Supernatural Channel.’

Brian rolled his eyes.

‘They pay well,’ said Naomi. ‘Besides, this interview is a real coup for Paranorm Productions. The footage could end up on the BBC in other formats.’

‘Is Freddie bringing his own make-up artist?’ Brendon asked.

‘Yes,’ said Naomi.

‘Thank God for that,’ said Lucy. ‘Last time I thought that arrogant, vain narcissist was gonna punch that poor girl you hired.’

Naomi laughed. ‘Freddie Deacon’s not so bad. I kind of feel sorry for him given the way the tabloids treated him.’

‘Yes, the poor man was so badly treated after he beat up that male prostitute,’ said Raven.

‘Well, he did find himself in some hard times,’ said Naomi.

Raven rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, boo-bloody-hoo. Poor Freddie went the way of so many other light entertainers before him, immersing himself in booze and sadomasochistic orgies.’

‘I’m not saying he didn’t make mistakes, but he did pull himself out of the depression.’

‘Yes, you’ve single-handedly given him a comeback he doesn’t deserve by allowing him to present your documentaries. But you can’t deny his behaviour has been insanely unpredictable. To describe that business with the make-up as ridiculous would be pathetically inadequate.’

‘Well, I did put my foot down on that score,’ said Naomi.

‘Do we have to use Freddie for this?’ Lucy continued.

Naomi nodded. ‘He’s good for publicity. But he won’t be in the actual interview. We’re just filming a couple of links with him outside the prison.’

‘May the gods of television be thanked,’ said Raven.

‘I thought you liked Freddie,’ said Lucy. ‘You seemed to get on so well that time when you leapt off the back of a moving lorry with him.’

‘That’s because I was hoping he’d break his leg,’ said Raven. ‘Besides, it was a great shot, even though he didn’t break his leg.’

‘Ah yes,’ said Brendon. ‘With Raven, it’s all about getting the shot, regardless of subject matter, and no matter how insane or dangerous or cruel.’

‘I do draw the line somewhere,’ said Raven.

‘Where exactly? Remember that poor bastard you kept filming, after he thought the ghost of his dead mother appeared in the room with us? He kept telling you to turn off the camera because it would scare his mother away, but you wouldn’t, even when he started crying and begged.’

‘Oh come on! That guy was insane.’

‘Raven, I sometimes think you have no moral compass.’

Raven shrugged. ‘I have a moral compass. It just doesn’t always point north.’

‘With a surname like yours, I’m amazed you can speak or spell, let alone have a sense of direction,’ said Brian.

‘What’s so difficult about my surname? Thorarinsdottir just rolls off the tongue.’

‘Raven Thorarinsdottir,’ said Brendon. ‘The girl wonder, whose meteoric rise within the ranks of Paranorm has been suspiciously extraordinary.’

‘That’s because she can shoot and edit better than anyone I know,’ said Naomi.

‘For the money,’ said Brian.

Raven stuck her middle finger up at Brian, but smiled. ‘It’s true. I’m little more than a slave. Naomi just keeps me chained up in the edit suite and every so often chucks in fresh straw.’

‘Naomi, did you have her genetically engineered?’ said Brendon.

‘Of course,’ said Raven. ‘That’s why the rest of you are such dimwits. You’re the result of her earlier, less successful experiments.’

The good-natured exchange continued for a couple of minutes, but eventually Naomi and her crew fell silent. The unnerving anxiety returned with a vengeance. Naomi inwardly told herself to stop being ridiculous. She was a successful television producer and director, and would not be intimidated.

Slow seconds passed as Naomi cast her mind back to their shoot the previous day, when they had interviewed Jewish exorcist Elliot Greenberg. His contribution had been illuminating, but he had strongly warned them against interviewing Tanya Sutton when he heard of their intentions.

She is one of the most dangerous and heavily demonised people I have ever encountered.

Greenburg’s words were not reassuring, but given the subject of their documentary – demon possession – they would have been foolish to pass up the opportunity to interview Sutton, who many, even those with avowedly secular beliefs, referred to as demonically possessed. Her peculiar outbursts in court, where she had seemingly spoken in voices other than her own, had earned her the tabloid title of Demon Killer.

Eventually they could wait no longer. Naomi and the others got out of the vehicle and headed for the prison; a bloated slab of red brick and concrete surrounded by the usual steel fences and barriers. Gloomy clouds covered the skies and drizzle sprayed in their faces.

The prison reception was a bland, featureless area with little to distinguish it, save a couple of tall potted plants positioned at strategic intervals along the magnolia walls. Naomi approached the reception desk, but before she could speak to the receptionist, a short, slightly overweight man in a grey suit emerged from the electronic double doors to the left of the reception area. He smiled and extended his hand.

‘Naomi Levinson, I presume?’

‘Governor Jackson,’ said Naomi, shaking his hand.

‘Please, call me Edward,’ said the Governor. ‘You’re exactly on time. Would you and your team care to follow me?’

Naomi smiled. ‘Lead the way.’

After meandering along a veritable maze of corridors, through locked double doors with bars and up one staircase, Naomi and the others arrived at a large interview room with a wooden table, plastic chairs and a barred window that looked out onto the car park.

‘We will bring the prisoner to this room at precisely 12:45pm as agreed,’ said the Governor. ‘I must say, I am surprised she has agreed to speak with you.’

Brian indicated the window. ‘Can we cover this? It will be trickier if I allow natural light in.’

The Governor shrugged. ‘I don’t see why not, as long as you stick to the agreed schedule.’

‘I’d have preferred longer to set the lights,’ Brian muttered.

‘You always want more time to set the lights,’ said Lucy.

The Governor glanced between each of them in turn, his eyes finally resting on Raven. He frowned. Naomi wondered if he found Raven’s dyed red hair, nose ring, and dark clothes a little too unconventional for his conservative tastes.

‘She doesn’t bite,’ said Naomi.

Raven grinned. ‘Oh, I definitely bite.’

‘Forgive me,’ said the Governor. ‘I was just wondering… How old are you?’

‘Nineteen,’ said Raven.

‘Nineteen going on thirty,’ said Brendon.

‘Yes,’ said the Governor, clearly worried. ‘Let’s just hope it all goes to plan…’

‘We’ll be fine, thank you,’ said Naomi.

‘I’ll leave you to set up.’

Once the Governor had left the room, Naomi glanced at her watch. Time was tight if they were to get everything filmed.

‘What’s his problem with you?’ Lucy asked Raven.

‘Oh, he probably just thinks I’m too young to be in the same room as a demonically possessed psychopathic killer,’ Raven replied cheerfully.

‘No doubt he doesn’t realise you’re a descendant of Thor,’ said Brian.

‘Just because she has an insane but cool Icelandic surname doesn’t make her a god,’ said Brendon.

‘Yes it does,’ said Raven.

‘Freddie gets here at twelve, so we’ll help bring the gear in and set-up,’ said Naomi. ‘After that, Brian, we’ll leave you to finish here whilst we film Freddie’s bit with the second camera.’

‘Don’t you want that lit at all?’ asked Brian.

Naomi shook her head. ‘We’ll film Freddie’s links outside with a paglight. Shouldn’t take more than half an hour. Then we’ll be back in time for the interview.’

Over the next forty-five minutes, Naomi, Raven, Brian, Lucy, and Brendon travelled to and from the car park through the prison, escorted by prison guards who opened the doors for them. Hauling the lights and equipment up to the interview room proved an arduous process, but eventually the room was prepared, with the window covered as Brian had asked for, and various bright lights in place. Lucy sat in the chair where Tanya Sutton would sit, so the others could test the light, sound levels, and camera angles.

At midday, Naomi, Brendon, and Raven left Brian and Lucy in the interview room to meet up with Freddie Deacon outside the prison. Mercifully, the rain had eased somewhat, but Freddie was late. Naomi glanced at her watch again, very aware of their time pressures. The production budget wouldn’t stretch to another day’s shoot with Freddie, and they had to get his stuff in the can before the interview with Tanya Sutton.

‘Why is Freddie always late?’ Raven muttered. ‘Do you want this handheld?’

‘Yes,’ said Naomi.

‘We’ll have to be careful on audio too since there’s quite a bit of wind,’ said Brendon.

‘With Freddie, there’s always quite a bit of wind,’ Raven scoffed.

‘He’s not that bad,’ said Naomi.

‘I think you try too hard to be nice about people,’ said Brendon. ‘He’s an obnoxious, narcissistic bastard, who specialises in being horrible to those he considers unimportant underlings.’

‘Remember that time he made that girl in McDonald’s cry?’ said Raven. ‘I mean, it was McDonald’s for God’s sake. A Big Mac is a Big Mac. That guy makes fussiness an art form.’

‘I try not to eat with him,’ said Brendon. ‘And stop talking about food. It’s bad enough I didn’t get lunch earlier.’

Raven rolled her eyes. ‘We’re not back to that again! Just have lunch at two like a normal human being.’

‘No normal human being has lunch at two. Besides…’

The screech of a silver Volkswagen Golf halting abruptly in the prison car park drowned Brendon’s voice. Naomi glanced at her watch: 12:07pm. A mere seven minutes late was pretty good by Freddie Deacon’s standards.

Freddie Deacon cut a flamboyant figure as he swanned across the car park in a bright blue suit, flashing his gleaming teeth in a smile. His thick, dark bushy hair flapped in the wind, and as usual he reminded Naomi of an American used car salesman.

‘Award winning talent coming through!’ Freddie proclaimed.

Behind him two girls in their early twenties hurried to keep up. One had a make-up bag, the other held an iPad and wore a harried expression. Naomi hadn’t met either before, but it seemed Freddie had taken to heart what she had said about getting his own make-up artist.

‘Naomi, wonderful to see you again, darling,’ said Freddie. He immediately seized her in a rather tight hug.

‘Lovely to see you too, Freddie,’ Naomi replied. ‘But I’d prefer to breathe, if you wouldn’t mind just letting go a little…’

Freddie moved away, laughing. ‘That’s what I love about you Naomi. Great sense of humour. Not like some people…’

Freddie flashed a dark, sideways glance at his PA. She looked embarrassed and began distractedly consulting her iPad.

Naomi was pleased to see Freddie had already been made up, so after a few brief touches from his make-up assistant, they were ready to film his link outside the prison.

‘Where’s the autocue?’ asked Freddie.

‘I told you, we aren’t using autocue for this,’ said Naomi. ‘Budget cuts. We just need you to explain the basic facts to camera. I emailed bullet points, remember?’

‘Yes, yes, I remember,’ said Freddie, glancing again at his PA.

‘Here they are, Mr. Deacon,’ the PA said, hurriedly passing Freddie some cue cards.

Freddie seized them with unnecessary force and began shuffling through them. Raven and Brendon grimaced at Naomi when Freddie wasn’t looking. The last thing they wanted was to get stuck outside filming endless takes if Freddie hadn’t learned his stuff.

‘Told you we should have got autocue,’ Raven muttered in an undertone.

‘Told you we should have had lunch,’ Brendon added. ‘My head’s hurting.’

‘Alright!’ Freddie proclaimed. ‘I’m ready! Mike me up, Mr. Soundman!’

Brendon clipped a small radio microphone onto Freddie’s tie. After a brief sound test, they were ready to roll. Naomi positioned Freddie, discussed the shot with Raven, and went for a take.

Freddie fluffed it within seconds.

‘I’m here at Holloway Prison, London, England, where one of the most notorious killers of recent years has been incarcerated…’

‘No, sorry, Freddie,’ Naomi interrupted. ‘We don’t need to do the whole London, England thing. Everyone knows London is in England.’

‘Lots of Americans don’t,’ Freddie muttered. ‘I thought you said this programme would be sold internationally.’

‘It will,’ said Naomi. ‘But Americans are more geographically aware than the stereotype would have you believe. At any rate, just say London next time.’

‘Yes sir, Mr. Director,’ said Freddie. ‘Sorry, that should be Miss. It’s not Mrs is it? No. Definitely Miss then. Or Ms?’

‘Let’s just go for another take,’ said Naomi, trying not to show her irritation.

‘Right! Sorry. OK, take two will be the one...’

Like Brendon, Naomi would have preferred to use an autocue for this shoot, but to her surprise, Freddie managed to nail the bullet points on the next take.

‘I’m standing outside Holloway Prison in London, where the notorious killer at the centre of the most shocking murder in recent years has been incarcerated. Wealthy Tanya Sutton seemingly had it all: good looks, money, and a flourishing cosmetics business. But Tanya Sutton was also a deeply religious woman, who attended the church of Pastor Matthew Delbert, a controversial Christian leader who regularly performed exorcisms in his church, sometimes on children. Delbert preached a particularly radical message that emphasised vigilance against witchcraft and the works of Satan, and when Tanya had a baby son, she became fearful and paranoid that he might somehow become possessed.

‘When she discovered her husband Tristan had been having an affair, she fled, believing he must have fallen under the sway of the Infernal One to have strayed from the marital bed. Tanya took her son Barney with her, who was just under a year old at the time. Despite repentance from her husband, she refused to take him back, believing him to be possessed. She became convinced her little boy was also possessed, suffering under the evil curse that had caused her husband to commit adultery. She began to abuse Barney, thinking to drive the demon from his body by means of horrific physical punishment.

‘Suspicious of what might be happening to his son, Tristan petitioned social services to intervene and rescue Barney. But the lethargic, negligent bureaucrats did not act swiftly enough, and in the meantime, Barney was beaten, starved, locked in cupboards, and eventually drowned in what Tanya Sutton initially claimed was an accident.

‘If all this wasn’t shocking enough, what happened during the court case that followed gripped the nation, as Tanya Sutton spoke on the stand sometimes in her own voice, and at other times in a deeper tone that hinted at possible demonic possession. Demon Killer was the headline splashed across tabloids, but the judge did not believe her to be possessed, and instead suggested the courtroom scenes had been a masquerade. He refused an insanity plea and sentenced her to life imprisonment.

‘Is Tanya Sutton really possessed? Is she insane? Or, as the judge believed, was it all an act? Is she really nothing more than a cold, calculating child murderer?’

‘Cut,’ said Naomi. ‘Very good, Freddie. Exactly what we needed.’

Freddie looked surprised. ‘Are you sure? I can do it again if you like.’

‘All good for sound here,’ said Brendon. ‘Sandwich would be nice though…’

Raven fixed Brendon with a scathing look, whilst Naomi answered Freddie.

‘I think we’ve got it.’ Naomi smiled, wanting to reassure Freddie that he had done a good job, even though she would cut much of his exposition in the edit using cutaways.

‘Right,’ said Freddie. ‘Well, in that case, can I stay and watch the interview? I’m genuinely intrigued.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Naomi. ‘The prison governor didn’t want big celebrities turning up. So just us production crew I’m afraid.’

Freddie looked disappointed. ‘Oh come on! It isn’t every day you get to meet a notorious killer.’

‘I don’t know…’

‘Forget it, Naomi, I’m staying. You still need voiceover work on this piece, right? Well, unless you want me to double my rates, I’m coming to watch the interview.’

‘Alright, I suppose you can, if you just sit out of the way,’ said Naomi.

Freddie rubbed his hands together. ‘Great, that’s all settled then.’

Raven glared at Naomi and she could tell she had caved too easily.

Upon entering the prison interview room, Freddie immediately introduced himself to the Governor.

‘Freddie Deacon,’ he said, extending his hand. ‘I don’t believe we’ve met.’

‘No, we haven’t,’ said the Governor, slightly taken aback.

‘This is Edward Jackson, the Governor,’ said Naomi. ‘Freddie is our presenter, but he isn’t conducting the interview. I said he could stay to watch.’

The Governor shot a dubious look at Naomi. ‘If you think that’s wise. I would have thought