Walk down Slade Alley - narrow, dank, easy to miss, even when you're looking for it. A small black metal door is set into the right-hand wall.
No handle, no keyhole, but at your touch it opens. Enter the sunlit garden of an old house that doesn't quite make sense; too grand for its red-brick surroundings and too large for the space it occupies. A stranger greets you and invites you inside.
At first, you won't want to leave. Too late, you find you can't. This spine-chilling, taut and intricately woven tale by one of our most original and bewitching writers begins in 1979 and comes to its turbulent conclusion on Hallowe'en, 2015.
For it is on the last Saturday of October, every nine years, that a 'guest' enters the attic of Slade House. They do not know they have been hand-picked, but they will soon discover who has drawn them there, and why...
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