Previously unseen extracts from..

Myths And Legends Of Thornaby
By Lynn Preston

In the reference library of Thornaby
s library is a book. It
s a book rarely that
s been read and has been out of print for over 30 years. Hardly any copies were ever sold and only a few still exist.

Its called Myths And Legends Of Thornaby and its one of the most amazing books ever. It contains essays and facts about the supernatural and amazing history of Thornaby. Chapters on Rainbirds, The Grinning Cats head that has aided Arthur and Lawrence in their adventures.

Details and stories of ghosts, demons and downright bizarre and perplexing happenings are crammed in.

Here are some examples from this tome of the unknown.

INTRODUCTION :

Thornaby is generally known as the epi-centre of paranormal activity in England. Well, I reckon so anyway. The town is situated upon several lay-lines, (the Earths natural channels of energy - its veins if you like), so there is an almost magnetic pull in the atmosphere drawing in all and any supernatural anomaly. The town is rife with ghost stories, UFO sightings and time slip, too numerous to catalogue. So I want to concentrate on the more dynamic, famous and much more interesting paranormal incidents.

In this journal of weirdness I have, however, endeavoured to separate the wheat from the chaff, i.e. I have paid no mind to some of the more ridiculous folklore tales of Thornaby. The Pickling Witch Of Westbury Street being the most ludicrous. Its now common knowledge Widow Moffatt was just a harmless old woman. Just because someone dyes their hair blue and smells a bit does not mean they are in league with Satan and pickles teenagers in Sarsons Vinegar. An innocent old woman was burned at the stake and it casts a regretful shadow of shame on Thornaby's history. Still, they were very unenlightened times the 1960s. No pickled teenagers were ever found when the angry locals raided her house, indeed there was no evidence at all to warrant Bonfire Night coming early that year.

Other silly Thornaby legends I shall not be documenting are The Ghostly Guinea Pigs Of The In Shops Pet Shop, The Vampire Escort LX Of Jennings Car Showroom, and definitely not The Self Assembly Wardrobe of MFI.

I want to include the good stuff. Take for example the case of Robert de Thormodbi, the founder of Thornaby himself! A man who has been dead since the time of the crusades and one of the more note worthy of Thornaby's ghost community. As he's been in spirit form for over 600 years I firmly believe hes gone bonkers. The boredom of perpetual death on Earth has lead him to fill his time with meaningless pranks and silly practical jokes. This chap fought in the crusades, of course he's going to be missing the thrills of his life.

His usual tricks are childish pranks such as tripping up pensioners, leaving odd training shoes on bus shelters, pushing litter bins over, writing -wash me- on the backs of dirty vans. Its a little sad that a once proud and strong warrior is now down to the level of leaving dog poo outside peoples front doors, knocking on them and falling about laughing when the people come out and squelch through it.

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CASE No 4 : OLD COMFY.

One of the more peculiar supernatural legends of Thornaby is that of Old Comfy, the ghost of a settee that is alleged to haunt the Sofa-So-Good Centre on Bridge Road. The building is very old and was originally, around the beginning of the last century, a suite manufacturers called Goodmans' Emporium Of Comfort And Delight.

It was a thriving business making finely crafted chairs and sofas for the immediate and surrounding North Yorkshire areas. So well made and comfortable was the living room furniture that orders were soon pouring in from around the world. The company would export settees to Kings, Tsars and Maharajahs from far away countries just so they could rest their Royal posteriors on a comfortable Goodmans'.

The owner was a craftsman called Ronnie Goodman. A man from humble and extremely uncomfortable beginnings in a tumble down house in Thornaby's notorious Cathouse Lane.

When his business took off he soon became rich beyond his wildest dreams and quickly adapted to a life of extreme comfort. Goodman fell in with the fat idle rich of the area and their easy, bloated lifestyles. Non stop social gatherings such as 'bring your own settee organ recitals were all the decedent rich had to worry about. Goodman became obsessed with easy living, and more to the point, comfort. Although his settees were regarded as the comfiest ever manufactured, he wanted more comfort and more adulation. He became greedy for it, and in the end quite quite mad.

Goodman set about making the most comfortable settee ever. He got it into his head that the regular stuffings for settee were'nt going to be comfy enough, he had to have something new. Something so soft and pampered that anyone who sat on it would never want to get back up again. Insanely, he decided to stuff the settee with the fat from his new overweight rich friends. The blobby, billowing flesh from their enormous bottoms.

It was an ideal stuffing being so mushy and swollen. Plus, their thick skins would make ideal covering for his settee masterpiece. Goodman, now a very bad man, lured one fat idle wealthy person after another back to his factory on the promise of sweet tea and cream cakes, then did away with them before relieving them of their bums and skins. When he had enough material he locked himself away in a tiny room deep within his factory and worked without sleep for 13 days and nights. At the end of it the pale, mad eyed furniture maker proclaimed to all his staff that he had created the greatest and most comfortable settee ever. Indeed, it did look fantastic. Soft and enticing, its pink suede covering was soothing to the touch and perfectly moulded to a carved oak frame. But that's where its beauty ended. Goodmans madness had somehow become stuffed into the settee too. The thing was alive! It was evil! It craved more flesh to become even bigger, even comfier! The settee turned on its maker and devoured the screaming madman, sucking him down between its pulsating, chomping cushions as though he were a lost coin. It then turned on the horrified factory workers making one after another its next meal. A lot got out before the crazed settee could bound after them, but a good few were lost to it. Gone like so many TV remotes in our time do. The Police were alerted it took several of them, armed with revolvers, to bring the beastly settee down, ending its brief reign of terror.

---

---

The suite factory was closed down and remained empty for over 60 years. In that time no one dared go past the building late at night as many claimed to have heard the sound of furniture scraping over wooden floors in the darkness.

In 1967 The Sofa-So Good Centre company acquired the building and opened their three storey suite showroom there. All was well until the staff started seeing apparitions of Old Comfy. One afternoon two particularly bone idle female members of staff were skiving, having a crafty sit down in the Chesterfields section while the boss was out. The story goes that room went very cold and the lights flickered. Then a large, pink and plump, ever-so-comfy looking, antique settee drifted through the wall straight for one of the women. She was terrified, but also mesmerized by how comfy it looked. She looked as if all that mattered in her life was to just plonk herself down on the eerie settee and never get up. Perhaps it was mind control, who knows, but she did just that and was immediately swallowed down the back of the settee and lost forever. Old Comfy disappeared and the remaining woman turned on her high platform boots and ran for her life clutching her hand to her heart and the days takings.

Since that time several members of staff have disappeared, (although usually its the manager with one of the secretaries), but some may have been devoured by Old Comfy. Like the Loch Ness Monster, Bigfoot or Casper, Old Comfy has its castors rooted deep in folklore. And who knows if the killer settee is confined to the shop? If you are ever in the Thornaby area, tired of walking, in need of a rest, and a large, bloated pink settee appears before you, try and resist the temptation to put your feet up, because you could be the next victim of Old Comfy.

CASE No 32 : THE LIAR, THE WITCH, & THE WARDROBE.

Amos Meadowcheddar, (if indeed that was his real name), was, by his own confession, the biggest liar in Thornaby's history. So are we to believe him?, seeing as how he was such a great big fibber?

Throughout the early 1700s, Amos sat in the doorway of his wooden house, smoking his pipe and watching the world go by. Come rain or shine, he would merrily lie to everyone who passed his way. Where his house stood became known as Liars Cross and is now the site of the junction of Westbury Street and Thorntree Road. Word soon spread of his talent for fibs and he became something of a celebrity. Selling a lie for a penny, he made a nice living with his fantastic fabrications. People came from miles around the buy their daily lies such as¨

*In London they use fish instead of money.

*To buy a loaf of bread costs you two herrings, and a to buy a herring would be four and a half goldfish.

*Sausages are really self assembly pigs.

*If you eat a dog with your eyes closed you become invisible.

*The moon is made of squirrel sick.

Utter tosh like that. But, by jingo, you were'nt anybody unless you had an Enormous Amos Lie to spread about. Even when he wasn't inventing his mad untruths Amos just couldn't help telling lies. A typical conversation with him might go¨¨¨¨¨

PASSER BY
Morning, Amos.

AMOS
No it isn't.

PASSER BY
How does the morn find you? Are you well?

AMOS
No, I'm afraid I died in my sleep.

PASSER BY
How be it you speak to me now then, Amos?

AMOS
I'm a ghost.

PASSER BY
A ghost?

AMOS
Where?

PASSER BY
You. You said you were dead.

AMOS
No I didn't.

PASSER BY
Bye then, Amos. Have a good morning, friend.

AMOS
Its evening. Who's Amos anyway?

As Amos's popularity grew, so did the venom of Witch Hazel, a grizzly old bag of a witch who lived on Thornaby Green selling spells and potions.

She tried to cash in on the 'lying market and sunk all her funds into a new lie potion that boasted it could give a person an unlimited supply of amazing fibs.' But, like all cheap imitations of the original product, her lies were poor quality and fell apart after only one use. She went bust and blamed Amos for her bankruptcy.

Her revenge was to first cast a spell to make his garden and front door disappear so he had no where to trade from. This didn't bother Amos and he sat in his bedroom doorway dispensing quality lies. Witch Hazel then made his bedroom disappear so Amos took to living in, and selling from, his wardrobe. Witch Hazel tried another tactic and cast a spell to summon the biggest, baddest liar of them all, the Devil himself. Satan, or Kevin as he was known to friends. One dark stormy night he appeared in a jet black coach with a snarling skeleton as coachman, drawn by red eyed, wailing skeleton horses. The damned coach stopped outside Amos's wardrobe. The Devil knocked three times upon the door. 'I seek the one they call Amos the liar,' bellowed the Devil.

"I'm not in," said Amos opening the door, "I wont be back for a few hours"

"Ooooh, you really are a big fibber, aren't you!," hissed the Devil.

"No," said Amos. Witch Hazel emerged from the night.

"He reckons he can tell better lies than you, your Devil-ship," said she, really stirring up the muck.

"Oh, he wants a lying competition does he?," growled the Devil, "Let's do it. Witch Hazel, as you summoned me, you may set the rules." She smiled to herself and stroked the wood of the magnificent wardrobe.

"If the Devil deems his own lie to be better than Amos's, the Devil wins and he will drag Amos to Hell, and I get this smart wardrobe. If the Devil deems Amos lie to be better, Amos wins and he can keep the wardrobe and I will go in his place."
'Deal,' said the Devil, 'Is that okay with you, Amos?'
'No', said Amos.
'I'll take that as a yes. Okay, me first. Hmmmmm,' the Devil thought for a second and stroked his bearded chin. 'Okay, got one. If you look up the word 'dictionary' in the dictionary, your eyes fall out,' lied the Devil.
Witch Hazel clapped her hands and turned to Amos sneering.
'Beat that and stay fashionable, Amos,' she sniggered.
Amos needed no time to ponder his lie. He said, 'My lie is this, I shall not go to Hell.'
'Oh knockout!,' laughed Witch Hazel sarcastically,' A really good lie, I don't think! She danced upon the spot with joy.
'Take him away, Kevin!'
The Devil looked deep in thought for a second then took Witch Hazel by the arm and pulled her towards the coach. She panicked. 'What are you doing? He lost!'
'You're going to Hell in his place. Don't you understand?, he's won,' explained The Devil. 'It's a no-win situation he's created for me! Think about it...if I say my lie is best, then I win the competition and I take him to hell with me.'
'Yeah?, so what's the ruddy problem, take him to Hell!'
'I can't take him to Hell because that would make 'I shall not go to Hell' a wopping big lie. So whatever happens I can't take him to hell! Ergo, I simply cannot win!'
'But if you leave him here that makes 'I shall not go to hell' true, you idiot! Therefore you've won, therefore he goes to Hell for losing.'
'Yes, but if I do take him to hell that makes his lie, 'I shall not go to Hell' true.
'I CAN'T TAKE HIM TO HELL, YOU SILLY COW!'
'Ooooh, I get it now, it's a no-win situation for the Devil,' said the Witch nodding.
'Oh thank my old boss, she's twigged it!', sighed the Devil.
'Best of three!,' she said in panic as the Devil booted her backside into the coach and locked the door.
'That's quality duplicity that is Amos,' said the Devil to Amos with nothing but sheer admiration in his voice.
'No it's not,' said Amos as thunder rolled, the ground cracked and split asunder and the infernal coach plunged deep into the bowels of Hades. The screaming witch inside bellowed rude words until her vile utterances could be heard no more and the earth healed up and all fell silent once more.
And so Amos continued to sit in his wardrobe selling his penny lies until one day, many years later he died. He was about to be buried with full Thornaby honours when someone guessed he was lying about being dead. Amos got up out of his coffin and walked home. This happened a further forty eight times until the Thornaby folk got sick of him and buried him anyway. Some say his ghost still haunts the spot where his wardrobe stood and he cheated the Devil. If you're ever stood at Liar's Cross and you hear a voice telling you whopping great fibs, don't panic. Just drop a penny on the floor and say thank you to Amos, the biggest liar in Thornaby.

CASE No 18 : THE ASDA CAR PARK DENT DEVILS.

Since the construction of Woolco Supermarket (now Asda) in Thornaby town centre a new breed of terror has been created. Amazingly it's not the frighteningly distressing smell and appearance of the trolley boys, it's the Dent Devils. Directly under the store is a cold, daunting and evil place known as the underground car park.

Nowadays it is only used by unsuspecting newcomers to Thornaby who know nothing of the legends. Thornaby residents in the know prefer the vast outdoor car park which faces the front of the shop.

Dent Devils were born out of the tension and anger upset motorists exhibited when they found their cars damaged with little dents when they returned from their shopping. All underground car parks are a haven for auto-destruction, but the Asda Underground is the mecca for it. With nowhere else to go, rebounding off the damp stone walls, the tension collected. It clustered into an egg behind a spider's web in the deepest, dankest corner of the car park. Tension is an energy, a powerful force and when there was enough of it collected in the huge opaque bubble..

Pop! The first Dent Devil was hatched.

Invisible to most people, Dent Devils are small, scaly, vicious, hunched up demons with black / green skin and repugnant faces. The majority of their oval heads are made up of a deeply furrowed brow and tense muscles. Their eyes are black as coal. Measuring fifteen inches in height, (probably double that if you could ever stretch one out), they are permanently stooped and angry. And very hungry for tension!

The more tension they create from motorists who find annoying dents in their parked cars, the more they can reproduce and feed themselves. And extremely organised they are at it too. Each dent mission is carried out with regimental accuracy. Lookout Devils keep an eye on what car is parked where and how long it's being left for. Then there are the Reconnaissance Devils who work out which trolley should be used for which car and which part of the car would best suit a small, noticeable dent. The information is passed on to Trolley Control deep within the underground car park. Decisions are made by the Elder Devils and then Trolley Operative Devils (T.O.D.s for short), are sent out to commit the acts. Nowadays, most of the missions are above ground in the main car park and are carried out fast and effectively. The T.O.D.s invisibly manoeuvre the trolleys into position near the objective vehicle. A final look out for returning motorists or passing witnesses is made and if the all clear snigger is passed, the trolley is pushed gently into the car leaving a small annoying dent. The trolley is then moved away from the car as possible so no earthly blame can be attached to any other human, (this might result in insurance claims where cars are repaired thus negating all fury.) Tension Collector Devils are then drafted in to wait for the returning motorist and collate all his or her fury, anger and tension. This is then deposited back into the underground for the Dent Devil collective good.

Asda management secretly know of Dent Devils and brought in a system of pound coin operated trolleys. The reasoning was that if the unused trolleys were chained up like metallic slaves, there'd be less chance of the Dent Devils using them to damage cars. The Dent Devils retaliated by making ice casts of pound coins that they slip into chained up trolleys. That's why whenever you find a loose trolley, vainly hoping you can pocket the pound coin someone's left in it, there isn't one and the handle's always wet, (the ice coin has melted.) The Dent Devils retaliated by upping their efforts and developing other ways to extract tension in the supermarket world.

Widdle Devils - These are devils trained to hide under checkout conveyor belts firing widdle onto the underside of the conveyor belt making it wet, thus ruining newspapers, magazines and CD covers purchased in shop.

Wonky Wheel Devils - Dedicated to destroying the bearings in one of the four wheels on shopping trolleys. They also loosen handles on baskets too.

Dog Rilers - Every wondered why dogs tied to supermarket railings were always upset? The Dog Riler Devils invisibly tease the poor beast so that they whimper loudly and attack anyone who takes pity on them.

Bicycle Pump Swipers and Tyre Deflating Devils - Anyone who's ever left a peddle bike outside a supermarket will understand this one.

Bar Decoders - Especially effective in long queues. These Devils alter bar codes on items so that they cannot be scanned, thus providing a long wait in queues and many supermarket girls shouting 'Julie, 'ow much for fish fingers?'

The Dent Devils are branching out into many more fields of tension, so many in fact the average trip to the supermarket is a minefield of sour emotion. When you visit a supermarket, always remember to keep calm, count to ten and breath deeply before you kick off and demand a fight with the manager.

CASE No 27 : (NOT QUITE) THE MOST EVIL MAN IN THE WORLD.

Dominic Sodd didn't want much out of life. Just to be regarded as the most evil man who ever lived. More evil than the infamous Alistair Crowley who wasn't really evil, he was just a raving lunatic who needed locking up. Dominic didn't think it was too much to ask, after all most kids wanted to be train drivers or footballers, sheesh, now that was far fetched. Born in 1937 in a house on Thornaby's Iniquity Road, (now renamed Dr Who Drive), Dominic began practising pure evil as soon as he could think for himself. He hated this new world he'd been born into and wanted to tear it down and destroy it. He longed to reign as king of chaos in a world where misery and pain and anguish were commonplace, (to make it a bit like school.)

Dominic knew that he was only one person against millions so he decided to bring about Hell on Earth surreptitiously, little by little, from within. He would gain the trust of people, fool them into thinking he was anything but evil, that he was a quiet, pleasant human being. But, secretly he would plan malice and misdeeds with benign cunning so no one would know what he was up to until it was too late.

His parents were the first to suffer his malevolent wrath. To their faces he was a good and courteous son, always helping dad with his DIY, mum with the washing up. But when he was alone he would steal articles of their clothing, or hairs left in the shower, and curse them with his own form of voodoo. He wished terrible and hateful accidents upon his parents, none of which ever happened, but he never stopped trying. Plotting. Wishing them ill will. And all the time hiding behind a brilliantly acted role of sweetness and light. He smirked to himself every night as he said his prayers with mum, because once she'd gone he would retract them by repeating them backwards and offering them to Satan himself.

By the time he was at schooling age he was getting more and more confident with his foul disposition on the world. He formulated plans to destroy mankind, to wipe away all trace of an ordered society and replace it with a legion of demons and devils summoned from the darkest bowels of Hell. 'One day,' he told himself, 'One day the world will quake at the very sound of my name.'

At school he would torment fellow pupils by pulling scary devil faces at them behind their backs, muttering curses that would blight their lives forever, wishing them accidents or attacks by big dogs. When they turned to face him his expression would change to one of a big jolly smile and he'd ask them if they were okay, or if they needed help with their work etc. Again, none of his curses worked so his fellow pupils just thought he was a nice, innocent kid. Undeterred, Dominic bode his time always thinking his day of impiety would come. Then, and only then, they would pay, all of them.

He hated his teachers with unflinching fury, but managed to hide it well. Dominic vowed that come the dawn of darkness there would be a special place in his new Hell for teachers. They would be chained to burning desks and forced to un-learn every scrap of knowledge they'd ever gleaned until their minds were empty. Then they'd be force fed Satanic school dinners and lukewarm toilet water with suspicious looking crumbs floating in it. He cleverly fashioned messages of hate to his tutors, like the example below. It's a poem he wrote for an English homework for his teacher Miss Brown.

IT'S SUMMER, HOORAY!
Happy are we the summer is here,
Oh bless this good season an' reason to cheer,
Pull down your long socks, slip on your bright shorts,
Each one of us attired for frolics and sports,
Yellow's the sun, high in midsummer sky,
Orange in the morning, crimson come nigh----t,
Use up each glad moment with laughter an' fun,
Dusk cometh too soon to eat up the sun,
In pastures of green and cornfields of gold,
Enjoy summer moments, ye young and ye old,
Bumblebees bumble, humble in duty,
In flowers in bloom resplendent in beauty,
Go buzzy bee, seek out pollen sweet,
Now fly to thine queen, make honey to eat,
Over meadow and city cascade sunshine beams,
Somnolent summer gives thou golden dreams,
Everyone agrees; it's summer, hooray!

'Aw, what a sweet little poem, Dom,' smiled Miss Brown as she read it, completely missing the message hidden in the text.

Read down using only the very first letter on each line. Not so nice now is it.

Like all his messages it was well far too well concealed because no teacher ever twigged what was really being said to them. And so dedicated to sending these messages, sometimes coded in maths sums or hidden in corners in pleasing art class pictures, he always did his work with meticulous duty. He never had time to mess around in class and always got his homework in on time too. The teaching staff thought him a model pupil. He chuckled to himself as they awarded him top marks, but under his breath would mock them for the fools they were not to see what was staring them in the face.

Dominic despised his neighbours too. When he was 19 he rented a flat and set about showing his loathing for the people on either side of him by sending them evil thoughts by telepathy. He would concentrate hard, resting his forehead on the wall trying to project horrid and bad thoughts into the next door flat. Rude messages and images to disgust and repulse them such as clowns on the toilet, or naked fat people. Mental pictures that were designed to force them to question all that is good. To make them vomit and lie awake in a cold fearful sweat. Again, it didn't work so his neighbours simply thought he was a quiet and considerate chap to live next door to.

Dominic took a job with the Council tending to the park. He would work hard nurturing flowers and bushes, tricking his bosses and workmates into thinking he was a conscientious worker, a superb gardener and great company. But once again Dominic was plotting. He wrote down fantastically funny things to say to his workmates to make them laugh, to lull them into a false sense of comradeship. Dominic realised most people like a good laugh and if they're happy they'll tell you anything. And, once they'd opened up to him he could discover what they feared most then use that information to destroy their sanity. For example, his chum Archie told him he was scared of teddies and dolls.

Using this information he bought 13 Barbie Dolls and 13 teddy bears from a toy shop on the way home from work. He chopped the heads off all the toys and swapped them over. By the time his wicked surgery was done he had an army of bear headed dolls and pretty faced bear creatures. That night he recited evil incantations at the stroke of midnight, (actually he just read the listings from a toy catalogue backwards), to make his inanimate army of wickedness come alive and march to Archie's house and eat him. Obviously it didn't work so he just went to bed fed up and was late for work the next day.

By the age of 30 he Dominic Sodd suddenly saw the light. He wasn't evil at all. He was quite nice! It hit him like a thunderbolt.

His parents thought he loved them!
People at school thought he was a model pupil!
His neighbours respected him!
His workmates thought he was a blooming good laugh!

Dominic Sodd just wasn't evil, he was a lovely bloke!

'Damn!,' he thought, 'I've wasted my entire life being nice to people!'

He cursed his failure, his nice life, his popularity. But most of all he cursed Satan, whom he had admired and looked up to so much. All those evenings spent praying to the Horn'ed One, but had he ever called back or even left a message? Had he cobblers. Had he helped his loyal servant Dominic in any way? Had he hell!

Dominic seethed with fury at his life of wasted niceness. He wanted revenge for his needless efforts. The Devil would pay for this in a big way. Dominic planned to raise one of Satan's most favoured demons to this plane of existence and shoot it dead so as to incur the wrath of Hell upon the Earth. (And there was nowt on telly that night and he was at a bit of a loose end.) He took a gun and set off for the thousand year old church on Green Lane. To defile it he ran round it anti-clockwise and backwards 666 times muttering an evil incantation of his own devising which went..

'Satan is my enemy but I love his cups of tea.'

At the end of which a manifestation did indeed take place. Yes, Dominic actually summoned an entity from beyond the veil. It appeared in a puff of bright white mist and stood before him. Still reeling from the shock of being catapulted across unknown dimensions, the thing had barely time to get its bearings before wicked Dominic shot it through the heart killing it stone dead.

Had he done it? Had Dominic killed one of the Dark Lord's servants and would he now suffer his wrath? Well, a storm instantly blew up and the sky clouded over so he'd certainly done something big.

But like everything in his life, once again Dominic had got it completely wrong.

You see it wasn't one of Satan's little helpers dead by the old church, it was Dominic's own guardian angel. Somehow he had inadvertently performed The Ceremony of Abramelin and summoned his protective seraph. We all have one. And Dominic had just shot his dead. The golden skinned, androgynous looking entity on the ground, in a gleaming white gauze smock, lay in a crumpled heap atop a pool of glistening silver angel blood. Dominic had barely enough time to shout out a very rude profanity before he too was struck incredibly dead.

The storm, which was heaven's fury, had blown a heavy stone cross from the steeple of the church which fell down to earth connecting sharply with Dominic's head taking it clean off on its journey. The ridiculously ironic thing was, if the guardian angel hadn't have been killed in the first place he would have nudged Dominic a foot to the left thus saving his life. How terrible and satirical was this an end for such a mixed up person. Not so demonic Dominic was dead and that was the end of him.

Or was it?

Some say he still haunts this Earth as a minor demon. They say he was dragged to Hell after his death and given an eternal task by the dude with the pointy beard as a reward for picking off one of the other team. Dominic now haunts the world creating frustration, ill will and anxiety. Ever heard of Sodd's Law? This is the theory that if something has even the remotest chance of going wrong it will do just that.

Ever spent ages taping all your favourite songs on one tape and the first time you play it back the machine eats the tape? That's Dominic doing that.

Ever felt the frustration of phoning a constantly engaged number? That's Dominic organising that.

Ever thought you were completely alone somewhere at school and farted, then just after the person you'd most like to impress chooses that moment to come up and chat to you. Yup, you guessed it, that's Dominic Sodd orchestrating the whole sorry chain of events.

So when something like that happens to you really let your anger and frustration show. Let it all out. You'll feel so much better for not bottling it up. Plus, it'll put a smirk on Dominic's pale face. Poor Sodd deserves a bit of job satisfaction. After all he has worked damned hard to get where he is today.