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A sign advertised a restaurant behind the ghost train she had ridden. It was a drafty room decorated with Halloween goods, and classic horror film posters around the walls. Another sullen teenager, this one wearing a Friday the 13th t-shirt, made her a hot cup of coffee and a jacket potato with cheese and beans. Most impressive were the salad tomatoes which had been cut into jack o’ lantern faces.

With her nagging hunger dealt with, she decided to go and find the park’s owner.

Having seen no obvious office or staff-only area, she asked one of the teenaged staff, who simply shrugged and said, ‘He’s around here somewhere.’

When she asked what he meant, he told her that one of the park’s gimmicks was that the owner and mastermind of the whole thing was often to be found wandering around the park, weeding flower beds, fixing fences, or directing tourists.

And if you found him and identified him, he would give you a coupon that could be handed in at the small gift shop by the entrance for a special limited-edition prize.

Intrigued, and enjoying the challenge, Kelly set out again with the intent of tracking down the mysterious and elusive Clive Dawkins.

However, despite counting no fewer than five different sullen teenagers and buying tickets for the remainder of the rides just to see if perhaps he was in costume inside the ghost house, hiding somewhere in the hall of mirrors, or masquerading as a zombie on one of the ghost trains, she had no luck and eventually decided to admit defeat.

Perhaps, if she told one of his gloomy staff members, they would take pity on her and give her a hint as to his elusive location.

But just as she was thinking of making a quick stop at the restaurant to top up her caffeine levels, she spotted a man in the distance pushing a wheelbarrow down a path lined with colourful pansies.

Certain this was the elusive Clive Dawkins, she called out to him as she ran to catch up. Even before the man turned around, however, she knew this couldn’t possibly be Clive Dawkins.

Not unless he existed within some kind of time warp.

From the description on the website, she estimated that, at best, he would be in his mid-sixties, possibly considerably older.

But the man who stood up and turned around, giving her a wide smile, was barely older than her, thirty at the most.

He was clean-shaven and had tidy dark brown hair cropped short. He wore a blue checked shirt with a black body-warmer over the top, black hiking trousers, and Wellington boots.

He was broad-shouldered and lean, and when he lifted the wheelbarrow at his feet, she could see muscles beneath his shirt.

‘Hello. Can I help you?’ he said.

Kelly felt a little flutter of excitement. ‘Oh, yes?’

‘In what way can I help you?’ he added. ‘Are you lost? Go straight on for the waterfall, or take the next path to the right to visit the bird-watching house.’

Kelly just smiled, struggling to find any words that made sense. She wished she could give herself a little slap on the cheek without making it obvious that this handsome young man had left her considerably flustered.

She was currently between boyfriends after being unceremoniously dumped by her last boyfriend in her final year at university, before he’d run off to London to meet some woman he’d met on the internet.

It had been a shock, but Barry had been a little immature anyway. She had decided to concentrate on her new job for a while before worrying about dating again, even though she had a couple of friends from university who were always keen to recommend cousins, neighbours, or new work colleagues, as though being single was some kind of modern taboo.

Even though Kelly felt a sudden, jarring attraction to the young man standing in front of her, patiently waiting for her to speak, at the same time she felt a reluctance and a self-imposed refusal to indulge those feelings, even if perhaps a little Halloween romance might spice the season up a little.

‘I’m looking for Clive Dawkins,’ she said at last. ‘I’m a reporter with The Brentwell Daily, and I was just wondering if I could interview him about the Carnival of Horrors. I’d love to do a feature article. I’m doing one every day this week leading up to the parade, and this is certainly an interesting place. It would be nice to know a little more about its history.’

He stared at her.

Kelly, feeling a little smug at how easily she’d managed to regurgitate her stock spiel without stuttering over her words or even blushing, found him looking at her with a slightly cocked expression, as though he found her to be an amusing little child.

Without him saying a word, she began to bristle. Sure, he might be handsome, but he was probably not particularly nice.

After all, she had found that attractive men often weren’t particularly nice, because they didn’t really need to be. They could just use their looks to get whatever they wanted.

Barry had been extremely good-looking. Whenever they went out as a group, some of her friends had swooned over him a little too much.

But Barry had been, for want of a better word, a bit of a twit.

She hoped this man didn’t follow along the same stereotypical lines, although it was quite likely.