Naturally we answered in the affirmative! Not the least since our companion and his wife are, like so many of our friends, both of the pragmatic humanist persuasion: Richard (for that is his name) is a professional scientist, while Brenda, his then partner, was one of that truly unhappy band: a sociologist!

Richard began his tale: in many ways it bears a striking resemblance to an experience I have recounted elsewhere!

In the early 1970's, R & B were invited to join another couple for a few day's break in the small village of St Teath, near the North Coast of Cornwall. Their temporary residence was an ancient, yet charming cottage on the outskirts of the village, which belonged to an elderly uncle of their friend Alan.

One evening the four young professionals enjoyed a pleasant meal in a hostelry in the village: upon emerging they found the weather had deteriorated, and they were constrained to walk back to their cottage beneath a windy, overcast sky that seemed to hold the promise of a violent storm.

Their walk took them through the village graveyard: the gathering shadows and threatening sky did nothing to encourage them to loiter, and soon the cottage door was safely bolted against the gathering storm.
Following a final cognac, goodnights were said and sanctuary was sought in the arms of Morpheus…..

Suddenly, after perhaps an hour, Richard was rudely awakened by a terrible keening and moaning that seemed to be coming from Alan and Alison's room....

The young couple rushed across the narrow hallway and into their friend Alan's room: as they ran, they could hear Alison crying for help, her voice distorted by terror!

The sight that met their eyes turned Richard and Bren cold with fear: Alan was sitting bolt upright in his bed, his eyes wide open and staring, his body shaking  uncontrollably. Richard seized his friend's shoulders and shook him roughly, all the while calling his name…..

After some minutes, a glimmer of recognition returned to the  face of the young man on the bed: even so, he was barely conscious of his surroundings, and it was a considerable time before he could articulate answers to the earnest enquiries of his three companions.

Finally he told his tale: and a real chiller it proved to be!

Some time after midnight, Alan had found himself standing in a trance-like state in his bedroom: he became aware that 'something', some inner voice or compulsion, was drawing him back to the graveyard……

(It should be stressed at this point that Alan had never in his life sleep-walked or suffered from delusions: moreover, none of the young people had drunk more than a couple of glasses of wine, neither were any of them drug habitués !)

Of his subsequent visit to the graveyard, Alan, mercifully, had no memory: his feet and hands were, perhaps significantly, black with grave-dirt……He returned to the cottage as he had left it: in a trance and under some form of compulsion.

During the rest of the night Alan would suddenly and violently revert to  terrifying episodes of jerking, spasm and blood-curdling moaning.