St Ralph’s Hospital has been closed for a while but, in its day, it was a magnet for evil. The worst aspects of society gathered in its corridors. Inexplicable deaths happened with disturbing regularity. Killers patrolled the wards.

But that was a century ago. Now, for those going on the #DeadEndTours urban exploration of St Ralph’s, the only dangers they expect to encounter are the tales of a bloody history and the lurid ghost stories that have grown around the building. None of the explorers expect St Ralph’s is still a magnet for evil.

“Welcome to the St Ralph’s Dead-End Tour,” Billy announced. “I appreciate the building was originally called St Raphael’s. But, here at the Dead-End Tour, we like to go with the less formal name.”

It had just turned midnight. A full moon, silver and fat, hung over the hospital behind him. Ghost-like clouds trailed across its brilliant surface as the tourists shuffled closer together for warmth and companionship against the night’s autumnal chill. They were all wearing thick coats, hats, scarves, and gloves, and looked like the most middle-class gathering of British housebreakers, all dressed in sensible M&S practical winterwear. Plumes of frosty breath were visible each time one of them exhaled. Someone’s teeth were chattering near the back of the modest crowd. A whispered conversation between one couple was falling lower and lower as they tried to continue a dispute without the sound of their voices drowning out Billy’s introductory welcome.

"For God’s sake, Petronella,” a well-spoken man muttered. “I don’t want you making a scene this evening. Try to keep that foul mouth of yours under control for once in your life.”

Petronella snorted with obvious disdain. “You don’t want me making a scene?” she echoed. “And you always get what you demand, don’t you?”