'The Wicker Man' meets the 'Furies' on a remote island, where young boys have started to go missing. But this is no ordinary island. There is a house of horrors that makes Amityville look like child's play, and a level of madness that would make Edgar Allan Poe blanch. A worthy successor to Mary Shelley.
Valmarie's kitchen smells of some bitter plant. There's herbs hanging upside down from the beams of the ceiling. Jars stacked along the shelves. One of them is labelled 'Mad Honey - Rhododendron Bees', another has straggly leaves and white flowers tangled inside it and the label says 'Hemlock'. Another says 'Valerian, high concentrate'. I step back and bump into a table where a candle flickers. A root lies on a chopping board, sliced in half. The top half is like a screaming baby's head, but the bottom is the stump of a wizened old man's body.