SARAH DITUM

GROWING up in a mansion house in Ireland, writer Gabrielle Mullarkey would drift off to sleep with the sheets pulled up to her eyes as nocturnal noises echoed through the old building. Often, the stai

During the 1960s, I lived on a farm on the outskirts of Huddersfield. One night something happened to a friend and me which we were unable to explain. The farm was at the top of a hill and there were

I WAS dressed in my bright pink pyjamas decorated with cartoon sloths. In my defence, they are extremely comfortable. I was holding a hair curling tong like a microphone and belting out “Baby One More

Our dream holiday became a li ving nightmare Alison ...

MARIE peered out of the front room window, wondering if people would be on time. And not only that – what if nobody showed? She let the net curtain drop, listening to the kettle whistling in the kitch