Massive trees rise majestically above the sleepy village of Castle Coombe, cradling its honey-stone cottages in a protective embrace that keeps the contemporary world firmly at bay.
In summer, the twittering of the birds and the babbling waters of the Bybrook, lend the area an aura of timeless tranquility and to stroll beneath the leafy boughs of Parsonage wood, on a warm August evening, is to feel centuries removed from the pressures of the modern age.
But, when the dark cloak of a winter's night descends across the wood, only the extremely brave or exceedingly foolhardy are to be found upon its muddy paths.
Many people have been alarmed by the sudden sound of disembodied voices, chattering excitedly in the darkness around them.
As they reach a fevered crescendo, the voices are joined by the groans of someone apparently suffering intense pain.
Suddenly a loud scream rends the air and then all goes quiet.
No one knows for sure what lies behind the strange phenomena, but few who experience it ever dare venture into Parsonage Wood again.