Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

“Okay, we’re here,’ said Mr Cushing, as he gently stopped his wonderful limousine, and surveyed everyone behind him, apart from The Old One who always rides shotgun, “however,” as he continued, “I’m not sure I want to go down there, not my cup of tea (as I would say), but you can take your provisions – some rather runny brie and some crusty bread – but I think I might feed all those feral cats just over there instead.”

“Is everyone else coming down to this particular place in Montparnasse?” asked Francis – as all of them nodded; so they made their way to the nearest toll gate.

“Ooh,” grinned Scatty, “this is going to be fun, as she pulled a large bell to see who would open the huge gate, and a moment later an ancient janitor appeared.

“You may enter,” he muttered, then pointed to the left, and said, “go past those jailbirds, and don’t look at them, and maybe close your ears too, they are kind of monsters, so just ignore them – they’ve only had some misdemeanours but they’ll stay there, and probably forever.”

So they walked rather quickly, and nobody looked at those strange beings whatever they were, and that red-headed woman became pretty jumpy with all those spooky things around there, still the two gargoyles walked either side of her, and she felt rather better.

“Just a little stop here,” said Joan, “this part of those catacombs will be more than interesting,” as both of the gargoyles grinned.

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