May 24, 2026 · 15 min · 8 segments
A cozy contemporary fantasy about a chaotic witchy family and a terribly organised admin assistant, taking up residence at Frightful Manor. Set in the same world as “The Twelve Days of Witchmas.”…
Tansy Rayner RobertsHostFour floors and eight flights of uncarpeted marble stairs later, Libby's ankles had to concede that she had spoken too soon.
Every level of this house was increasingly darker and dustier, with additional spooky noises built into the wainscoting.
She could hear echoes of movement and chatter and the occasional cackle echoing through its hallways.
On the fourth floor, the first door on the landing was painted in a bright blood red with a pointed plague doctor mask hanging upon it and a large plaque which declaimed, "Beak.
Beware." Silas had outlined a little of the family situation during their chilly open-topped drive from Blackpool all the way across the county to this Gothic, many-towered manor house somewhere near Pendle.
The Beak was the head of the family, a role traditionally held by one of their elders.
After the mysterious disappearance of Marius some years ago, his twin children, Morrigan and Cromont, took up the gauntlet, deciding the matter each year with an annual d- duel at a family gathering known as The Clang.
The winner of each Clang assumed the role of Beak and, in the case of Da and Auntie M, would generally set about unraveling all family decisions made by their predecessor, even if they themselves were the predecessor.
Such had been the chaotic management of the Blight family until two months ago, when Horace, the elder of Cromont's sons, was persuaded by his brothers and cousins to step up at the age of 40 as a viable, if reluctant, alternative.
"Poor old Horror didn't stand a chance," said Silas as he told this tale.
But if he doesn't make a go of it, the rest of us will be doomed to the kiddie table for centuries." "And he needs an assistant," Libby had said slowly, turning the idea over in her head as the car accelerated past what might be the last perfect hedgerow in northern England.
Four floors and eight flights of uncarpeted marble stairs later, Libby's ankles had to concede that she had spoken too soon.
Every level of this house was increasingly darker and dustier, with additional spooky noises built into the wainscoting.
She could hear echoes of movement and chatter and the occasional cackle echoing through its hallways.
On the fourth floor, the first door on the landing was painted in a bright blood red with a pointed plague doctor mask hanging upon it and a large plaque which declaimed, "Beak.
Beware." Silas had outlined a little of the family situation during their chilly open-topped drive from Blackpool all the way across the county to this Gothic, many-towered manor house somewhere near Pendle.
The Beak was the head of the family, a role traditionally held by one of their elders.
After the mysterious disappearance of Marius some years ago, his twin children, Morrigan and Cromont, took up the gauntlet, deciding the matter each year with an annual d- duel at a family gathering known as The Clang.
The winner of each Clang assumed the role of Beak and, in the case of Da and Auntie M, would generally set about unraveling all family decisions made by their predecessor, even if they themselves were the predecessor.
Such had been the chaotic management of the Blight family until two months ago, when Horace, the elder of Cromont's sons, was persuaded by his brothers and cousins to step up at the age of 40 as a viable, if reluctant, alternative.
"Poor old Horror didn't stand a chance," said Silas as he told this tale.
But if he doesn't make a go of it, the rest of us will be doomed to the kiddie table for centuries." "And he needs an assistant," Libby had said slowly, turning the idea over in her head as the car accelerated past what might be the last perfect hedgerow in northern England.
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