The year is 1967. Two weeks into his three month job and Dennis was already getting bored. The monotonous routine of bathing, feeding the sheep, checking the perimeter and eating was starting to chop away at his sanity. There was no soul around him for miles, only the bleating herd and the whispers of the cool autumnal wind.

The sky above was pitch black with only small stars dotting the space. The light breeze forced the overgrown grass into silent, synchronised swaying. The fire Dennis had set up quietly crackled as he threw more dry wood into the hearth.

Just after he sighed and slumped down onto a wooden log, a faint but noticeable snap of a twig made his ears perk.