From Carlisle Street, the children's voices call. Their strange eyes stare through the tall grass in the middle of a country field. In darkened air beneath a bright blue sky, their desolate mother's scream falls into silence. Beside an unseen lamppost, among the darkening trees, a gentle killer, smelling of cloves, waits to repeat, I love you.

Carlisle Street's people want. They need. They're here. Now.