My grandson Gerald was a timid, gentle boy. He had inherited those qualities from his father and my only son, Michael…and Michael’s gentle soul could only have come from my own dear departed wife, Edith. May the Good Lord rest their souls.
Gerald was barely seven years old when his parents were brutally murdered, and he was kidnapped by their killer. My tale will be that of his rescue, and the terrible and fantastic perils which we had to overcome to effect it.
The following narrative is sad and true, and parts of it shall distress God-fearing folk, let the reader be fairly warned. It is set in the Australian bush, which is a wonderful and frightening place. Amongst her eerie eucalyptus trees wander monsters and ghosts that rival those that are said to haunt the darkest European forests.
