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Hi listeners, I'm David Wheeler and I have a story I want to tell you.

A story about a local legend turned local horror and about a strange little man with an even stranger book.

So gather round and listen.

Close.

We all have our monsters.

Anywhere you go, anyone you meet, they all have their myths, legends and ghost stories.

People love them. They grow like webs, entwining whole communities in a gleeful celebration of their own little slice of the unknown.

They become badges of honor, a way to put your town on the map.

Tourists come from far and wide to hear the toll tales by the souvenir t-shirt and take a selfie on the spot where the otherworldly visitor supposedly set foot.

But it's not these stories you should worry about.

There are other monsters. Squirrels away in the dark corners of the world tucked into the nooks and crannies of life that people don't want to talk about.

They exist in the breath of rumor and the cracked pages of ancient forgotten books.

There are no tall tales, no t-shirts.

Should you ask about them, you will not be met with the eagour eyes of the local racon tour gleefully guiding you through the chills and thrills of the creature of the hour.

You will find something altogether colder in these places.

These are the real monsters.

And for those of you who care to look, they will give you a glimpse of a world you might wish you hadn't seen.

Maxwell Carruthers was a man who cared to look.

On November 27, 1984, they found him, a wandering wild-eyed figure, a few miles northeast of Crude & Bay,

a Scottish village whose greatest connection to the wider world was its status as Bram Stoker's holiday home, a place where he penned the first chapters of what would eventually become Dracula.

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