Trousers!

All is quiet at The Grymoire Observatory. A thick blanket of snow covers the house and grounds and, as the first flinty winter starlight catches the dark and glossy laurel groves along the smothered gravel drive; night drapes its somnolent shroud peacefully over cherub and chimney pot alike. Mr Chives shivers in his threadbare cardigan deep in the servants' quarters and with an arthritic hand clutches a rusty poker and worries a solitary, surly coal in the leaky pot bellied stove that smokes ineffectually next to his mouldering bed. Throughout the silent pile, frigid draughts stir greasy dust and forgotten holly wreaths from Yuletides past, mice huddle timorously behind dark wainscotting and Mrs O'Flaherty mutters a silent prayer of thanks for bed socks.
Then at the stroke of midnight a ghostly shriek suddenly rends the stillness. A series of dull thuds and alarming creaks follows and Mr Scott's collection of disturbing nicknacks flies from its shelf in the vestibule, scattering who knows what across the long suffering parquet floor. Moments later a terrified, wide eyed Mr Scott himself appears, nightshirt flapping as he runs the length of the great landing - arms waving and beard streaming - in pursuit: no less an apparition than…a disembodied pair of stout corduroy trousers! Following them both, Mr Shillaker emerges from the shadows and lets fly at the errant hosiery with an antique blunderbuss full of rusty tin tacks and pebbles. Clocks fall from the walls, Mrs O'Flaherty tumbles swearing from her bed, stuffed animals shed their fur, Mr Chives' false teeth fall out and plaster falls from sagging ceilings! For, dear readers, these are no ordinary kecks but none other than the mythical Haunted Trousers of Cronkleton! What unquiet spirits lurk within these otherwise unremarkable strides? What are the dark forces that propel them without visible means of support and cause them to gyre and ululate to the terror of anyone unfortunate enough to happen upon them? Why were they in Mr Scott's bed chamber anyway? Nobody knows. Suffice it to say that these dire pantaloons are sure to make their presence felt at the Headgate Theatre on the evening of Saturday the 29th of January 2011 when The Grymoire present an evening of whimsicality, music, light refreshments, mild peril and mirth between 8pm and 11pm!

Tickets a mere trifle at £7 or £6 concs - be there and all will be revealed.