Praise for The Deadsoul Project
…
“The perfect balance of thrills and chills … It’s a little bit The X-Files, a little bit Stephen King-lite and a lot of frightening fun” THE TIMES
CHILDREN’S BOOK OF THE WEEK
“Reads like a classic sci-fi horror and was full of moments that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up – especially the ending!”
CYNTHIA MURPHY
“The Deadsoul Project is a relentlessly gripping thriller … ingenious, brilliant and terrifying”
JONATHAN STROUD
“It built to a climax so tense that I held my breath for what seemed like longer than humanly possible” JENNIFER KILLICK
“This chilling read has elements of The X-Files, Doctor Who and more. Historical fiction with a terrifying difference!” LESLEY PARR
“A chilling horror/sci-fi rollercoaster … The X-Files meets Alien … I think I may have held my breath for the entire duration” PHIL HICKES
“Mystery, conspiracies, gore and horror make for a tense and compulsive story … not for the faint of heart” IRISH EXAMINER
“A similar vibe to Stranger Things … a thrilling read that pits kids against alien bodysnatchers” INIS MAGAZINE
Praise for The Wintermoor
Lights
…
“Perfect for horror fans … Innovative, sophisticated and creepy as hell” CHECK ’EM OUT BOOKS, BLOG
“80s nostalgia pulses through this eerie story … Luke Brookes’s fantastic illustrations match this vibe and ramp up the fear”
SCOPE FOR IMAGINATION, BLOG
“An incredibly gripping read … Another unmissable and compelling case from The Night House Files” BOOK CRAIC, BLOG
“Guaranteed to set hearts racing and send shivers down their spines” MRS SYDNEY’S FAMOUS WORLD’S SMALLEST LIBRARY, BLOG
Published by Barrington Stoke
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HarperCollinsPublishers
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First published in 2026
Text © 2026 Dan Smith
Illustrations © 2026 Luke Brookes
Cover design © 2026 HarperCollinsPublishers Limited
The moral right of Dan Smith and Luke Brookes to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988
ISBN 978-0-00-879090-5 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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For the weird and the wonderful!
Officially, the Night House does not exist. But it is real. It is an old and secret organisation that investigates the truth behind strange events around the world; events that include the paranormal, the extra‑terrestrial and the bizarre. Events that governments do not want you to know about. The findings of these investigations are filed and kept safe by a mysterious person known only as the Nightwatchman. Once a year, the Nightwatchman delivers a file to me. My job is to turn the contents of the file into a story so that you can know the truth. That is the Nightwatchman’s wish, and I dare not disobey.
The following story is taken from File FL1779: The House of Horrors.
Everything you are about to read is true. The names of people and places have been altered to protect the innocent.
Excerpt from article on mond0bizarro.com
dated March 2022
What really happened at Coyote Creek?
Hey, truth‑seekers, how about this for a weird little story? Between 2017 and 2019, thirty‑two people were reported missing in a large area of the Chihuahuan desert in West Texas. For a long time, the police were completely clueless. It was as if the people just disappeared off the face of the earth. Abducted by aliens, you might think. Or perhaps it was a new “Bermuda Triangle”. Well, we still don’t really know. But what we do know is that in July 2019, events led police to an abandoned town two miles from the lonely desert highway.
The town was called Coyote Creek. It was a so‑called “ghost town”, which aren’t unusual in West Texas. Abandoned mining towns and other failed communities litter the harsh desert landscape. But Coyote Creek was hiding a dark secret. You see, in the middle of the town, among the broken and collapsing buildings, police discovered a large house. Inside that house, they found the “remains” of all those missing people. All thirty‑two of them. The exact state of those “remains” has never been made public, but rumours tell of strange cults, outlandish waxworks and even the undead.
For a short time in July 2019, Coyote Creek was a hive of activity. Police and federal investigators were on site for several days, and witnesses report seeing many vehicles entering and leaving the area.
But soon after the investigation was over,
almost all records were lost in a fire. Everything went up in smoke like someone was trying to get rid of evidence. The house itself was demolished, along with the rest of Coyote Creek, and now there is no trace of the town or of what happened there. The whole incident smells like a cover‑up to us at mond0bizarro.com. There’s an “official” version of events, but we just don’t believe it. Something bizarre happened in that house – something that would make your hair stand on end. Government experiments maybe? A Satanic cult? Alien invaders? No one really knows for sure – except the people who were there and those who covered it up.
So, fellow conspirators, what do you think really happened in that old house in Coyote Creek? And why are the authorities covering it up? Put your thoughts in the comments.
West Texas Desert
Tuesday, 23rd July 2019
What you are about to read is an account of the terrible misfortune that happened to the Slade family: a British family who were on the trip of a lifetime to the United States of America. After spending two days in San Francisco, the family intended to drive across the country to visit Mrs Slade’s sister, who lived and worked in Dallas, Texas. The family plotted their route carefully, planning to visit several places of interest along the way. But even the best‑made plans can fail. And sometimes things go horribly wrong. We join the family several days into their trip,
inside a rental car, driving through the night along a dark and lonely desert highway. The air was warm, but a strong wind had been gathering since sunset. Grit and sand swirled across the faded tarmac road, sparkling in the car’s headlights. Above, stars filled the clear sky, but not a single other light was visible. Not even the tiny pinpricks of a distant town on the horizon. The world was utter darkness.
In the back of the car, leaning his head against the window, fifteen‑year‑old Jay Slade was drifting in and out of sleep. Every now and then he caught snippets of his mum and dad whisper‑arguing in the front.
“Are you sure we’re not lost?” Mrs Slade was saying. “It feels like we’re lost. We haven’t seen a building for miles. Not even another car.” There was an edge of worry in her voice.
“Of course we’re not lost,” Mr Slade reassured her. “The highway is literally a straight line through the desert. Not even I can get lost on a straight
road,” he laughed. “Anyway, we saw a car just a few miles back.”
“That was twenty minutes ago,” Mrs Slade told him, then she sighed heavily. “We should never have taken that detour to Roswell. Stupid UFO museum.”
“It wasn’t stupid,” Mr Slade argued. “It was interesting. And Jay loved it.”
It was true. Jay had loved it. His mum had spent the whole time rolling her eyes, looking bored, but Jay thought it was cool. Sure, the aliens and the flying saucer looked about as fake as you could get, but all the information was fascinating. And while Jay didn’t quite believe that there had really been a UFO crash at Roswell, he liked the idea of it. He wanted to believe. He was still wearing the cap his mum and dad had bought him from the gift shop. It was all black, with a green alien face on the front. The words THEY’RE HERE were stitched on the back, also in green.
“Well, we shouldn’t have spent so long in there,”
Mrs Slade went on. “Now we’re going to be late to Anika’s.”
“We won’t be late for your sister’s birthday,”
Mr Slade said. “That’s why we’re driving through the night. Another five hours and we’ll be there –just as they’re getting out of bed. So we’ll make it on time. OK?”
“If we have enough petrol,” Mrs Slade grumbled. “Gas?” Mr Slade replied in an awful American accent. “We’ve got plenty o’ gas, little darlin’. Don’t you be frettin’ about nothin’.”
“And it’s creepy out here.” Mrs Slade ignored her husband’s attempt to be funny. “All that darkness. No one around. I don’t like it.”
“You think there might be aliens out there?”
Mr Slade continued with his shocking American accent. “Well, don’t you worry about nothin’. You’re safe with me, little lady. I’ll tell you what, why don’t we put on some good ole music and—”
BANG!
The car jerked violently, throwing Jay forwards. His seatbelt dug into his chest, and his head slammed against the seat in front of him. He bounced back into his own seat with such ferocity that pain fired through his neck and shoulder. The air was filled with a nerve‑shredding scream of metal tearing across the surface of the road.
“What the hell?” Mr Slade exclaimed as he slammed on the brakes.
Jay lost all sense of direction as the small car skidded out of control. Sand billowed all around them, reflecting the bright yellow headlights in a dazzling display that flickered around the inside of the vehicle. It was light then dark as the car spun through the cloud, shuddering dramatically.
The scream of metal on tarmac grew louder as Mr Slade fought to bring the vehicle under control, and then, finally, the car stalled and juddered to a stop.
There was a long moment of stunned silence.
The Slade family sat cocooned in the car, surrounded by dust clouds as they tried to figure out what had just happened.
“Oh my God,” Mr Slade whispered eventually. “Is everyone OK?” He checked his wife, asking, “Tiya? Are you hurt?”
“No.” She shook her head once, then they both turned to look in the back seat.
“Jay?”
Jay was wide awake now, shocked and bruised from the bump.
“Um … I’m fine,” Jay stuttered. “I think.” He took off his cap and rolled his head from side to side, wincing at the pain.
“What the flip just happened?” Elisha asked.
Jay looked at his older sister sitting beside him in the back seat. Her black hair fell forwards over her brow, half‑covering her dark eyes. There was a concerned expression on her face.
“Did we hit something?” she wondered.
Jay stared at Elisha for a long moment. His thoughts were fuzzy, and he had a weird feeling he couldn’t quite explain. Of course he was shocked by what had just happened, but … he had a deep sense that something else was wrong. Something other than the car crash.
“I don’t know,” Mr Slade said, taking off his glasses and rubbing his face. “Maybe. Or maybe a flat tyre. Is everyone sure they’re OK? No one’s hurt?” He glanced at his wife, who was massaging her neck and frowning at Elisha.
“We should get off the road,” Elisha said. “In case another car comes, right? I mean, look.”
The wind had cleared the dust now, blowing it away into the night, and Jay could see that they had come to a halt at an angle across the centre of the highway. The headlights were still on, shining out into the desert.
“We should move, right, Dad?” Elisha said, looking directly at Mr Slade.
“Yeah,” said Mr Slade, shaking his head to clear it. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then put his glasses back on. “You’re right. We should get off the road.”
Jay’s stomach was churning, and his thoughts were spinning. He couldn’t think straight. He told himself it was because of the accident – the adrenaline, the shock, the pain – but there was something else that was nagging at him, buried under all of that.
As he tried to figure it out, his dad turned back to the wheel and started the ignition. The engine sparked into life, and the car lurched before stalling again.
“Sorry,” Mr Slade muttered before starting the engine again and slowly moving the car forwards. Immediately, there was a horrible squeal of metal. A piercing sound that drove through Jay like fingernails on a chalkboard. The whole car juddered and shook.
“Feels like a flat tyre,” Mr Slade said, gripping
the wheel to control the vehicle as he guided it, rattling and shaking, to the side of the road. “I’ll have to check.” He sat for a moment, then took a deep breath. “Everyone stay in the car.”
He popped open his door, slipped out and quickly slammed it behind him to stop the dust from blowing in.
The wind buffeted the vehicle, rocking the suspension as Jay watched his dad head round to the front of the car. Out there in the gathering storm, Mr Slade squinted against the bright headlights and swirling sand as he half raised a hand to them, then he crouched down, dropping out of sight.
When he stood up again, he was frowning.
“What is it?” Mrs Slade said to no one in particular.
Mr Slade glanced behind him, into the darkness. He stood like that for a few long moments, his head cocked to one side as if listening, then gave up and made his way around the right‑hand side of the car.
Jay turned to watch him and found himself, once again, looking at his sister, Elisha, sitting beside him.
Elisha was facing forwards, staring through the windscreen.
“You’ve got sand on you,” Jay said, almost without thinking.
“What’s that, bro?” Elisha turned to look at him.
“You’ve got sand on you. In your hair.”
“Have I?” Elisha raised a hand to her head.
“Oh, yeah. Thanks.” She rubbed her hair to brush it away, but Jay noticed there was more sand on the shoulders of her leather jacket. And on her jeans.
“How?” Jay asked. “How have you got sand on you?”
Elisha shrugged. “It must have come in through the door when Dad opened it just now. Look – it’s all over the seat.”
Jay blinked hard and glanced at the seat between him and his sister. She was right – it was covered with a dusting of sand.
“Oh yeah,” Jay said. “Weird. I didn’t notice.”
“Not surprised.” Elisha smiled and put a hand on Jay’s shoulder. “I think we’re all a bit shaken up.”
“Yeah,” Jay agreed.
At that moment, Mr Slade yanked open the driver’s‑side door. The sudden blast of wind took Jay by surprise, making him jump. The storm blew into the car as Mr Slade climbed back into his seat. He slammed the door shut, re‑sealing them all inside.
“Well?” Mrs Slade asked.
Mr Slade paused, then took off his glasses and blew the dust off them. “It’s the weirdest thing.”
“What is?” Jay asked.
“Well … it’s all of them,” Mr Slade said, staring out into the storm. “All four tyres. They’re all flat.”
“All of them? ” Mrs Slade repeated. “They’re all flat? But … how is that even possible?”
TOP SECRET
Interview with Jay Slade
Date: Wednesday, 31st August 2022
After the tragedy that happened to his family at Coyote Creek in 2019, Jay Slade was brought back to England, where he was placed in the custody of Dr Hooper at the Katja Psychiatric Institute. He was non‑verbal for six weeks. When he finally spoke and told his version of events, Jay was diagnosed with “severe delusional disorder”. He remained in the secure psychiatric hospital until August 2022 when, aged eighteen, Jay was released into the custody of his grandparents.
A Night House agent was able to speak with Jay in August 2022 by pretending to be a journalist investigating the incident at Coyote Creek.
NIGHT HOUSE AGENT: You’re sure all four tyres were damaged?
JAY SLADE: Yes. Of course I’m sure.
(The Night House agent notes that Jay Slade’s attitude was generally hostile during the interview, consistent with someone who is both frustrated and angry. It is the agent’s view that Jay was accustomed to people not believing his version of events.)
JAY SLADE: And by the way, I don’t care what the doctors or the police say. It was all four tyres. Every single one. They’re trying to make out like I imagined it or something, but I didn’t. I’m telling you, I—
NIGHT HOUSE AGENT: It’s OK, Jay. I’m not the
police, and I’m not a doctor. I’m here to listen to you – to get to the truth.
JAY SLADE: You don’t want the truth. You want me to—
NIGHT HOUSE AGENT: Jay. I do want the truth. Just tell me everything as you remember it.
JAY SLADE: Fine. Well, the truth is that all four tyres were flat. And when Dad told us, I was like, “What the hell?” I mean, it didn’t make sense. Who has four flat tyres at the same time? No one, that’s who.
NIGHT HOUSE AGENT: So how do you think it happened?
JAY SLADE: How should I know? Elisha said maybe it was like a cattle grid or something. You know, like we went over it and it burst our tyres. Or a pothole.
NIGHT HOUSE AGENT: Do you think that’s possible? You said it was very windy that night. There was a lot of sand and dust in the air. Visibility would have been low. Perhaps your father, Mr Slade, didn’t see a—
JAY SLADE: You don’t get four flat tyres from a cattle grid. Jeez, they don’t even have cattle grids across roads like that. What do you think I am? Stupid?
NIGHT HOUSE AGENT: No. I don’t think—
JAY SLADE: It was something else. Had to be.
NIGHT HOUSE AGENT: Like what?
JAY SLADE: You see – you don’t believe me. I don’t have to talk to you.
(At this point in the interview, Jay stood up as if he wanted to leave. It took some time to persuade him to continue.)
NIGHT HOUSE AGENT: Jay, it’s important that you understand I do not disbelieve you. I’m on your side. But I want to build a picture of what happened. To find out the truth.
JAY SLADE: OK, well, the truth is that those freaks did it. I don’t know how, but they did.
NIGHT HOUSE AGENT: You mean the people from Coyote Creek?
JAY SLADE: I mean the freaks from Coyote Creek.
NIGHT HOUSE AGENT: OK, we’ll come to that later. For now, let’s concentrate on what happened
next. After your father saw that all the tyres were flat.
JAY SLADE:
After that? I guess we checked our phones for service, but there wasn’t any. Not even a single bar. It was like a dead spot or something. So we were in the middle of nowhere, it was dark, it was windy and we couldn’t call for help.
NIGHT HOUSE AGENT:
And then you saw lights?
JAY SLADE:
Yeah. Bright lights behind us. And they were coming fast. Like, crazy fast.
