Slithy toves and whatnot, eh. Could have been even weirder than this if Arbuthnot hadn’t put a stop to it.

Good old Arbuthnot, a right good fellow really, even if he was a bit cut off the wobbly end.

It was supposed to be a Chinese garden right in the middle of Charring Cross station. Now, dang it, why would the Chinese up and plant such a silly thing just in time for the early morning commuters.

Overnight too. One day the platforms were clear the next, poof, there it was. Pretty as a peach for the most part, but it did have some rather alarming statuatory.

Some of the legendary demons gave the impression of moving, if you didn’t watch them carefully all the time. Indeed Arbuthnot lost a jolly fine Chelsea bun to one of the slimy beasts. Sneaked right up behind him and stole the sticky pastry out of his hand. It was after that Arbuthnot, may he rest in peace, decided to get to the bottom, or rather the top, of this mystery. And when he got there, to close it down once and for all.