Here’s the background: I'd long heard the tales of Queen Elizabeths, a small hospital hidden away in the woods not far from Cane Hill and within spitting distance of Banstead. It comprised of a manor house, all manner of curved twisting corridors, wards, hall and a unique squat ugly water tower.

It was quite small by my usual asylum standards, but I'd kept it on my list of potentials because there was something about the site that wasn’t quite right. Seasoned urban explorers fled its perimeter and those who ventured inside found the atmosphere dark and disturbing. These were people who didn’t give a second thought to night tours of Cane Hill or Severalls; but there was something very sinister about Queen Elizabeths, and they loathed the place.

But I’d become complacent. That was my downfall.