So here we are, at a strange, sprawling place called Mistletoe farm, nestled in the lows of rural Hampshire. Six adults, three small children, and one baby. It is one week prior to Christmas. The children scramble enthusiastically through thick furrows of mud, headed towards a large white canvas marquee that sits at the top of a wide, empty field boxed in by twisted hedgerow. The adults trail somewhat less enthusiastically behind. The air is damp, the landscape curiously minimal in terms of colour. It’s just brown and grey, brown and grey, as far as the eye can see. England is like that, a lot of the time. Different shades of mud and sky that lean on each other. The marquee is ugly, discoloured, and offers little relief on the eye. But we’re going anyway, because this, we have been told, is where we’ll find Santa’s Grotto. And who doesn't want to meet Santa at Christmas time? A pulpy tale of festive woe from Bram Stoker and British Fantasy Award nominated author Gemma Amor, Santa's Grotto tells the story of one hapless family who do their best to navigate the World's Worst Christmas Attraction as festivities go awry, a murderous donkey makes an appearance, horrible elves lurk, and Santa himself (try not to look him directly in the cloaca) is waiting to see who's been naughty, and who's been nice...but he might have more than coal in store for those who end up on the naughty list. Ho, ho, ho......ly shit!