The rickety carriage drawn by two magnificent white unicorns came to a rest outside the rusty brown gates. Dr. Zion Wilkes, renowned personality displacement therapist, stepped from the coach and looked at the grandeur, however overgrown and forgotten, that was Wisthorn Manor.

" Yes, yes this will do nicely, " he smiled.

He withdrew a parchment tightly furled and quickly unrolled it. His ever-faithful assistant Legune, a Centaur, clopped to his side and began to haul several large suitcases from the back.

" Legune this experiment will be the greatest ever to have taken place ," he began, taking a large heart-shaped key from his pocket.

As Legune continued the task of freeing the cases from the frayed rope that fastened them securely to the back of the carriage, Dr. Wilkes scanned the parchment, which contained the names of the soon-to-be-occupants of this immense house.

Gregory

Tilda Tibblepot

Jafal

Count Voracio

Wizelda

Maggot

Wanda

Buleria

Lord Zord

Claudine

Peter Howling

He scrunched the parchment back into his pocket and bent down to open the rust encased lock. It groaned in protest but gave way rather easily. Walking up the weed-ridden path he noticed a headless statue in the middle of the overgrown garden, which casually waved at him. Not wanting to be too rude, although he was quite sure it couldn't see him, he waved back.

Upon entering the vast entrance hall he was aware of how well the house had been kept. It still had its air of mystery as well as its welcoming atmosphere, and what stories it could tell if it had a voice, he thought. Taking the stairs two at a time he reached the landing, which connected the bedrooms and looked into each one in turn. Smiling a self-satisfied smile he made his way downstairs to help Legune with the rest of the baggage. He congratulated himself on the journey he was about to undertake into the psychotic world of the fragile mind. His personality clinic was going rather well and had afforded him the opportunity to invest one month in this expansive surrounding. When his client list had just about reached bursting he had hit upon the notion of holding this course, the Personality Transplant course, and had immediately gotten his worst-case subjects to sign up. It was a stroke of genius. The concept of keeping them all in this house for a month to attend classes and to discover more about themselves, while he; Dr Wilkes, renowned Personality Displacement Therapist and soon to be best-selling author, would watch over their progress (or disintegration). It was to be a momentous occasion, and with the "Book of Truth" to capture all their innermost emotions and thoughts he was assured it would be a complete success.

He basked in the light of his imminent accomplishment for a few seconds more and then busied himself with the task of helping Legune. It had never occurred to him that a Centaur might have trouble climbing stairs!

Dr Wilkes set his own room up and placed all the relevant things in the appropriate spots, to make it feel more homely and less like a workplace, while Legune was sent to his room in the servants' quarters. The carriage meanwhile had sped to fetch the first of the patients. She arrived an hour later, thumping and humphing impatiently in the hallway. Her name was Tilda Tibblepot and she was a tooth fairy.

Well, she was on "sabbatical " after a particular incident had landed her in serious hot water with the Tooth Fairy Council.

She had been delighted when she had been accepted into the Mildred Wingard School For Fairies That Gather Teeth. For the first three years she had been really good and earned all her stripes, including landing on windowsills and creeping noiselessly through a sleeping child's bedroom. Then the poster had gone up in the school informing all passers by - in a very loud voice - that if they filled their quota for that particular month they would get a prize of a gossamer trim for their wings, which everyone knew would increase speed while flying - aerodynamically streaming them, one might say. That was her undoing. She had been called to the house of a child who had lost a tooth that very week, and set off. Upon her arrival she fumbled around under the pillow to find the precious bounty that would get her one step closer to the grand prize. She had felt around, as per her schooling, but had disturbed the sleeping one in her haste. The child merely put the pillow over her head and went back to sleep. Tilda considered going back to the school to face Mildred with no tooth- disaster! But if she returned with two teeth... or three!

She tapped the little girl on the head with her wand, removing all her teeth and filling her mouth with coins. The child sat up and proceeded to choke on one of the many coins that were blocking her airway. Upon seeing Tilda she screamed, the coins sliding further down her throat. Tilda then screamed, now that the gummy and suffocating child had seen her and woken the house up. She panicked, picked up her petticoats, and fled the scene.

Mildred had to cast a dream spell over the child's house and undo all the damage Tilda had caused. Red-faced and ashamed, she had left the school and was 'advised' to attended several sessions in Dr Wilkes' offices.

As a result of her misdemeanour she had developed a very bad temper and had been stripped of her wings and her wand. She stood in the hall of Wishorn Manor looking as grumpy as ever, ordering Legune to fetch her bags and show her where she was sleeping. She was a small stout woman with silvery hair and an acidic tongue. She was the first to arrive.

The second to arrive was Count Voracio. He flew in his bat-like state and smacked straight into the main window in the reception room. Picking himself up and straightening one of his fangs, which had been knocked sideways in the collision, he quickly entered the hallway. He was quite tall and cast a fearful first impression, but it was just a façade. Count Voracio had been on a hunt one night a few months before and suffered a most unfortunate incident. He had been flying along in bat form looking for people to drain of blood, as all good vampires do, when he had been caught in a net. He found himself imprisoned by an elf, who put a spell on him to stop him changing into a man again. For three months the elf, who smelled of trees and berries, fed him leaves and fruit and vegetables, and kept him in a cage. The elf's name was Mr Stump and unfortunately he was like all elves - pig-headed and dumb! He ignored the Count's endless protests and continued to hold him captive. When he eventually escaped, due to a lucky day and a dodgy bar on the cage, he found he could once again transform back into a man. However, much to his frustration, he had developed a liking for leaves and berries, and had lost the desire to taste human flesh and blood. Not a great advertisement for a bloodsucker.

Back in his village of Drakenwall, a vampire village in the far reaches of Transylvania, he was a disgrace. All his fellow kind called him a fruit-sucker and sniggered at him whenever the chance to have a go at him arose. Distraught and bewildered, and feeling less like a vampire and more of a veggie-pire he turned to Dr Wilkes.

" So this is where the healing begins, " he said matter-of-factly to Legune who was showing him around. Tilda, hearing all the fuss, poked her head out of the door and the count sneered at her.

" What are you staring at you stupid Vampire, " she bellowed down the stairs.

" Just looking fatty, " he replied drawing himself up menacingly and baring his fangs.

" Aw, you need a long slow root canal and a sweeping brush to keep those great hulking teeth under control, and you don't scare me," Tilda roared back.

The Count burst into tears, and in his haste to get away from her ran into a suit of armour in the hallway, which immediately put up its gauntlets and circled him looking for a fight. The Count put his arms in front of his face and waited for the punch to land, wishing he had a long courgette to beat it with - or to eat. There was a clanging of metal and a loud snap. The Count looked up cautiously and saw the strangest sight he had ever witnessed. The suit of armour was now a shiny frog shape and croaked loudly.

" Frog off!!" a voice boomed out behind him. He turned to be greeted by the sight of the third patient to grace this inane experiment. Her name was Wizelda and she was a witch.