It was a forty minutes ride to Goathland and it had started raining in the mean time, a cruel northern wind beating the drops against the window. Nothing could be seen outside, for the moors were pitchblack in the clouded night, apart from the occasional village or hamlet.

Goathland station which happened to look exactly like Hogsmeade station was deserted. The village lay further up the road and was little more than a hamlet of two roads meeting. There was no street lighting so the only light came from the windows of the cottages. The rain was still beating down and the road was deserted.