It’s not been too bad this year, I must say. Normally by the halfway point in October the TV schedules are crammed with schlocky horror stories, documentaries about the types of people who believe in ghosts and whose bathos is more terrifying than anything that could reach out from beyond the grave (“And this is where the teapot fell down, David, just as we were talking about teapots. It was like the teapot poltergeist of West Malling absolutely knew, David. You can still see the stain.”)
But this year – perhaps because it is so clearly a godforsaken one – there is room between The Fall of the House of Usher, the Interview With a Vampire adaptation and repeats of Uncanny for Halloween-haters to breathe. So for once I find myself with tolerance for this rotten, tat-filled season to spare, even when faced with the likes of The Burning Girls, a six-part series based on C J Tudor’s bestselling book of the same name, that has risen up to greet us on the home straight.
