The old brick kilns in Sydney Park served as a suitably spooky venue as we trespassed on the turf of the Sydney’s most accommodating homeless for the night to listen to stories of ghosts, murderers and lost souls. The readers were charismatic and while the stories themselves were not particularly spine-tingling I did leave with a much greater understanding of the life of Edgar Allan Poe and of the history of haunting in Sydney’s inner west. There was no campfire (as was advertised) but the blankets provided by the friendly storytellers kept the cold at bay. The luxury of listening as someone reads a story is often lost with childhood but the tradition of oral storytelling lives on through these rare events. With some more funding, a few marshmallows and a fire permit I’d be tempted back for another night of scares.