WELCOME to Haunted Wirral, a feature series written by world famous psychic researcher, Tom Slemen for the Globe.

In this latest tale, Tom explores the spooky story behind the The Frankby Shapeshifter ...

I'VE had to change a few names and details in the following strange story for legal reasons.

In the 1960s, liquor valued at over £6,000 was stolen from the Alexandra Dock goods station up in Bootle.

The purloined drink was in ninety cartons and most of these cartons were stamped with the words Nova Scotia Liquer Commission.

The gang responsible was from Wirral and the stolen haul was taken to a deserted farmhouse in the Irby area, where the gang – all young men under twenty-five - waited for the heat to die down, as a substantial reward had been put up for any information leading to a conviction.

There's a saying in the underworld: 'Don't do the crime if you can’t do the time,’ and the immature thieves were worried sick that the loot – almost two thousand bottles of whiskey – would soon be discovered and the law would come down heavy on the pilferers.

The gang needed someone to take the whiskey to a fence in Woodchurch.

They asked a young man named Charlie to take a hundred bottles to the fence one snowy December night but he returned in a sweat, claiming his van had been tailed by police.

New Year's Eve was looming – an excellent time to get the whiskey in the alehouses.

But who would have the nerves of steel to make the runs to the fence?

A 70-year-old man named Harry Barker heard about the gang's problem and he called unannounced at the farmhouse – with a sawn-off shotgun in case he encountered any misunderstandings – and the gang reluctantly paid him to be the transporter.

"Now, listen," Harry told Billy, the spotty young leader of the crooks "no [expletive deleted] about – just pack my van with as many as the crates as you can; I don't want to be coming back and forth like a B.A.F – and we'll have this job boxed off in a few nights."

"Wait a mo," interposed Billy "how much are you asking for this?"

Harry sternly looked at Billy in the eye and said: "Well, lad, you've got six thousand quid's worth of whiskey there and I'm not taking less than a thousand."

"You must be joking!" exclaimed Billy, and he gave a painful put-on chuckle "Three hundred, take it or leave it."

"Ta-ra!" Harry turned and headed for the door of the farmhouse, but Billy ran in front of him and yelled: "Jesus Christ, you’re a case! Alright, alright!"

"How much can you give me now?"

Harry asked, hand out, but Billy shook his head and said: "I haven't got a light on me, but the fence will pay you and you can take £200 out of that."

The gang stocked the van with four hundred bottles of whiskey and Harry drove off into the icy night. As the van was travelling along Hillbark Road near Irby Hill, Harry saw a young blonde in a mini skirt and white knee-length boots at the roadside, thumbing a lift, and suspecting she was on the game.

He had an urge to stop, but knew it would be unprofessional to do so, so he kept on going. Three and a half miles and 15 minutes later, Harry was flagged down by "Marcus" the fence on Hoole Road.

He got in the van and directed Harry to a garage, where the crates were unloaded.

Marcus showed some reluctance to hand over £450 until Harry showed him the sawn-off Purdey 12 bore.

On the following night, Harry set off from the farmhouse at midnight, and a full moon was lighting up Frankby.

Again, as the van cruised down Hillbark Road, the same blonde appeared, but Harry looked straight ahead and continued on his way – until he saw a log in the middle of the road.

He cursed as he decelerated and drove around it, and when he looked in his wing mirror, he saw something very strange: the blonde lady of the night was running towards him – and she was changing before his eyes as she approached.

Harry muttered profanities and moved off, eyeing the weird spectacle – then hit another log.

He reversed, drove around it, and then he saw the thing the woman had changed into; it was a greenish-grey figure with glowing eyes and a huge mouth, and it jumped over the first log and raced after the van, running at a phenomenal speed.

Next thing, the weird creature was running alongside the van, and it tried to get into the vehicle via the rolled down window.

It had claws for hands and the teeth lining that massive mouth looked very sharp.

Harry reached for the Purdey, then thrust it out the window and blasted the thing in its face at point blank range.

The creature was sent over a hedgerow by the blast and Harry peeled rubber, almost colliding with a car as the van hurtled through the Irby Hill roundabout.

Harry's head was a maelstrom of concern; had he just blown the head off some prankster in a mask?

Had anyone heard the shotgun being discharged? Was he going insane?

When he got to the fence’s garage, Marcus claimed he’d forgotten to bring the money and Harry was that highly strung by his unearthly encounter he punched Marcus hard and almost knocked him out.

Marcus had the money on him.

On the following night, Harry's van was chased by the same unearthly shapeshifter; it had survived a close-range shotgun blast.

Harry went by an alternative route each night after that and was only too glad when the job was done.

The Frankby shapeshifter is still occasionally seen, but what it is I do not profess to know.