It has no face, no footprints, and gives no warning… it just appears. A pale figure comes out of the darkness, cold to the touch and emitting the unmistakable odour of Strata, El Dorado and Nelson Sauvin.

What's in it? A 5.5% Pale Ale... something wicked... and what does it want? It fills your glass... tropical fruit appears out of the darkness. Citrus breaks through the silence. A bitter, resinous finish lingers with one final bite.

We don't know whether it's alive. One thing is certain... 

TERROR HAS NO SHAPE