Witch: A Horror Novel (The Cursed Manuscripts)

by Iain Rob Wright

  After another ten minutes of walking, they came to a wider embankment covered in daffodils. The cluster of yellow splashes caused them to stop and admire the flowers. Ashley knelt and picked one, bringing it to her swollen nose and inhaling deeply. She didn’t say what she was thinking, but it brought a smile to her face. Behind that smile, however, was nothing but sadness.

  Jude stood next to her. “It’s going to be okay, you know. I mean, there has to be an end to this. None of this is our fault.”

  She surprised him by leaning forward and wrapping both arms around him. She hugged him tightly and rested her head on his shoulder. “I wish I could believe you, but everything about this tells me it’s all gunna go very badly for us. Our whole lives, it’s been you and me, Jude, but it’s not normal. We can’t just be two kids in our own little world anymore. We have to join the real world – and the real world sucks. In the real world, our friendship doesn’t get to be everything. There has to be more.”

  Jude held onto her hug, not wanting to break away. It felt good to hold her, but something seemed fragile about it, like there was something between them that could fall to the ground and smash at any moment. “What do you mean? We’ll always be friends, right?”

  Ashley broke away and looked at him. She nodded, but there were tears in her eyes. “Of course. Come on, we’re almost there.”

  They carried on walking but didn’t say another word until they reached the supermarket that marked their destination. Across the main road was a posh housing district. The street they were looking for was only a ten-minute walk. Soon, they would arrive at the house of Peter Glendale.

  Chapter Sixteen

  When they finally reached Packer Street, it was evening. The day was trying to cling on stubbornly, but it was fighting a losing battle. Only a slither of orange sunlight remained and it was quickly sinking behind the horizon.

  Only nine or ten houses lined the upmarket cul-de-sac, and each one was huge. All had double garages, and several had gated driveways. Jude was unnerved when he realised the biggest house of all was the one they wanted.

  Ashley whistled. “Peter’s got money. Wonder if he’s single.”

  “Might be a bit old for you, Ash.”

  “I could do with a sugar daddy. Might save me from having to go home again.”

  Jude gave her a thin-lipped smile. “You’ll sort things out with your dad, Ash, I’m sure. “

  “The fucker hit me. How do you sort that out?”

  “I… I don’t know. Maybe you can come live at mine.”

  She rolled her eyes. “What? In your mum’s room or yours?”

  Jude blushed. “Yeah, I suppose we don’t really have the room, do we?”

  “No, but thanks. I know you’re just trying to help me. Anyway, I don’t want to even think about it right now. We’re here, so let’s do what we came to do.”

  They stood in front of the wooden gate that barred the short driveway in front of a large Tudor-style house that looked big enough to encompass Jude’s house six times over.

  “There’s a buzzer here,” said Ashley, pointing to a small grey panel on one side of the gate.

  Jude shivered against the cold. Now that they were here, it seemed like a really stupid idea. They were about to press a rich person’s buzzer and ask about a witch named Rose who lived in the woods on the other side of town. Even if they didn’t mention Rose, they still planned to ask about a ruined old farmhouse that had been forgotten fifty-odd years ago. Suddenly, he couldn’t see a scenario where this went well.

  Ashley pressed the buzzer.

  A male voice answered almost right away. “Hello?”

  “Um, is that Peter Glendale?”

  “Yes, can I help you?”

  Jude looked at Ashley and realised they hadn’t discussed what they planned to say. “Um, we…”

  Ashley took the reins. “Hi, Mr Glendale. We’re doing a school project and the topic is local history. Do you know anything about an old farmhouse near the golf course? We read an old news article that mentioned it belonging to a Rita Glendale. Is she related to you?”

  There was a pause, and for a moment it seemed like there might not be an answer. Then the male speaker replied, “That’s my grandmother, but I’m not sure about the farmhouse you’re talking about. Rita grew up on a farm, but it was before I was born.”

  “That’s right,” said Jude, gaining confidence from Ashley’s good start. “The farm was sold in 1968 to make way for the golf course. Any information you might have on it would really help us. It’s going to count towards our final GCSE grade.”

  “Who were you again?”

  “My name is Jude, and my friend is Ashley. It’s just a school project.”

  Another long pause, this one stretching out for half a minute. Then: “You’d better come in.”

  Jude couldn’t help but smile. Once again, he felt like an adventurer, and this time they were making progress.

  The gate’s hinges clicked, and the whole thing opened. Jude put his hand on the top plank and gave it a push. It swung aside easily. Then they were walking up the driveway and heading towards the large home of a complete stranger.

  The driveway was lined on either side by flowerbeds, each one full of colourful summer flowers. Beside the dark timber-framed front door was a tiny wheelbarrow full of even more flowers. It was a beautiful home and had a nice friendly feel to it. It made Jude slightly less apprehensive that Peter Glendale would do anything besides help them.

  He has to have answers. He’s our only hope.

  The man who opened the front door appeared to be in his early forties, not much younger than Jude’s mum. His short brown hair had a strict parting on the left. He looked at them from behind stylish black glasses, and while he seemed a little confused by the sight of them, he smiled warmly.

  “I’m Ashley. This is Jude. Thank you for talking to us.”

  “Sure, no problem. I’m not really sure how I can help you, but please come in.” He moved aside and allowed them in. The hallway’s wooden floors were a rich honey colour. The walls were a pale shade of green. “You have a beautiful home, Mr Glendale.”

  “Thank you. It actually belonged to my parents, but they both passed away in recent years. It’s the family home, though, so I wasn’t ready to sell it. I should’ve filled it with children by now, really, but that’s a story for another day. Can I get you kids a drink? Water, Coke? Or would you prefer tea?”

  Jude grew anxious as the front door closed and locked behind him, so he asked for a cup of tea, knowing it would calm him. Ashley went with a glass of water. She must have been as thirsty as he was after the two-hour walk.

  Peter led them through into the kitchen, which was even nicer than the hallway. The cream cabinets were topped by a thick wooden worktop that matched the hallway floor. The tiles underfoot were a mixture of browns and oranges. Like the rest of the house so far, it had a warm and inviting feel.

  Definitely a family home.

  But what kind of family?

  There was no breakfast table in the kitchen, but a pair of stools stood against one side of the counter. Peter motioned for them both to take a seat, and Jude hopped up onto one of the stools. He accepted a cup of tea gratefully and wrapped his hands around the ceramic mug, enjoying the warmth. Ashley sat beside him, sipping her water. For a few moments, nobody said anything. Eventually, Peter spoke. “So tell me about this farmhouse? You say my grandmother used to own it?”

  Ashley put her water on a nearby drinks mat and nodded. “We read a newspaper article on the Internet that said she sold it in 1968 so they could build the golf course. Although it also said that the farmhouse had been empty since 1948. Do you know why it was abandoned?”

  Peter shook his head. “No idea. My grandmother grew up on a farm, but she never really spoke about it. It was her parent’s place, I think, and they retired shortly after the war. I don’t think she ever really enjoyed the work. She got involved in town planning instead. Did you know
she helped develop most of this town? Until the nineteen-eighties, it was actually only a collection of tiny villages. Eventually, they all merged into the town we know today.”

  Jude nodded appreciatively. It genuinely interested him how much places could change over time. He imagined the space where his house was, a hundred years ago. It was probably just a field back then. “That must have been an amazing job,” he said. “Did you know your grandmother well?”

  Peter’s face lit up with a beaming smile. “Oh, yes. We were very close. I was probably closer to my grandmother than I was my own mother. My mother was a doctor, you see, so she spent a lot of hours at the hospital, but my grandmother was always around when I was a kid. In fact, it was she who taught me how to draw, which is how I make my living today. I run a marketing and ad agency from home, using the very skills she taught me. So, yes, my grandmother and I are very close.”

  Jude frowned. “Sorry, did you just say are very close?”

  Peter gave them a cheeky grin. Even though he was middle-aged, there was something childish about him. He had an air of mischief. “Okay, you got me. I had to check you kids out first, but my grandmother is still very much alive if you’d like to speak to her.”

  Ashley gasped. “She’s still alive? How old is she?”

  “She’s ninety-six, but still as sharp as a tack. When she heard you on the intercom, she told me to let you in. She’s willing to talk to you.”

  Jude and Ashley gawked at one another. After two days of everything going wrong, things were finally going right. They had come to speak with Peter Glendale about his grandmother, but instead they would get a chance to talk to the woman herself. Rita Glendale had owned the farmhouse. If anybody knew anything about the old place, it was her. Jude crossed his fingers and prayed she also knew something about Rose.

  Peter gestured to a door at the rear of the kitchen. “Grab your drinks and come this way. She’s a little hard of hearing, so you’ll have to speak up. And watch your language. She’ll tan your hides if she hears you swearing.”

  Their host led them from the kitchen into a small sitting room lit by several floor lamps. Inside, slumped in a dark brown leather recliner, was an old lady. Her hair was pure white and her face a tapestry of wrinkles, but she was the same woman they had seen in the photograph in the paper on the Internet. Across her lap was a patchwork of coloured wool. When she saw them enter, she placed a pair of knitting needles onto a small side table and smiled. Various trinkets lined the walls, all of them odd. Jude noticed a pair of tiny wooden hammers and a metal ring covered in a sinewy reed. There was also a strange twisted tree branch pinned against the longest wall between a pair of white eyeless masks. Strange decorations, for sure, yet they all tied together to create a pleasant enough sitting room.

  The old woman lifted a pair of spectacles from where they hung around her neck and placed them on her nose. She examined Jude and Ashley carefully, like she was inspecting them for work duty. Then, once she was satisfied, she gave them a curt nod and told them to sit on the small fabric sofa opposite. Jude felt like a naughty child waiting to speak with the headmaster.

  “What do you lambies know about my family’s old farmhouse?” the old woman asked them in a voice that sounded like duelling whispers. “That place has been buried in the woods for half a century or more.”

  “Or more,” said Jude. “You sold it in 1968.”

  The old woman seemed to think about it before nodding. “I suppose I did. Glad to see the back of the old place, to tell the truth. It was a ruin long before I passed it on. The farming life never suited me.”

  Standing near the door, Peter chuckled.

  “You sold it to the council,” said Jude. “Why didn’t they knock it down when they built the golf course?”

  “Never sold it to the council, lamby. Sold it to a real estate company. I remember it well because they had the stupidest name you ever heard. Zosimus Sphere. As far as I understand it, they still own the place. You shouldn’t go poking around in that old ditch, though. It’s a death trap. How did you even know the old house was out there?”

  Ashley leant forward and placed her hands on her knees. “Because we went there. We went inside the old farmhouse to explore. It’s an overgrown ruin.”

  The old woman flinched. Jude noticed it, even though she tried to hide it. She was unhappy that they’d visited the farmhouse. But why would she care if she hadn’t owned it in over half a century?

  “There was somebody there,” said Jude, deciding they might as well get to the point. There was no reason to beat around the bush with all the trouble they were in. “A woman named Rose.”

  This time the woman’s reaction was impossible for her to disguise. She bucked in her chair and started wheezing. Immediately, Peter ran to her side. He picked up a glass of water from the side table and put it to the old woman’s lips. “Grandma, are you okay?”

  The old woman caught her breath and pushed her grandson out of the way. She looked through her spectacles at Jude and suddenly grew stern. She sat up in her recliner and stared them down. “Say that name to me again, lambies, so I’m sure I heard you right.”

  Jude saw the comprehension in the old woman’s eyes. There was no memory loss or dementia there. She had the answers they sought; he was sure of it. He leant forward and returned the old woman’s stony glare. “There was a naked woman in your family’s old farmhouse. She was chained to the floor and surrounded by dead animals. She said her name was Rose.”

  The old woman broke her stare and slumped back in her chair. “You lambies don’t know what you’ve done.” She cleared her throat and shifted in her seat like she was struggling to get comfortable. “But I suppose you’ve come to the right place. You can call me Rita. Rose is my sister-in-law.”

  For a moment, Ashley didn’t react. She retreated into her own mind and tried to make sense of what she’d heard. Rita and Rose were sisters-in-law, but Rita was ninety-six years old and Rose was nowhere near that. In fact, Rose had looked to be in her mid-thirties.

  “I don’t understand,” said Jude. “You and Rose are family?”

  Rita asked Peter to leave the room, and he did so obediently. Once he’d gone, Rita sighed. “I try not to involve Peter with the darkness that eats up the past. He’s a good boy, pure of heart. Shame he’s never found a kind woman to settle down with.”

  “Please,” said Jude. “We need to know about Rose. She’s… I’m not even sure how to say it.”

  “Oh, I know exactly what Rose is, lamby. She’s a monster. If you two have had a run-in with her, I expect you already know that. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

  Jude deflated. Ashley saw the relief on his face. Finally, they were speaking to someone who didn’t think they were crazy.

  Ashley asked, “Why was Rose chained up in your family’s old farmhouse?”

  Rita shivered, shoulders bony and uneven. “Because I put her there. In times I can barely remember.”

  Ashley raised an eyebrow. Rita didn’t look strong enough to put anybody in chains against their will. “You chained her up? Why?”

  “Because she murdered my brother and his children. They were Rose’s children, too, as it goes, but she was never much of a mother.”

  Jude shook his head. He clearly had a thousand questions, but none made it out of his mouth.

  Rita pulled the knitted patchwork up so that it covered her stomach. She scratched at her fuzzy chin and muttered something to herself. Then she looked Ashley in the eye. “I chained Rose up in 1948, same year I left my family’s farm behind for good. I let nature reclaim it, and reclaim it nature did. You might say I helped the process along some.”

  Ashley frowned. “What does that mean? You planted trees?”

  “Something like that. Anyway, before I tell you what I did to Rose, I should first tell you what she did to me. Like I said, she killed my brother, my niece, and my nephew. They were sweet lambies, and my brother were a decent man. If he’d lived, that farm would still
be in our family today. It were his birthright. Mine too, ’cept I never wanted it. Wanted it even less after what Rose done. I never liked her from the day he brought her home, that I swear. Within a year, she and my brother were married, and Rose got her greedy mitts on everything my family owned. My brother worked his poor ’ands to the bone, but Rose wanted more. Eventually, when she realised she couldn’t have it, she looked elsewhere, started seeing the town’s bank manager. Craven pig were as vainglorious as she was, and the two were far better suited than Rose and my brother ever were. Maybe if she’d met the bank manager first, the darkness of my past would be brighter. As things turned out, Rose decided she didn’t want to be a wife to my brother or a mother to her children anymore, so one day, casually as you’d like, she stabbed the three of them to death and burned their bodies in the pigsties. She planned on marrying the bank manager and having my family’s farm as dessert. Her only problem were me. I knew she’d done it – no doubt in my mind. Didn’t take me more than a day to have her admit it.”

  Jude rejoined the conversation. “How did you ever get her to admit to something like that?”

  “I have my ways. The land can provide more than just food, lambies, if you learn how to speak its language.”

  “I’m not following,” said Jude.

  “Me neither,” said Ashley. “Tell us exactly what you mean.”

  Rita chuckled. Her tiny body rattled. “Suppose what I’m saying is that I’m a witch. My mother were too, and her mother before that. It’s not exactly as you’d think – there’s no eye of newt or silly love spells – but it’s as real as the wind and the rain. To be a witch means to sacrifice a part of yourself in exchange for certain favours. There must always be a balance to everything, which is why, in the case of Rose, I were able to ask for a great deal of power. She took three people I cared about from this world. That left a lot of room to rebalance the scales.”