Witch: A Horror Novel (The Cursed Manuscripts) by Iain Wright (nonfiction book recommendations TXT) 📕

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