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

“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