Page 30 of Wedded Witch
Glass crunches underfoot and I halt, panic surging through my veins.
“Stay, boy!” I cry, holding up my palm to stop my four legged friend from following me.
I’ve wandered over to one of the stone ruins where shards of broken glass are embedded in the earth, glinting in the light. I don’t want him to cut his paws.
The dog yips happily at me and sits, its tail wagging enthusiastically as he obediently waits for me to finish my perusal of this area.
I glance around but nothing is calling out to me. “Come on, little one. Let’s try somewhere else.” Another happy yip. “Do you know any good places to search for something that will help me break a centuries-old family curse?”
God, of course he doesn’t, Swyn. He’s a dog. You need to get a grip.
I’d tried asking one of the staff in the diner about Spells Hollow again this morning, but I’m not convinced that the blonde lady who told me all sorts of crazy stories was actually telling me the truth.
The dog barks and draws my attention back to him, so I crouch down to give him a scratch behind his ears.Really need to give this little guy a name.
The dog leans into my hand, his tail thumping against the ground, seemingly oblivious to the eerie surroundings. I let out a soft sigh and stand up, glancing around again at the ruins of Spells Hollow.
What the hell am I even looking for?
It feels ridiculous, walking through a cursed ghost town with no plan, guided only by instinct and a dog’s enthusiasm. Yet, I can’t shake the feeling that something important is buried here – something hidden beneath the decay, the history, and the weight of whatever darkness still lingers in the air.
I glance at the scorched marks again. The perfectly charred patterns swirl across the ground like a malevolent handprint, one that’s been seared into the earth for centuries.
I wonder if my family’s connection to this place runs deeper than I’ve been told. There’s no way the stories back at the diner captured the full scope of what happened here.
The dog barks again, more insistent this time. He’s staring off toward a narrow, overgrown path I hadn’t noticed before, tucked between two crumbling stone structures.
The path seems to lead deeper into the woods, where the trees grow denser, their branches twisted together like skeletal fingers.
I hesitate. I’m not sure why, but something about that path feels wrong. Like it’s pulling me toward it, the way a nightmare sometimes pulls you closer to the thing you fear most, even though every fibre of your being is screaming to run.
The dog lets out another bark, breaking me out of my trance. His tail wags excitedly, his entire body quivering with the urge to explore.
Dammit, Swyn, get it together.I steel myself, gripping the strap of my bag a little tighter, and start walking toward the path. My boots crunch softly on the uneven ground, and the dog trots ahead, sniffing the air with eager curiosity.
The deeper we go, the colder it gets. The oppressive stillness of Spells Hollow seems to thicken the air around us, pressing down on my skin like invisible hands.
The path is barely discernible under layers of dead leaves and twisted roots, and the canopy above blocks out most of the remaining light.
After what feels like an eternity, we come to a small clearing, and my breath catches in my throat.
In the centre of the clearing stands a lone stone structure, unlike any of the other ruins we’ve passed. It’s mostly intact, though vines and moss have overtaken much of the exterior. A jagged crack runs down the middle of the stone door, and strange, faded symbols are carved into the archway above it.
The dog stops at the edge of the clearing, his ears perked and tail still. He whines softly, like he senses something off about the place. Odd, as a moment ago he was leading the way with gusto.
Nowhe senses danger? Maybe I should stop following a damn dog and start using my brain.
“Stay close,” I murmur, taking a step toward the structure. The air is colder here, sharper, and there’s something humming just beneath the surface of the earth. It’s faint, but it’s there. A strange, pulsing energy.
I approach the door, running my fingers over the carved symbols. They’re worn down, nearly unreadable, but I can feel the weight of them. This place is different. Important.
The dog growls suddenly, low and deep, his body stiffening as he stares at the door. A ridge has risen all along his back and his teeth are bared. I freeze, my heart pounding. Something shifts in the air around us. The wind picks up, rustling the leaves above, and for a moment, I swear I hear a faint whisper.
I pull my hand back from the door, swallowing hard. What the hell am I doing?
But there’s no denying the pull of this place. Something is here, something connected to the curse – and possibly to me.
Taking a deep breath, I grip the edge of the cracked stone door and pull. It groans in protest, but slowly, it shifts, revealing a dark, yawning space beyond. The dog barks sharply, taking a step back, but I’m already stepping inside.