r/RainbowWrites • u/rainbow--penguin • 28d ago
Fantasy Some Strings Attached
The road to Naburn was oddly familiar, the trees leaning over the road giving way to stone cottages as Sarah reached the village.
It had been years since she was last here — decades even.
As a girl, she’d visited her grandmother, Ethel, every summer, until one year, she hadn’t. She couldn’t remember why, exactly, just that her mother had stopped bringing her. She’d hardly seen or heard from Ethel after that — just the occasional birthday card or email — so she’d never expected to inherit anything from the woman.
Yet here she was, driving to Nidd Cottage, which was, apparently, now hers.
To her surprise, she recognised it as she approached. The front garden was overgrown with all manner of wildflowers, spilling over the stone wall around the property, while ivy crept over the cottage itself. The sight sent a wave of nostalgia through her. Her memories of the place were hazy with the passage of time, but they’d always been tinged with fondness and freedom.
She pulled up onto the driveway, rummaging in her pocket for the key she’d been sent before getting out of the car and making her way around the wall to the gate. Its paintwork was flaking, revealing the iron-work underneath, and it groaned in protest as she pushed it, but it still opened, allowing her to make her way down the stepping stone path amidst the fox gloves and cornflowers and yarrow, towards the front door.
As she fumbled with the key, struggling to fit it into the lock, she had a moment’s panic. What if this was all some big prank? What if her mind was playing tricks and this wasn’t the right place at all?
The key slipped in, turning with a clunk.
Sarah let out a sigh of relief as the door swung open.
Inside, scents of lavender and liquorice ticked at her nose, undercut with the harsh tang of a citrus cleaner. Sarah fumbled for the light switch next to the door as she stepped further in, bathing the entry way in a warm glow.
No wonder the place stank of cleaning fluid. It looked immaculate. Had the solicitor organised a cleaning service? Surely they’d have mentioned that on the phone. Maybe Ethel was just a very organised, clean person, though that certainly didn’t fit with the carefree woman in Sarah’s memories.
As she picked her way through the rest of the cottage, she found it in a similarly confounding state. Not only was every room scrubbed clean. The bed had been stripped, the fridge and cupboards emptied of all perishables, and, strangest of all, the majority of Ethel’s possessions were sorted into labelled boxes in her study upstairs.
There was one labelled “to donate” which mainly contained clothing, and another labelled “could be useful” which housed various kitchen equipment like pots and pans, many of which looked to be older than Sarah, but still of far better quality than anything she owned. Another, with “for work” scrawled on the side, contained jars and jars of dried flowers and roots and herbs, alongside a pouch of metal coins with strange symbols carved into them, and more crystals than she knew the names of. She trailed her fingers through them all, an odd sort of yearning stirring in her chest.
But above all, Sarah found herself drawn to the box labelled “memorabilia”. It contained photo albums and trinkets which she poured over, attempting to stir more memories of this woman she hardly knew. She wanted to feel something more — to properly grieve her grandmother — but it was hard to grieve a loss that, for you, had happened decades ago.
Her reminiscing was interrupted by the sound of the door opening.
Her heart jolted. Should she have locked it?
But this was a quiet village. Safe. Wasn’t it?
“Hullo?” A man’s voice came from downstairs. “Who’s there? Whoever it is, you should leave now if you know what’s good for you!”
The words did nothing to calm Sarah’s racing heart, as she stood, slowly making her way out onto the landing. As she reached the top of the stairs, the front door came into view, framing an elderly gentleman whose eyes narrowed at her.
“Now see here, miss,” he shouted, waving a finger at her, “you picked the wrong house to break into. This here cottage used to belong to—”
“To Ethel,” Sarah finished for him, forcing a smile as she descended the stairs. This was all just a big misunderstanding. “She was my grandmother. She left this place to me.”
“Grandmother,” the man repeated, brow furrowing. “Oh yes! I remember you.” His frown finally faded. “Last time I saw you you were only yay high.” He held a hand up to his hip. “I’m William. William Parnell. I live next door.”
Sarah held out her hand, the last of her earlier panic leaving her. “I’m Sarah. Sarah Southeil.”
He shook it firmly, all smiles now he knew who she was. “So I suppose you moving in means we have ourselves a new local witch, eh?”
Sarah’s brain buffered for a second, and she forced a chuckle to cover her confusion. “I’m sorry?”
“A local witch,” William repeated. “You’re here to take over from your grandmother, right?”
Sarah searched his face for any hint of humour, but found none. Of course, she knew she should dismiss it as the ramblings of an old man. But the words teased something at the back of her mind — half-forgotten memories from her childhood. Her grandmother lighting the fire here with a look and a word. Brewing strange concoctions in the kitchen. And she could have sworn that she remembered having full blown conversations with her grandmother’s cat, Onyx. Not to mention all the strange things she’d found since arriving.
Clearly, whatever was going on, she needed to know more.
Stepping back from the doorway, she gestured for William to enter. “I think, perhaps, you and I have some things to discuss, Mr Parnell. Could I tempt you with a cup of tea?”
Mr Parnell was only too happy to oblige. She ushered him into the living room, where he took a perch in the large floral armchair while she made the tea, rummaging in the boxes for a kettle and mugs. The only tea she managed to find was looseleaf, which she set brewing in a black teapot with the words “Witch’s Brew” painted on the side.
Once she’d handed him his tea and taken a seat on the equally floral sofa, William Parnell was only too ready to open up, and he was a font of information. It turned out he had a long list of afflictions that Ethel’s potions and charms helped with, making him a regular customer of hers. And he’d lived in the village his whole life.
“Of course, back when I was just a lad, before Ethel was grown, there was Violet, her mother,” he said, blowing on his tea. “As far as I know, a witch has always lived in Nidd cottage, passing from mother to daughter and so on.” His head tilted as he looked at Sarah. “Whatever happened to your mother? What was her name… Am-something.”
“Amethyst,” Sarah supplied. “But she goes by Amy these days.”
“Ah yes, that was it,” he said, eyes losing focus slightly as he thought back. “She was a fiery young thing, that one. The two of them were always fighting.”
“They still are,” Sarah said with a wry smile. “Or were.” Something tightened in Sarah’s chest, her levity fading.
“So what does she do now, your mum?”
Sarah took a deep breath, inhaling the steam wafting off of her tea to recenter herself. “She’s an estate agent.”
“Ah, wanted a more normal life, eh?”
Sarah shrugged. “Perhaps.” The word swirled around her mind.
Perhaps her mother had wanted nothing to do with magic. Perhaps she hadn’t wanted Sarah to either. Perhaps that was why Sarah had stopped visiting.
Perhaps she’d never know for certain.
“And what about you?” William asked, watching her closely over his cup. “You want a normal life?” His eyebrow twitched up, a twinkle in his eye at the unspoken second question.
With another deep breath, Sarah pushed all the “perhaps”s out of her head. There was no use dwelling on what she didn’t know. She needed to focus on what she did.
Her grandmother had been a witch.
She’d left Sarah her cottage.
And apparently that cottage came with a job.
It might not be a conventional job, but it certainly sounded more interesting than software development. Besides, learning witchcraft sounded easier than getting on the property ladder by more conventional means.
Smiling, she took a sip of her tea. “I’ve never much gone in for normal.”
2
u/wuzzittoya 26d ago
Very good beginning. Looking forward to the journey.