Witch (Sydney Hart #1)

Over a light breakfast of tea and toast, I studied the map I had found on the website. There was a coastal path which led from the town and up towards Michael's father's farm and the well. It was remote and I was unlikely to bump into anyone from town if I took that particular route in search of the well. If I could find it, then I would know for sure if it was the one I had seen in my nightmares. If it wasn't, then it was nothing more than a simple nightmare brought on by the upset of the recent accident I had been involved in. If it was the same well, then...then I wasn't sure after that.

I threw on a sweater, jeans, boots, and a warm coat. Dragging my hair back into a ponytail, I fixed it in a knot at the base of my neck. I snatched up my iPod and earphones, took the torch from my police belt, and left my apartment in search of the well. I made my way down onto the beach, the wind blowing hard and sand stinging my face like needlepoints. I bent low, the sound of the roaring wind and waves crashing against the shore. Reaching the grassy dunes where Michael had appeared the day before, I made my way across them and found the path I had seen on the map. Once off the beach, and sheltered by a crop of trees to my right, the wind didn't feel so harsh against me. I still walked bent forward, my hands thrust into my coat pockets to keep them warm. With my thumb, I switched on my iPod, wanting some music to keep me company on the long walk to the well. Without being able to see the track I was selecting, I hoped for the best. As long as it wasn't anything by The Police. Call Me Maybe by Carly Rae Jepsen started to play.

I threw a wish in the well...Carly started to sing. I rolled my eyes. Did every song I listened to lately have to appear to have some relevance to the shit I had gotten myself into? I continued along the solitary path towards the well. It wound upwards, along the cliff edges and high above the shore. Fields stretched away from me on my left, desolate-looking barns and farmhouses with smoke tumbling from their chimneys in the distance. How nice it would feel to be sitting in front of a roaring fire, a mug of tea warming my hands. I pushed those thoughts from my mind, and knew I would have to wait until I could feel warm again. The path wound its way through a crop of dense trees. I pulled out my iPod and brought up the map. I could see that I wasn't too far now from the well. I turned off the music, placed the iPod back into my pocket, and followed the path through the trees. Birds, startled by my presence, fluttered from the branches overhead, the sound of their beating wings like gunshots in the eerie silence. Twigs crunched underfoot and soggy brown leaves stuck to my boots in a pulpy mush. I looked up and just ahead, I could see the well. To see it, made me stop in my tracks. With my heart starting to speed up, I stood and looked at the circular grey stone well, which stood out of the ground at about waist height. Taking a deep breath, my mind threw up visions of the girl at the bottom of the well humming along to Every Breath You Take. She wouldn't be there though, she was just a part of my dream and not real. What about the old guy? Would he be down there? Would he be looking up at me, that flap of skin slapping against his emaciated face, as he whispered up at me, "Witch."

There was only one way of finding out. Very slowly, I placed one foot in front of the other and made my way through the trees to the well. I listened intently for any sound  -  humming, singing, or whispering, but all I could hear was the sound of the wind, my own shallow breathing, and the snap of twigs beneath my boots. Within touching distance of the well, I stopped. I looked about. The well was at the top of a small hill. To my right I could see the road which led to Michael's farm  -  the road where I had killed those people. On my left and through the trees I could see the farmhouse itself. From where I stood, it looked small and squat, tired and old. Its black slate roof glimmered wetly in the drizzle which had now started to fall. Apart from the barn with the busted lock, I could see another nearby. From my vantage point on top of the hill, this barn didn't look as worn down as the one Michael's father had claimed to have been broken into.

Sensing that I was alone, I turned my attention back to the well. From where I was standing, I couldn't tell if it was the well I had seen in my dreams or not. I had never seen it from this viewpoint; I had always been at the bottom of it. But there was something familiar. Hadn't I been lost in a small crop of trees the very first time I had dreamt about it? Hadn't I been chased through trees, where I had fallen backwards down into the well? With gooseflesh scampering down my back, over my arms and legs, I stepped towards the edge of the well. Half expecting to see the girl, the old man or both staring up at me from the bottom, I closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. With my heart pounding in my ears, and legs feeling like jelly, I dared to open my eyes and peer down into the well.