Witch Haunt (A Dewsbury Down Paranormal Cozy Book 1) Read online

  Witch Haunt

  A Dewsbury Down Paranormal Cozy

  Willow Mason

  Copyright © 2022 Willow Mason

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Cover by Katherine Hayton

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  About the Author

  Also by Willow Mason

  Chapter One

  I walked into the room, my nervous fingers moving to twist an engagement ring that was no longer there. “The place is so airy.” My phone buzzed, and I pulled it out, giving an enthusiastic greeting to my mum before holding it up to show her the view.

  She reached across for my dad and dragged him into the frame. That my parents could see my new digs from their rented bedsit in Amsterdam felt like a small miracle.

  “What d’you think?”

  “It looks lovely. You can see all the way down the street! What about the other side?”

  With a wink at my (fingers-crossed) new landlady, I skipped to the opposite side of the attic room to show my parents a matching scene. From this window, I could see the main road stretching to the curved bridge over the Mackson River.

  The entire town lay below me like a gloriously detailed map.

  “What about the job?” my mother asked once she’d run out of gushing adjectives. “How’d the interview go?”

  “Perfect. They offered it to me on the spot. Just a background check and I’ll start Monday.”

  The relief on my mother’s face reflected mine. A few months before, I’d wondered if I could ever drag my life back on track. With my parents overseas and my friends abandoning me, I’d felt increasingly alone… and frightened.

  Now, here I was, a new job on the horizon and potentially standing in the middle of my new home. Speaking of which…

  “How much?” I asked, tucking my phone away.

  Lottie Langford, the woman renting out the attic space, gave a start. “Gosh, I’m not…” She flailed her hands before pulling a notepad out of her apron pocket. Recipes Made With Love was written across the front in a cursive script so florid I could barely decipher the words. “Three hundred?”

  “A week?” My voice squeaked with joy. When I’d responded to the ad for an attic flat, I’d expected a cramped room festooned with cobwebs, stacked full of boxes, and exploding with dust at every step.

  Instead, the expansive loft contained three decent-sized rooms, an ensuite, and a small kitchenette. It even boasted space for the enormous king-sized bed my grannie had passed down to me, if only I hadn’t sold the frame years before, thinking I’d never be able to afford a place big enough for the brass and chestnut antique to fit.

  “Is that too much?” The elderly woman scratched her head with a pencil stub, the blue-grey curls meeting the challenge with hair-sprayed resistance. “How about two hundred and fifty? No, two hundred. That sounds about right. Can you afford a security deposit?”

  “Two hundred sounds p-perfect,” I stammered, tempted to pinch my arm to convince myself it was real. “What kind of deposit were you—”

  “No, no. I trust you.” Lottie trilled out a laugh so shrill it hurt my ears. “But I’ll need first and last month’s rent for sure, then we can go week to week. Or just the first month’s rent. In advance.” She tucked the notepad away in her pocket again. “Unless you need a payment plan?”

  The rapidly descending tenancy costs made my head spin. Five hundred, I’d been paying at my last flat. Sure, it was smack dab in the Christchurch city centre, but since I’d practically been a shut-in, the attractions of a vibrant nightlife had escaped me.

  “I can manage the first month’s rent, no problem,” I assured her. “Can I take the place, or do you have other people coming to look?”

  “Oh, no. Nothing like that.” She gave another shrill laugh. “No one’s falling over themselves to grab a rental in Dewsbury Down.” Lottie wrinkled her nose. “We’re not the hive of activity you seem to think.”

  Thank goodness. Calm was exactly what I needed.

  “I’ve got a contract.” Lottie patted her apron, then snapped her fingers. “Downstairs. I’ll grab it while you take another look around the place on your own.”

  Before I could offer to accompany her, she’d gone. Her heavy tread on the stairs was a reminder of their steepness.

  “It’ll be wonderful exercise, climbing up and down those every day,” I muttered to myself, walking to the bay window, and leaning upon the wide sill.

  The town’s main road sported a few cafes with outdoor tables catching the bright midday sun. I could picture myself sitting out there, grabbing a spot of lunch before heading back to the office, refreshed and ready to take on the challenge of another round of accounting duties.

  A car stopped at a pedestrian crossing, the driver pulling out their phone as a woman pushed a pram over the striped lines. Not even a set of lights. On the main road. Bliss! It took another minute before a second car rolled along the street, giving a light tap on their horn to alert the first.

  Two cars a minute. Could I handle the pace?

  “Here we go,” Lottie said, bustling back into the room with a clipboard. “I’ve filled in the amount by hand, here”—she poked a biro at the scrawled number—“so you’ll need to initial that, then sign at the arrow.”

  I checked the figures, then read down the page to check the terms of residency.

  “Sixty days’ notice,” the landlady said. “From either side. That’s standard with a month to month my lawyer told me.”

  Judging from the apparent age of the document, her lawyer had last advised her at least a decade ago, but I wouldn’t quibble. Three months’ notice had been in my last contract and that had turned around to bite me hard on the rear end.

  Sixty days should be more than enough. I’d found this place by checking the supermarket notice board—apparently, the internet hadn’t made a big splash in this neck of the woods—and there’d been another four notices beside it, one yellowing around the edges.

  Given the eagerness to drop the price, I guessed tenants were a rarity. It made a nice change from elbowing a dozen other interested viewers out of the way to put in a ridiculously priced offer, only to be turned down.

  However… I squeezed the pen as my hand stilled. Perhaps I should wait to hear from Anderson Accounting before I committed myself. Sure, Izzy had been a delight to interview with. The hour-long process had felt closer to having coffee with a new best friend than the drudgery of coming up with embellished answers to awkwardly worded questions.

  And true, she’d made the offer. We’d even discussed a salary—one that seemed a lot higher now considering how little my housing was about to cost me—but prudence was a trait I’d worked hard to acquire. Exercising it now might be a good idea.

  “Is there something wrong?” Lottie’s face screwed up as though she was on the verge of tears. “Just tell me. I can have the neighbour’s boy over in a flash
to fix anything. He’s good with his hands. Squeaky floorboards or stuck windows or—” She broke off, twisting the front of her blouse.

  “Nothing’s wrong.” I initialled the two-hundred-dollar-a-week figure, then signed my name at the bottom with a flourish. Good to know those hours spent in intermediate school coming up with an elaborate signature hadn’t gone to waste. Tamzin Bryce appeared much more exotic when buried in a calligraphy swirl.

  Lottie stared at the contract with a smile. “Excellent.” She handed across a small card. “Now, if you’ll deposit eight hundred and sixty-six into this account, that’ll seal the deal.”

  Surprised at her efficiency, I dragged my phone back out and arranged it, squinting at the tiny numbers. A visit to the optometrist would be high on my agenda once my first paycheque came through.

  “Here’s your keys. The big one’s for the front door, the fancy one is for the back, the tiny one unlocks the garage, and the one with the yellow tag does the lock at the top of the stairs.”

  I smiled at the weight of them in my hands. “Do you have any rules about coming and going?”

  “Do what you like, I’m not fussed. I keep myself to myself most of the time and would appreciate it if you do the same.”

  “You’ve got it.”

  “Oh, and”—Lottie frowned—“I’m away for a few days this week, so remember you’re only allowed in your bit. If you’re thinking of throwing a party in the main house, you’ll be out on your ear. Next door will tell me if they see anything out of order.”

  “Of course.” I held up a hand in solemn promise, feeling like a scolded teenager.

  “Lock the top door when you’re going out, too. I don’t want any accusations of me going through your stuff. I’m an old lady and I’m not interested, okay?”

  I shook my head, pleasantly baffled.

  “And there’s no refunds, understood? You signed the contract, fair and square.” Lottie pulled up the carbon and handed me a copy. “That’s yours.”

  A muscle in my neck tightened, the first harbinger of an incoming headache. “I’m excited about moving in. I certainly don’t want a refund.”

  “Good.” She smiled, the harsh lines of her face dissolving into the same welcoming expression she’d greeted me with. “Nice to have you here. I hope you stay a long time.”

  As she set off downstairs, I tried to ignore the titter she gave under her breath.

  “People in small towns are always eccentric,” I told myself, locking the top door as instructed before pocketing the keys and heading downstairs to my car. Once I collected my belongings from the motel I’d been staying at, I doubted I’d need the vehicle again. Dewsbury looked small enough to walk from one side to the other in an hour, less if I were in a hurry.

  A cat yowled plaintively as I opened the driver’s side door. I scanned underneath the vehicle, making sure the animal wouldn’t get a rude shock when I started the engine. Coast clear.

  I heard the noise again as I pulled out of the driveway, sounding loud enough to be inside the car. A check of the backseat told me I was imagining things and my reversing camera assured me nothing was close outside either.

  “You’re living in the old Pritchard house?” Milly, the receptionist at the Blue Haven Motor Inn, said when I announced my departure. Her eyes opened wider than I thought the news warranted.

  “No. It belongs to Lottie Langford.” I handed across my credit card, trying to calculate how much I’d spent since I last paid the balance down. The scrolling receipt from the till reassured me. “I’m just renting the attic rooms.”

  “Yeah, that’s the place. Sian Pritchard lived there until the…” Milly waggled her eyebrows and raised her shoulders. “You know.”

  I most certainly did not know. “Sharn?”

  “S. I. A. N.”

  I opened my mouth to ask what mysterious thing had happened, but the motel owner strolled through the door, wiping his hands on a towel. “Spill down at Unit Fourteen,” he said to Milly, framing it as an order. “You done here?”

  “All done.” I tucked the card and receipt into my wallet and grabbed the two rucksacks full of my belongings. Living out of the motel for the past few days had been an adventure, but one I was glad to put behind me. “Thanks for the lovely stay.”

  He nodded, jerking his head for Milly to follow and she scampered from the room before I could say anything more. “Sian Pritchard,” I said under my breath, trying to cement the name into my head. “Pritchard, Pritchard, Pritchard.”

  After tossing my bags into the back seat, I dug out my phone to google the reference. Instead of answers, I discovered my data had expired for the month. Of all the things that I hated most about the last year, becoming poor again ranked near the top.

  As I pulled out of the motel carpark into the street, I whispered to myself, “But things are looking up. New job. New flat.”

  A cat screeched so close to my ear that I nearly swerved the car straight off the road. With a gasp, I recovered and pulled to the curb, jumping out of my seat to peer into every nook and cranny.

  “If you don’t show yourself immediately, you’ll be locked in for the next month,” I threatened, because (obviously) an invisible cat would understand English.

  The house was so close, I seriously considered just abandoning the vehicle and legging it. On the other hand, I didn’t want to start my new life cowering at the first sign of trouble.

  “Whatever you are, how about you keep your mouth shut until I get home or we’ll both end up dead in a ditch, okay?”

  Silence greeted me and I took it as tacit agreement. Moving gingerly, I restarted the car and drove at a crawl until I could park outside my new flat.

  Lottie waved from a side window, and I returned the greeting. When I walked up to the house, however, she ducked inside, out of the reach of casual conversation.

  It only took two trips up the stairs for me to complete moving in. I stood in the middle of the bedroom, hands on hips, wondering if my first task in my new home should be to unpack into the provided dresser drawers or pop out to grab some groceries to make lunch.

  Food sounded like a nice reward for a morning well spent. I opened the fridge in the kitchenette and scanned the contents. Half a bottle of tomato sauce, an unopened packet of UHT milk, and a hip flask of vodka hiding in the freezer. Yum.

  “Make mine a double,” a voice called out from behind me, and I whirled on my heel, a hand pressed to my chest.

  There was no one there.

  My skin crawled like it was late for an appointment and needed to get a wriggle on while all the spit in my mouth dried to a claggy film. I had to clear my throat three times before I could force words out. “I-Is someone there?”

  The air shimmered like a heat mirage above hot tarmac. A cloud of vapour puffed out of nowhere, gradually forming into the shape of a woman.

  “Well,” she said, stretching out a long arm of almost nothingness. “That took a while, didn’t it? Sorry if I scared you.”

  Her misty hand waggled its fingers until I realised she was waving hello. I tried to raise my arm to return the greeting, but it felt like ten-pound weights had attached to each finger.

  “This bit is always so awkward,” the apparition complained, putting a hand on her increasingly solid hip. “And Lottie seems determined not to help things along in the slightest.”

  “M-my landlady knows about you?” I said, my voice skittering so far into the upper register only dogs would be able to hear it.

  Dogs and ghosts.

  “Oh, yes. She knows all about me. Didn’t you check your lease?”

  I stared at the paperwork discarded on the side table. The cat yowled again and this time I felt it pressing its fur against my leg. I saw the faint indent of its body against my jeans.

  Its invisible body.

  Blood whooshed through my ears, louder than thunder. My legs shook, and I grabbed for the sofa arm a second before they collapsed.

  “Sorry, it’s so rude of
me not to introduce myself.” The ghost held a hand up to her mouth like a teenage coquette. “My name’s Sian Pritchard, and I guess you’re my new flatmate.”

  My ears whined and my vision greyed out until I fell into a welcoming blackness.

  Chapter Two

  “Put your head between your knees,” Sian instructed me as my head buzzed and my stomach turned liquid. “I can’t tell you how bad it makes a woman feel to have everyone she meets faint on her.”

  How bad it made her feel? If only my mouth could remember how to form words, I’d have a sharp retort to that.

  “Please keep it together. I’m not that scary. There’s a lot of misinformation out in the world about witches and it’s—”

  “You’re a witch?” I buried my face into my hands, the intense heat of my cheeks making me feel dizzy all over again.

  “Oh, so you weren’t… Sure. Yeah. But a nice one, okay? Not like all the wicked stepmothers and the grrrr.” Sian hooked her fingers into claws and bared her teeth.

  “I don’t think you’re helping.”

  Honesty might be the best policy, but the way it made Sian’s face collapse made me wish I’d tried another route first. My automatic response was to reach out and pat her shoulder. When my hand went straight through her form instead, my stomach rolled over with a sickening clench.

  The invisible cat mewed in protest and I grabbed a bottle of talcum powder from the dressing table, sending a puff into the air. As it settled, I saw the outline of a feline body.

  The ghost squealed. “Oh, how clever.” She bent her face to within an inch of the cat. “Nice to see you again, Nibble. You’re looking handsome as ever.”