Page 9 of The Snow Witch

Perhaps she should start writing fiction books instead of factual books – maybe she did have an imagination after all.

* * *

It was only ten minutes or so in the car to Newbrough. Ollie had driven past the car park at the temple and saw that woman – Violet – standing there looking out towards the fort. He presumed she was going to chance a walk after all, even though she wasn’t a hiker as such.

He was happier in his car. He was going to see what Newbrough was like and try to see if he could work out where the Milburn family home had been. Old maps showed it as being outside of the village, which would make sense really. He didn’t think that landowners would want to mix too much with the people in the village.

Unless they had to.

The words drifted into his mind, and he found himself nodding in agreement. There would be, he guessed, occasions where the Milburns would have had to see villagers – maybe the villagers paid rent or worked for the family or…

Well. He didn’t know when else they’d needed to speak to the villagers. Unless they’d needed to consult with that old witch who lived there.

He slowed down as he drove through the village, seeing the stone houses, the odd pub on the main road. It seemed a nice place – lots of history. He pulled into the pub car park and had a look at his map, tracing his route with his forefinger. The main road was, it seemed, called the Stanegate. Built by the Romans as a frontier that predated Hadrian’s Wall, it linked a lot of forts – including the one in this village, where the church had been built.

‘Fascinating.’ To be honest, Ollie wasn’t that into the Romans, but he could appreciate what they’d done. His gaze travelled the map, and he tapped his forefinger on a junction that led up a lane to a farmhouse. This was where he needed to be. The map showed the Milburn family home had been up that way, and an aerial view from Google Maps showed the outline of what could well have been a fairly large house in the field. ‘Milburn Hall,’ said Ollie. ‘Great. Let’s see what we can see.’

He pulled out onto the Stanegate and drove slowly through the village until he saw the turning. It was, he realised, a single-track road. And also, he soon realised, he couldn’t actually drive all the way up it. He swore under his breath and pulled the car into the side of the road. There was a gate, he saw, and a way of clambering over that gate, if he was really careful and was lucky enough not to be caught…

Ollie wouldn’t normally advocate trespassing – but he was going to go for it, regardless. He had come all the way from Yorkshire, and he’d quite like to see the family pile.

He was a Milburn at the end of the day. He should probably be allowed to scramble over the gate and have a look.

So, he scrambled.

He strode up the lane, and looked out into the distance to the right – there were a lot of trees, and he presumed that what he wanted to see there was out of sight behind them. How annoying. He stopped and looked around to see if there was an easy way across the hedgerow to get in there. The hedgerow looked brutal – blackthorn, he thought – and there was no way he was going to risk climbing through that.

Hang on.

Blackthorn – wasn’t that something to do with witches as well? An old wives’ tale, he knew, but it made him stop and consider it.

A shiver ran down his spine, and he turned around to check if someone had followed him up the lane, before he went any further. He was ready with his story – the fact he was looking for his family home. But out of curiosity, and means as there was nobody there at all, he went to that side of the road, the side with the blackthorn hedge, and jumped over a ditch to get into the field.

Across the field from the cottage was a little river but he ignored that and, instead, turned right. He saw what might have been a cottage in front of him and he walked towards it.

Once he got closer, it was a little disappointing, really. It was basically an animal shed, ankle deep in mud and smelling like generations of farm animals had lived, eaten and slept in it – and used it as a toilet. It was uninhabited and uninhabitable. There wasn’t even a roof on it.

Ollie stood, staring around him, his heart thudding for some unknown reason. He shivered and ran his hands down his arms. He could feel the hairs prickling on them; there was certainly an atmosphere in here. Something heavy and oppressive and evil lingering. It just seemed – dark. As if something was waiting for the chance to show itself…

Ollie suddenly thought better of hanging around there any longer. The atmosphere was indescribable, becoming heavier and heavier, as if something had seen him and focused in on him and was coming towards him.

A wave of panic crept up his spine and he looked around, trying to understand what on earth was going on. But there was nothing and nobody around.

But all he knew was he was not going to explore that cottage any further. What if it belonged to a real witch after all? And he did not feel welcome in the slightest.

He hurried back out of the building, casting a glance at the blackthorn, which suddenly looked cruel and menacing. All thoughts of trying to find Milburn Hall fled his mind, and he squelched and skidded back to the main track. He hurried back down to the gate and scrambled over it, never gladder to see his car parked up.

That place had, for some ridiculous unknown reason, freaked him out completely.

His hands shaking, he managed to unlock the car and throw himself in. He switched on the engine and, his muddy shoes slipping a little on the pedals, he turned the car around and sped back to the main part of the village.

Surely to God that pub he’d seen would do coffee – he could do with a strong one and a roaring fire to dry his feet by. And then he would try to organise his thoughts and decide what the hell had gone on up that farm track.

* * *

Jake was right. It hadn’t taken him long to get across to Hadrian’s Wall country.

He took a diversion through Corbridge, a pretty little market town that was full of winding alleys, cobbled streets and mellow stone buildings. It had the added bonus of having its own Roman fort as well, which he itched to have a look at. Oh – and his aunt had traced the family tree back there, but he wasn’t that fussed over any of that. However, he was using today as a bit of a reconnaissance mission for the bits he was interested in, and he fully intended to come back and explore properly. For now, the Angel Inn looked pretty good for a coffee stop, which is exactly what he did. He was tired and could do with a caffeine hit.