Track This Story: Feed
|Ch. #||Chapter Title||Word Count||Reviews|
My father’s pewter eyes settled upon the indefinite space between Hannah and myself. After a moment, he nodded once and then looked at me fully.
Ann Birchard turned from the sideboard and faced me.
With the first of the morning snow upon me, I ignored the roiling worry in my stomach and opened myself up to the scent of heavy timber and sap. The ground was soft with dried pine needles, and my footsteps were muffled. I did not hear the man, then, when he came at me out of a knot of old trees.
“He thinks that Constance is bewitched,” Samuel muttered tersely, though I could see his left eye twitch slightly. “He would have me look to the spiritual rather than the physical. But…but there is no sign of it, no sign of attacking spirits in my household.”
Mr. Rockwood folded his long arms over his middle, his faded hat hanging limply from his right hand. “Has she ever done anything strange?”
I sat bolt upright. “He come at me by night!”
“Your father’s word is stone,” I said, reaching across the covers to touch her cold hand, “but I will speak for you well-being nonetheless. Take heart and try to sleep.”
“I see them!” Hannah screamed. “I see them now!”
“Away?” My voice cracked and convulsively, my fingers gripped my mother’s quilt. “You wish me to leave my home?"
I meant to leave her with nothing. I meant to depart and flee into the night with no trace of my leave-taking. And yet there was Ann, so very frightened for me.
These, then, are the sins for which I will never atone.
JOIN HARRY POTTER FANFICTION
Get access to every new feature the moment it comes out.Register Today!