Product Description
Witch’s Wood. Casey Blaydon is about to endure the most terrifying 12 hours of her life. When Casey is asked to look after her friend’s dog for one night in a lonely cottage in the woods, she assumes it will be a tiresome but simple task. Nothing prepares her for the horrors that lie ahead: murder, madness, deception, violence, a race for her life through the dark. But that’s only the beginning. Something awaits her on her return home that will take her experience in the woods to a new dimension – a knife-edge of fear in the ordinary and the every day. If you like a tense, unnerving thriller that never lets go, this one’s for you. (Full-length - 74,000 words).
“The loudest sound was my breathing, it outplayed the crunch of my feet on the gravel. It was like driving on a dark road with only the short space ahead of you lit up by the headlights. Beyond that was a disorientating void of dark matter; the ground could sway to vertical and I would still be running. The lonely dark made its own terror. Should I have rather faced the intruder in the warm light of the cottage? Out here, I was an isolated speck in the black night, vulnerable and traceable as a firefly.
I pulled into the bank of trees to the side of the road and switched off the torch. There was a dank silence. The smell of damp soil and autumnal leaves was overlaid by the sharp tang of resin. In daylight this would have been a green wood, patched by the skylight shafts of sunlight. Now it exuded a deathly hush. Trees were defined in crooked black lines in navy depths, branches stretched in spidery ambush; all the mystery of the woods after dark: the legends of Sleepy Hollow, the werewolf and the vampire.”
“The loudest sound was my breathing, it outplayed the crunch of my feet on the gravel. It was like driving on a dark road with only the short space ahead of you lit up by the headlights. Beyond that was a disorientating void of dark matter; the ground could sway to vertical and I would still be running. The lonely dark made its own terror. Should I have rather faced the intruder in the warm light of the cottage? Out here, I was an isolated speck in the black night, vulnerable and traceable as a firefly.
I pulled into the bank of trees to the side of the road and switched off the torch. There was a dank silence. The smell of damp soil and autumnal leaves was overlaid by the sharp tang of resin. In daylight this would have been a green wood, patched by the skylight shafts of sunlight. Now it exuded a deathly hush. Trees were defined in crooked black lines in navy depths, branches stretched in spidery ambush; all the mystery of the woods after dark: the legends of Sleepy Hollow, the werewolf and the vampire.”
