Crows called from the trees above as she stepped amongst the moss and the broken branches. Her feet, never the most stealthy, gave out a warning cry. As she approached the clearing the thatched cottage stood solitary, aching for companionship. She stopped at the gnarled gate and watched the torn lace curtains flicker.
The path stretched out in front, pulling away and falling forward in a visual taunt. The air stiffened and the sky closed fast.
Her arthritic hand reached forth to tap the oaken door.
a crack of light,
an axe to fright.