Page 17 of Wedded Witch

“Folks don’t come back the same from there, if they come back at all,” the gas station clerk had muttered when I filled up. He didn’t even look up from the register, but the tension in his voice said enough.

I’d like to say I don’t place much stock in town gossip, but I’m living breathing proof that curses exist, and I ran away from my wedding at the insistence of an ancient relative who came to me in a dream.

So yeah, maybe the treesaretrying to tell me something. Right now, that message is clear: Go away. You’re not welcome.

I shake it off. I don’t have a choice now. The car’s dead, and I need to find answers. Spells Hollow is the only place that holds them.Screw it.I grab my bag from the back seat and start walking.

The woods are unnervingly quiet. No birds, no insects, nothing but the sound of my boots on the cracked dirt. The further I go, the more it feels like the forest is closing in, as if the trees are pressing together to swallow my tracks.

I swear I catch movement in the corner of my eye – something slinking between the trunks – but when I turn, there’s nothing there.

As I walk down the narrow, overgrown path, trees thicken around me, bending low as if trying to block the way. Branches claw at my jacket. It feels like the forest wants to keep me out. I push forward, ignoring the whisper of leaves, the crunch of dead twigs under my boots.

After what feels like forever, the track I’m on thins out, turning more into a suggestion of where it used to be. And then, I see it. The outskirts of Spells Hollow.

The first building is barely standing, just a crumbling shell of brick or stone with shattered windows. The path widens as I step further in, leading straight to what must’ve been the town’s main square.

There’s a town hall, hulking at the centre like a decaying giant, its doors hanging off their hinges and the windows cracked, but somehow still in place. Around it, buildings are in various stages of near-collapse – houses, shops, all rotting away.

In the not too far distance, a blacksmith’s forge stands off to one side, roof caved in, and beyond that, what looks like it used to be a butcher’s shop.

Nothing stirs. It’s like time stopped here, but left everything to decay anyway.

I step into the square, and there it is – the gallows. Blackened, rotting, yet somehow still standing in the middle of the square, waiting. Whispers say it’s cursed, the place where the darkness that haunts this town began.

Wait, how the hell do I know that?

My imagination is running wild today.

It looks untouched by time, except for the rope, frayed and twisted like it’s seen more use than it ever should have.

The wind picks up, carrying a chill that raises the hairs on the back of my neck. My heart races. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not alone anymore, even though the town seems utterly deserted.

I tighten my grip on my bag for comfort, even though there’s nothing in there that could save me from trouble. Whatever brought me here, whatever secrets Spells Hollow holds, I’m in the thick of it now, and I’m alone.

I stand in the centre of the square, staring at the gallows. I can’t take my eyes off it. The black charred wood gleams in the daylight, too dark, too preserved despite the damage. It’s unnatural. My throat tightens as I take a few hesitant steps closer. The rope swings slightly, even though there’s no wind now.

A shiver runs through me.This place…it’s like it’s alive.I try to push the thought away, but the deeper I breathe, the more I feel it – an awareness, something pressing in on me.

It’s not the ruins. It’s the air itself, thick with something unseen, something wrong. Like stepping into a puddle of wateryou didn’t know was there, only to discover it was a pool, and it pulls at you, drags you in deeper.

My gaze moves around the square. To one side, an apothecary sign hangs crooked, barely readable under years of grime. To the other, the roof of an old tavern has caved in, jagged pieces of wood stabbing into the air like broken bones.

There’s a faint path leading further into town from the square, lined with houses that used to belong to the “cursed families” they talked about in the diner.

The scorched marks on the ground form a perfect circle, just as they’d said. Nothing grows. The world looks dead but still recognisable. It’s like everything withered the moment that curse was laid down.

My hands clench into fists.Keep moving, Swyn. Focus.

Is this the origin ofmyfamily’s curse? Here, in Spells Hollow? It would make sense why Gramps sent me here, but I’m not sure how I’m supposed to break a curse in an abandoned place.

It’s not like there’s anyone around to ask for help.

“Gramps? Hello?” I call out, my voice wavering slightly. “If you wanted to magically appear and give me some answers, now would be a really good time.”

Of course there’s no answer, but the wind does pick up. Coincidence? Who knows.

I leave the square behind, stepping carefully over the charred line of the Scorch Circle. As soon as I cross it, the air feels different. Colder. The heaviness in my chest intensifies. I know I’m walking straight into the curse’s heart, but there’s no turning back now.

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