Short story: The Witch’s Pantry by Joy Margetts
The gate creaked but it was a reassuring remembrance. The path wound, as it always had done, towards the gable roofed porch with it’s painted red door. Either side of the path the garden stretched away in swathes of colour and abundance, as well kept as it always had been. That struck me as strange, as the cottage had been empty for at least two months, but I shook the thought away.
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