The Anvil Ghosts

By Violetta Antcliff and TBD

When Anne Scrimshaw makes the decision to move her dysfunctional family from the city to a rundown cottage in the Yorkshire Dales, she has no idea what she is taking on. With two broken relationships behind her, a troubled teenage daughter and a six-year-old son who craves affection, the last thing she needs is a cottage with a history. Although

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gypsy Shadow Publishing
• Release date: Mar 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781619505261

Violetta Antcliff

Violetta Antcliff has been a member of the Nottingham Writers' Club for over twenty years. A winner of numerous short story competitions, her work was area short listed in Waterstone's Wow Factor story competition. Took first prize in Nottingham County Council short story competition with a story called "Irish Mouse Tales," which was published by Gypsy Shadow Publishing as an eBook in July of 2012. She has had her poetry and short stories read on local radio. Violetta is a prolific writer of short fiction, having written and published more than 40 short stories with Gypsy Shadow.

Book preview

Contents

Copyright Page

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

About the Author

The Anvil Ghosts

by

Violetta Antclif

All rights reserved

Copyright © April 24, 2012, Violetta Antcliff

Cover Art Copyright © 2012, Charlotte Holley

Gypsy Shadow Publishing, LLC

Lockhart, TX

www.gypsyshadow.com

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Gypsy Shadow Publishing, LLC.

ISBN: 978-1-61950-526-1

Published in the United States of America

First eBook Edition: April 30, 2012

Chapter 1

The cottage was run-down, drafty and in need of repair; guttering needed replacing, doors rehung, as they didn’t fit properly, and there was no central heating.

Regardless of all the faults, the Estate Agent could tell the woman was interested, and he was desperate to get rid of the property, for it had been on his books for far too long.

The cottage is worth twice what it’s going for; the owners want a quick sale, he said, smiling down at the woman benignly. If you want my advice, snap it up while you’ve got the chance. Look on it as an investment.

Anne wasn’t looking for an investment, she was looking for something in her price range as far away from Nottingham as she could get. Would the owners consider dropping another thousand off the price, as it needs so much done to it? she asked.

The man rubbed his chin as if considering the idea, then shook his head. Can’t see them agreeing to another thousand—five hundred maybe. I’ll tell you what: you take another look round and I’ll phone and see what they have to say.

Mobile in hand, he walked round to the far side of his car out of earshot.

Anne didn’t want to take another look around; she’d seen all she wanted to. Anvil Cottage was just what she’d been looking for, but she couldn’t let the man know this; it was the reason she’d been finding fault with every little thing since they’d arrived. She’d pointed out it was a long walk to the village, grumbled about the lack of entertainment in the area, questioned the frequency of the bus service. Gone out of her way to nit-pick, making believe she wasn’t really interested in the property

Susan! Martin! Come on, we’ve got a bus to catch. Anne’s tone was sharp, impatient. She hadn’t seen either of her children since they’d arrived and she wondered what mischief they’d been getting up to.

Susan, Martin, I’m warning you—if we miss the bus you’ll both be in for it.

A boy no more than six years of age appeared from inside the cottage. Hands thrust in pockets, he ambled over to where his mother was standing and stared up at