The Witchmother

By Rich Cole

When John Blair's mother dies unexpectedly, he never expects to inherit a mansion in the English countryside. His mother never mentioned anything about the mysterious manor, or even that she was from England.
John and his wife Marika travel to the house to check it out and discover a paradise where their every want and need is fulfilled, almost as if they have stepped into another world. But strange occurrences soon begin. The enigmatic groundskeeper is reluctant to let them leave, and every time they try, they end up getting hurt. Something seems to have drawn John to the house and is trying to keep him there against his will.
Things only become stranger when John starts hallucinating a mysterious woman crawling out of the garden pond, coated in black slime. He knows his blood connects him to the house and his mother has left him a clue somewhere, but how can he find it when the house itself seems to be trying to stop him? Will it be enough to break the curse which has followed him across generations? And how will he and Marika escape with their lives?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Seagull Editions
• Release date: May 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215821336

Book preview

Chapter One

You seriously had no idea that your mother was from England? Marika Blair asked, gazing out the taxi window at the darkened shapes of trees passing by.

Half the people in Australia are from England, her husband John chuckled. We’re made up of their former criminals, remember?

Yeah, I know. But I mean like ‘from’ from England. She never once mentioned growing up here?

No, she never told me anything about it. Not even about my dad, John said wistfully, staring out of the window, even though he could barely make anything out in the dark.

It had been a shock to lose his mother so suddenly when she was only in her sixties. It had been even more of a shock to receive a letter from her lawyer only days later saying that she owned an estate in England which she had left to him. John had thought it was a mistake at first. He’d always known his mother as a regular Australian woman from a regular Australian town. She’d worked as a dentist’s assistant and although they’d never been poor, they’d never been that well off, either. He couldn’t understand how she could own a huge old house with a sprawling garden in the middle of the British countryside and never once mention it to him. She’d never talked about her past before having him, but he never could have imagined it involved something like this.

That was why he and his wife Marika had come to England to spend the rest of the summer there (the English summer, anyway, because it was still winter back home in Australia). Partly for a holiday to get over the stress of losing John’s mother, and also to check out the house and decide if they wanted to sell it or move in permanently.

It was a nice idea, but it still left a thought pressing on John’s mind; who exactly had his mother been? Why had she kept this secret from him? Why was she only giving him the house now after she’d died? Was there anything else she’d kept from him that he was about to uncover? What if he didn’t like the truth? Could he just go back to Australia and pretend that none of it was real?

An even bigger surprise had come when they’d applies for their immigration visas and John had learnt that he had joint British citizenship and could stay in the country for as long as he wanted. That meant he’d been born in the country, perhaps even in this exact village they were heading towards.

He’d had no idea about that, either. He’d always been as Australian as they came. He liked surfing, fried shrimp, and fishing. This revelation was like discovering that he had never been who he thought he was. He had this entire new identity which had always been there, but he’d never known about. What other parts of himself had his mother hidden from him? Had there been a reason? Was there something he wasn’t supposed to know? Would learning the real truth tear him apart?

And what would it do to Marika? She had been his only rock and support after losing his mother. He couldn’t lose her. Not when they were trying to start a family of their own.

It must have been something big to make her leave this place, Marika said wistfully, her expression falling. If I had grown up here, I wouldn’t want to leave. Oh, is this the village? she asked as they passed by a sign, too dark to make out.

Yes, this is Somerton, the taxi driver said as they drove into the village.

It was so small that it was difficult to tell when they had even entered the village. It looked exactly how John had always pictured small English villages; sweeping fields broken up by stone walls, the landscape dotted by the occasional house or farm. The only notable building was the church, clearly old with a round spire reaching up to the dark sky.

Looks older than anything in Australia.

It is. The ruins of the old church there date back to the thirteenth century.

Wow, Marika said as they drove past, even though in the dark, it looked like nothing more than a pile of rocks. It’s probably more impressive during the daytime, though.

And when you’re not jetlagged, John said, struggling to keep his eyes open and focus on what was around him.

Not only had it been an especially long flight from Australia, they’d had to carry their luggage onto a train then get a taxi from the closest town to their new house. His only solace was that at least they were on the last leg of their journey. He didn’t know whether or not he was going to like the house, but at least he could fall into an exhausted sleep and decide when he hadn’t been awake for almost twenty four hours. He was so exhausted, it felt like he was being taken straight into a dream.

He must have fallen asleep because he didn’t notice when they left the village. He didn’t even notice they had stopped until the taxi driver shook him awake.

Are we here? he asked as he reached over to shake Marika out of her half-sleep.

This is the address you gave me, but... the taxi driver said, looking at the darkened shape suspiciously. I’m not sure you want to stay here.

What do you mean? It looks nice, Marika said, stepping out of the taxi with a yawn and stretch.

In the darkness, John could only make out a front gate and garden. It was made of stone, like all the old buildings they’d passed on the journey, with tall iron gates like a castle from a fairy tale. He almost felt like he was walking straight into a fairy tale, and was sleepy enough to believe it was true. He couldn’t see the garden in the darkness, only shapes of bushes and trees lining a long path. He could hear some rustling and strange noises, probably from animals and birds stalking around during the night. He imagined there were a lot in a place as remote as this, and the night was their domain. Even that odd howling noise was probably just a fox. Dingos back in Australia sounded just as strange in the middle of the night, but they were no real threat.

Are you sure? the taxi driver asked, hovering in place with hesitation. I can take you to a hotel or something. No extra charge.

No, we’ll be fine from here. Thank you, John said, squinting at the unfamiliar bank notes in the darkness, handing over what they owed, then taking the cases the driver hauled out of the trunk.

Good luck, the driver said, an odd, worried expression on his face as he drove away, as if he were abandoning them.

What was wrong with him?

Probably just worried about leaving a couple of foreigners alone in the middle of the night. And they say British people aren’t nice, Marika said as she picked up one of the cases, struggling at the weight.

Don’t, let me, John said, taking it from here, even as he struggled with the other case.

Relax, I’m not pregnant yet, Marika said, before regret clouded her face. They didn’t like to talk about their lack of luck having a baby, or what the fertility doctor had said just before John’s mother had become sick. Anyway, how do you get this open? Do you have a key?

No, the lawyer’s letter didn’t include anything like that, John said, standing before the gate, twice as tall as he was. He only now realised he didn’t know how exactly they were going to get into the house. There wasn’t barbed wire on the fence or anything, but it was tall and would be impossible to climb over. Now the taxi driver’s concern was making sense. Who else could they go to for help in a country they didn’t know, well after midnight? Maybe we should-

They were both startled as the gate creaked open. John reached out to Marika instinctively. He quickly relaxed when he saw an old man standing on the opposite side of the gate, his face thin and almost skeletal in the darkness.

Mr and Mrs Blair, I assume? he asked, his voice croaking, almost as if it pained him just to talk. You are expected.

Uh... who are you? Marika asked. She wouldn’t have been so impolite if they weren’t so exhausted and confused, and John wanted to know the same thing.

I am Barnaby, the groundskeeper. I have been taking care of the estate in the mistress’ absence.

Well, your mum certainly kept that a secret, Marika said, turning to John.

Thank you, but we can’t afford to pay a groundskeeper, John said.

There is no need, Sir. I live off a pension and stay in the guest house. My family has tended to this estate for generations. It is more of a matter of familial pride and heritage than a paid duty. Please, allow me, Barnaby said, stepping forward and reaching for the case in Marika’s hand.

That’s alright, I can manage, she said, trying to hold the case away. John could understand her concern, as the man looked so old, he feared the case would make him fall over.

You have had a long journey. Come, I will show you to the master bedroom and give you a full tour of the house and grounds tomorrow, Barnaby said, turning and ambling up the path with surprising speed for a man his age.

John and Marika exchanged a look. They both clearly thought this was strange. They had never expected to have their own groundskeeper. Both of them had been raised in regular middle-class households and weren’t used to having people working for them like this. It felt wrong somehow, and the look on Marika’s face said she shared his ill feeling. But he was right that they were exhausted and didn’t know their way around, so they would follow him for now. Perhaps once they were more settled in, they could take care of the grounds themselves and let him live in the guest house with his pension. He seemed like he should have retired long ago.

I can’t wait to see this garden in the daylight, Marika said as they strode up the long path. It must be lovely.

Indeed, Madam.

You can just call me ‘Marika’. I don’t know about you Brits, but us Aussies aren’t really that into formalities.

Very well, Barnaby said as he hobbled up the front steps.

The house was so dark, John hadn’t even realised they had reached it until they were almost right upon it. Gazing upwards, he couldn’t make up much apart from a large, three story building with a wide front window over the front door. He would have to take it in fully in the morning, he decided.

Barnaby didn’t bother to switch on any lights as he led them up a spiral staircase to the main bedroom. John suspected there was much to ogle at, but he was so exhausted, he could barely keep his eyes open. It did make him wonder why Barnaby had insisted on looking after this huge house and even larger garden by himself all these years. If his mother had left when he was only a baby and hadn’t had any other family, it must have been empty for over thirty years now. That was a long time to spend all along in such a remote house, especially when you weren’t getting paid for it. What was he doing it all for? Was his sense of duty really that strong? Was the house so important to him and his family?

This is the master bedroom, Barnaby said, opening a set of double doors at the back of the house, placing their luggage on the ground. I’ll leave you to your rest. If you need me, ring the bell, he added, nodding to a rope pull at the side of the room.