Leaning on the wooden stile that separated the moor from her home, Sandra sighed.
Smokily, the mist beckoned her. Shivering, she drew back and snuggled deeper into the warmth of the overcoat around her form.
Nobody spoke of the extraordinary around here. She knew that too well. Look what had happened to poor Moira. She should have kept her trap shut about her ‘ability to make people disappear’.
There were still days that Sandra could hear the murderous screams and the sound of the pitchforks. Moira had been silenced forever.
Murder on the Moors- Catchy title for a book, though. . .