The Death of Beth

The house stank of dead things and mould, rotting wood, and sour animal droppings. This was a crypt and an outhouse, not a home. How could I have even imagined that Beth lived here? Witch or no, she'd been putting me on for reasons that she'd apparently taken to the grave. In coming here to wait for me, she'd run afoul of someone more evil than this house. The taste of her was vinegar and rot, sour and rancid. You could never trust a woman.