They came last night with burning torches. I’d heard them coming and so I’d taken away to the woods but I watched them from amongst the trees. At their head was Mrs Worthwood, like an aged pied piper, and there was a grim set to their faces.
When they discovered I wasn’t there they set to on my cottage, smashing and tearing, throwing things out into the fields. I couldn’t watch and couldn’t look away.
