Dream Cottage Read Online Free PDF Page B

it,” a voice from the neighbouring table announced. Greta turned to see a middle-aged mandressed in a tweed sports jacket, checked shirt and yellow embossed tie, sitting at a table with a bottle blonde-haired younger woman with a small boy and girl. He raised his whisky tumbler at Greta.
    “Forgive me, but I couldn’t help overhear you talking,” he replied.
    “Nosy git!” Leo muttered. Greta kicked him under the table. “Ouch! You…” he nursed his ankle.
    The man continued.
    “’Tis owned by the local vicar. Funny old stick.”
    “Oh, really?” Greta was intrigued. “Has it been empty for long?”
    “Since the last occupant left this world,” the man reflectively replied. “Oh sorry, let me introduce myself. I’m Marcus Mowbrie. This is my wife Arabella and these two young monkeys are Honey and Hector, our eight year old twins.”
    Greta rose to her feet and reached across to shake Marcus Mowbrie’s hand. It was rough from evident hard labour.
    “Hi, I’m Greta Berkley and this is my husband, Max.”
    “And I am Jeanne; Greta’s mother!” boomed Jeanne, who had also risen to her feet; she took hold of Marcus Mowbrie’s calloused hand and shook it enthusiastically.
    “Oh!” She swiftly removed her hand and tersely continued, “Charmed, I am sure.” She smiled in anticipation at Greta.
    “Do you mean the previous occupier died?” Greta surmised.
    “Yes, but in strange circumstances. Very unfortunate… you see, well… I don’t know if I should say anything but…” Mowbrie hesitated, awaiting the guaranteed response.
    “Strange circumstances? What do you mean?” Greta echoed.
    “Yes, the tenant was found lying stone cold dead at the cottage, in the garden; no evidence to say how she got there; nothing at all. Local police won’t comment on the happenings. It was all very strange, you might say, like the house… strange,” Mowbrie frowned as he spoke.
    “Surely the vicar must know what happened to her?”
    Mowbrie shook his head.
    “She’d been living there for some years. It was all very weird. Folk don’t like speaking about it. The vicar don’t like to speak about it neither. Always changes the subject, if you try to talk to him about it.”
    “Oh, that’s terrible!” Greta returned to her seat.
    “Some say the cottage is haunted by someone or something long departed from this world. By all accounts, they also died in mysterious circumstances.”
    “Oh my days! This sounds like something off the telly!” roared Leo in hysterics. “I wonder… who dunnit?”
    Mowbrie raised an eyebrow.
    “No laughing matter, young sir. It was very sad, very unpleasant.”
    “What actually happened to that person?” Greta felt uncomfortable. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and she felt a cold shiver across her back.
    “No one knows, except that she too was found outside the cottage, in the garden. With no evidence on how her body got there. But that was centuries ago, so I’m led to believe.”
    “Sounds like a serial house of death!” chirped Leo as he narrowly missed being slapped by Greta’s left hand. “Something out of a horror novel! Told you, didn’t I, sis?”
    “Again, it’s not to be taken in jest, young sir. That’s why folk round here don’t like talking about it. You need to speak to the vicar. But he’s an odd fellow; I think the word people use to describe him is eccentric. Either that or perhaps alittle tapped!” Mowbrie indicated by touching his temple. He took a swig from his glass and returned to his meal. His wife looked nonplussed and smiled without feeling.
    “Don’t listen to him, dear; Marcus only hears the gossip from the locals!” she added, spooning another pile of mashed potato from her plate into the waiting mouth of Hector, who had finished his own meal and was leaning on the edge of the table, demanding more food.
    “Thank you for the information,” Greta replied. She glanced at Max; he was desperately trying to stifle a