Encouraging links between students and school staff around the globe
I hated my new school. The feeling was mutual. Everyone said I thought I was better than them, just because I was from London. I didn’t think I was better. I just didn’t want to be there. To call Dark Hollow the middle of nowhere would be doing it a favour. It was the edge of nowhere. If a packet of crisps fell off the shelf in the village shop it would make the news.
Mum had rented an ancient thatched cottage that had stood empty for years. We were fixing rotten floorboards in the living room when I found the little bottle hidden under the hearth. I blew the dust and cobwebs from the thick, cloudy glass and read out the name scrawled on the cork; Sarah Pendle.
Old Mr Mabbs, the local handyman who was helping with the repairs, almost jumped out of his overalls. ‘That’s a witch bottle!’
‘What’s that?’ I asked.
‘It’s to keep a witch from entering the house, of course. It’ll be filled with hair and old pins and sprigs of rosemary. Put it back.’
But I didn’t believe in witches. I took the bottle up to my room and put in on the cupboard next to the mirror . . .
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