As I pass shoddy shop on Winsworth Road I glance into the window of Ozelea’s Orb Readings. Scaly hands pat her crystal ball as her milky, cardiac covered eyes boor into me. I yank my coat on tighter around me and speed up my pace. Despite the spring air I shiver. The trees lining the streets are still bare; Winter’s frosty breath lingers.
I risk a peek over my shoulder. Ozelea’s face is smashed against the glass. Her stringy grey hair is pulled back by a ragged green scarf. Her mouth falls open into a ghoulish gash. A cackling sound bursts in my ear. A chill shoots up my spine and I bolt.