This is torture. Someone once told me that fear of the unknown is a waste of energy, that reality never lives up to the horror that we expect. I wish I believed it. That would mean the hard part is almost over. But as I sit here waiting for the future to knock at the door, every minute that passes only brings with it more certainty that the worst is yet to come. I’ve been in this cold, lonely cabin with my newborn daughter for a week, watching for signs of abnormality in her. Each day sets me more on edge. There’s nothing to do here but wait, and watch. I’ve cleaned the kitchen, the washbasin, the fireplace and the wood floors a dozen times already, checked on the horse and seen to his needs. When I tried to read a book, the words meant nothing, and so I gave up on that days ago. But the wait is almost over. The Woods-witch will come tonight, though I don’t know exactly what she will do to my child. What I’ve paid her to do, God help me.
