If Walls Could Talk

Bella goes down to the woods in her new home and gets transported back in time via a witchy, dilapidated cottage – and a mysterious black cat.

“I’m just going to look around the grounds,” Bella called as she came down the old stone staircase from her new bedroom.

“Okay, darling,” came a muffled reply from the larder. Her mother, half-buried in unpacked groceries, didn’t look up.

Bella stepped into the entrance hall, her boots echoing off the flagstone floor. A warm thrill fluttered in her stomach. She adored the house already—its creaky charm, the weathered beams, and the way it seemed to hum with history. Moving from Bristol to the Cotswolds had felt like a big change, but this place… this place felt like home.

Outside, the landscape rolled out in ribbons of golden fields and patchwork hedgerows. The house came with fifteen acres, scattered with old barns and crumbling outbuildings that Bella longed to explore. Having just finished her GCSEs, she was preparing to start at the local sixth form and had already secured a voluntary role at a nearby heritage site. As a history lover, she was itching to uncover the stories this house might hold—after all, it had been built in 1627 and once belonged to a local gentry family.

Bella tugged on her wellies, stepped out onto the terrace, and inhaled the crisp, late-afternoon air. The view across the fields was breathtaking, brushed with the copper tones of approaching autumn. Long grasses rippled in the wind like waves on the sea.

She followed a narrow track leading past the old farmyard, weaving between paddocks and leaning fences. Eventually, she reached a moss-covered flint wall that marked the edge of the property. Pressing her body against it, she peered over and spotted a stream trickling at the bottom of a grassy bank, meandering into a patch of woodland.

Curiosity tugged at her heels as she walked through the long grass towards the woods, the ground soft beneath her feet. The path faded as she ventured deeper, and soon she was pushing aside low branches and brambles with her hands. “Ouch!” she winced as a bramble snagged her hair, pulling her head sharply back. But just as she turned, something caught her eye.

Nestled behind a thick tangle of trees and shrubs was a small stone cottage. Intrigued, Bella forced her way toward it, wading through holly and stinging nettles. The building looked abandoned, made from the same honey-coloured Cotswold stone as the main house but overrun with ivy and shadow. She fished out her phone to snap a photo, but noticed she had no signal.

“A quick look won’t hurt,” she muttered, and edged down the slope toward the cottage.

The closer she got, the more eerie it felt. A wooden door hung slightly ajar, creaking open and slamming shut in the breeze. Bella hesitated, the chill wind brushing her neck. But it was part of their land—she had every right to be here.

She stepped up to the door and reached for the handle just as it swung open again. Before she could react, something black shot out with a blur of movement. Bella yelped, stumbling back.

“Meow.”

A sleek black cat stood watching her from a few feet away, its green eyes locked on hers.

“Oh!” Bella exhaled, her hand to her chest. She knelt down and made a kissing noise with her lips, holding out her finger. The cat hesitated, meowed again, then padded closer before abruptly turning and darting back inside the cottage.

Bella frowned. The cat was skinny—maybe lost. Maybe it had kittens. It definitely needed care.

With new resolve, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The air was musty, thick with the scent of decay. Shafts of fading light pierced the dusty windows. Leaves littered the warped floorboards, blown in through the open door. Cobwebs laced every surface, and black grime clung to the window sills and beams.

Bella clicked her tongue again. “Here, kitty…”

Suddenly, a strip of golden light shot across the far wall. Bella froze.

It happened again—thin lines of light bleeding through the cracks in the stone, shimmering like sunlight under water.

Then, silence.

The door slammed shut behind her.

“Bella…”

The whisper sent shivers down her spine. She wasn’t imagining it.

“BELLA…”

The golden light flared again, and this time, words formed on the wall:

Let me show you...

How I died…

“Meow.”

Bella spun to see the black cat watching her again. It stared for a moment, then leapt into the stone wall—and vanished.

Bella's eyes widened like saucers.

Then the wall shimmered.

Follow me…

The message pulsed on the wall in golden script.

Bella’s breath caught. She had no idea what was happening—but something told her she had to follow.

Swallowing hard, she stepped forward, arms outstretched. Her fingertips braced for the cold, rough stone—only they didn’t meet anything. A rush of air pulled at her, and her stomach flipped as if she were plunging down a rollercoaster.

When she opened her eyes, everything had changed.

She was still in the cottage—but not the one she had entered.

The fire crackled warmly in the hearth. The once-dusty cauldron now bubbled with stew. The floor was clean, the air smoky and warm. A wooden table stood neatly with chairs around it.

And curled on one of the seats… the black cat, now plump and content, fast asleep.

Bella backed toward the door, unsure what to do.

It swung open.

A cloaked figure entered.

“Ah!” Bella gasped, stumbling backwards.

But the figure didn’t react. They moved silently toward the fire and pulled down their hood, revealing tangled grey hair and tired, lined features. An old woman. She stirred the pot slowly, her gnarled fingers wrapped around a long wooden spoon.

“There you are,” she murmured fondly to the cat, who stretched and rubbed against her cloak.

A sudden bang on the door made Bella jump.

The woman froze. So did the cat.

Men burst in—four of them, dressed in rough tunics and wide-brimmed hats. One stepped forward.

“Mrs Bostock, I hereby place you under arrest for practising witchcraft in this village,” he announced. His voice wavered, the bravado in his stance not quite matching his fear.

“What? No, please! Who accuses me?” the woman cried as two of the men seized her arms.

“I’m innocent!”

“Your fate shall be determined by trial… trial by water.”

“No!” Bella shouted, rushing forward. “Stop!”

But no one looked her way.

She reached for one of the men’s sleeves—and her hand passed right through him.

Like she was the ghost.

Stunned, Bella followed them into the woods, her breath ragged, heart pounding. The group emerged at a lake where the stream met a wide, still pool. Villagers had gathered, faces hard with fear and suspicion. Bella crept between them, unseen and unheard.

She watched as they tied Mrs Bostock with heavy rope, a sack placed over her head.

“If she floats, she’s a witch,” someone muttered.

Tears pricked Bella’s eyes. She wanted to scream, to shake them all—this wasn’t justice. It was cruelty. Fear. Madness.

Mrs Bostock’s cries echoed through the trees as they dragged her to the edge of the water.

Bella stood frozen, powerless.

And then, she felt a force pulling her back towards the cottage. A storm rolling in around the skies as the dreadful scene before her faded from view.

“Now do you see?”

The voice echoed around the cottage, rising with the sudden rush of wind. Bella screamed as the flames in the hearth were snuffed out, plunging her into pitch-black darkness.

Panic clutched her chest.

She stretched out her arms in front of her, stumbling blindly, desperate to find a wall—anything solid that might take her back. But there was nothing. Just empty space and cold air.

She walked faster. Then ran. Surely she’d hit something soon. But the darkness stretched on and on.

Suddenly, her stomach dropped. A sickening lurch, like falling from a great height. The world tilted. Her knees buckled.

And then—stillness.

Bella squeezed her eyes shut, afraid to open them.

But then—voices.

“Bella? Bella!”

Her mother’s voice.

Bella’s eyes fluttered open. Blinding beams of torchlight made her squint, but she managed to lift her head.

“Over here!” she croaked.

Footsteps crunched through the undergrowth. Moments later, warm hands and familiar faces surrounded her.

“Oh my god, sweetheart—what happened?” her mum asked, kneeling beside her, pale with worry.

Bella blinked, dazed. She was lying on the forest floor, half-covered in fallen leaves. The sky above was darkening into twilight.

“I... I was by the cottage,” she murmured, pushing herself up slightly.

But when she turned to point, her hand froze in midair.

The cottage was gone.

Nothing but trees and brambles.

“There... what?” she whispered.

Her mum put her arms around Bella, gently lifting her to her feet. “Come on, let’s get you inside. You’re freezing.”

They turned to go—then froze at the sound behind them.

“Meow.”

Out of the shadows stepped the black cat. Thin again. Silent. Its glowing green eyes fixed on Bella.

Emotion caught in her throat.

She remembered everything. The fire. The lake. The fear. The woman.

And the cat—always the cat.

“But... no cat lives for four hundred years,” she whispered, staring at it.

Yet something in its gaze made her wonder.

Whatever the truth, Bella felt a strange, heavy pull in her chest. A sense of responsibility. Of unfinished stories.

“Can we... can we keep it?” she asked softly.

The cat padded closer, brushing against Bella’s leg.

“Well,” her Mum said, “looks like she's already chosen you.”