50. : Fear becomes her-the Fawcett Residence

It was her secret joy. It was her silent sin. But on some nights, the young Ms. Fawcett would walk out of the house, a cloak covering her night robe from the evening cold, to see it.

Hidden away in the old abandoned garden shed—it had been years since mother had picked up a spade—a boggart had taken up residence.

She liked being scared; the thrill of fright always waiting behind the shed doors. Peculiarly it was always something different that frightened her.

Tonight she opened the door carefully, it creaked, wand in hand she stepped inside …