The Corsham Witch Trial

Headphones blasting in your ears and the bitter taste of stale coffee clinging to your tongue you leaf through the heavy wedge of fraying files on your desk. The rest of your floor long since having abandoned ship for the night, your flickering screen and desk lamp are the only pools of light visible in the office. The request was both worryingly urgent and irritatingly cryptic: review a series of old case files.

Having frittered an hour away choosing the right playlist and making lukewarm drinks you finally take the plunge and pull the first in a series of dog-eared sheets from the top of the pile.

You nearly leap out of your chair when the phone buzzes, half startled and half thankful you sweep the device off the desk and check your messages...