The Cottage Novels & Stories

A little terrace wrapped around the side, overlooking the vineyard. It looked like something out of a fairytale. Quiet. Safe. Nico unlocked the front door and stepped aside to let me in first. I couldn’t help but gape. Inside, the cottage was as charming as the outside. Cozy and lived-in, with just one large open living area and a kitchen tucked to the side. A fireplace took center stage, and thick rugs softened the stone floors. A small spiral staircase led to a loft bedroom above. “It’s…perfect,” I whispered, turning in a slow circle. “It’s so cute.”

Somehow even more beautiful, glowing with life. Slowly, he lowers his head and without looking at me, nods, signalling for me to look over to our right. My brain takes a few seconds to catch up with what I'm seeing. The cottage sits high on the crest of the hill, wrapped around a courtyard, cradling whatever sits at the centre. It’s massive, three stories at least, but still manages to look soft. Plucked straight from a fairy tale, white stone walls dappled with creeping ivy, round archways, windows that glow gold behind fogged panes. The roof is uneven and shingled in moss, the kind of imperfection that looks designed.

Which, for the record, sounded more like the setting of a low-budget horror movie than a peaceful writing retreat. The cottage appeared through the mist like it wasn’t totally convinced it wanted to be seen. The roof sloped low on one side, the stone chimney was missing a few bricks, and the front porch sagged. Vines had taken over the front wall like nature was trying to reclaim it. The whole place looked like it had once belonged to someone’s sweet great-aunt who may or may not have been a hedge witch. I loved it instantly. I parked the car, my loyal, slightly traumatized Honda Civic, right outside the crooked gate, turned off the engine, and took a moment t

Her bed was in their lounge so that she was included with her sisters as they worked in their respective areas within the small cottage. The cottage itself was another small stone-built cottage that stood alone in a large forest clearing. The large herb and kitchen garden that surrounded the small home was well-loved and looked as if the weeds dared not interrupt the neat rows of herbs and other plants growing there. Wisteria covers the front of the house and climbs up towards the chimney that has smoke coming from it most days.

I know it was just my subconscious trying to tell me not to let my guard down so I want to do something for myself that makes me feel safer. It’s taken us about three hours but we are finally arriving at the cottage where my parents are apparently recovering. I say cottage, this is what my brothers call it but it’s about the size of an average packhouse. It’s nestled into the countryside with beautiful gardens full of blooming flowers all around it. It smelled heavenly and the rolling hills around it created a beautiful, dramatic landscape in the background. It looked like a perfect place to be away from everyone and everything. There was no traffic, no noise

Maya's POV The cottage was three kilometres from the village, tucked behind a stand of birch trees with a garden that had gone pleasantly wild for the winter. Two bedrooms, a kitchen with a wood burning stove, a small sitting room that smelled of old books and the particular dampness of a place that was loved but not constantly occupied. I'd rented it for a week. I suspected it might become two.

I pushed through another wall of vegetation. There. A strip of earth. Narrow. Overgrown. But unmistakably a road. I stared at it. For the first time, the possibility of leaving felt tangible. I followed it. The cottage appeared twenty minutes later. It was smaller than I'd imagined. Weathered timber. A corrugated roof. One broken window. An old vehicle stood beneath a sagging shelter beside it. I approached cautiously. The driver's door was unlocked. I pulled it open. Nothing. No keys.