Proof

She lived a few houses down from the school, in a ram-shackled cottage with a rusted roof that sagged beneath the weight of a modern world. The chamfer boards were tired and grey, and shuttered windows banished the menacing light of day. In front, an unkempt garden brimmed with leafless shrubs and thin spiky trees with limbs that stretched skyward in search of a sun. There was nothing sunny or bright about the old house. 

He would pass by on his way to school each day -  on the opposite side of the road, of course. His distance did him no good. The house was a magnet for curious boys and he would feel himself drawn like a moth to a dangerous flame. As he drew near, he would cast inquisitive glances toward the cottage, his head full of rumour too loud to ignore. He longed for a glance, just a mere fleeting moment of eye catching proof that the woman inside was the Witch of Paddington Road.