The Witch's Den

My dad and I arrived at the Appalachian Mountains; They rumored the mountains to be haunted. The stories were that witches used to live here, practiced black magic, and performed forbidden rituals. The land was cursed and people said the past witches haunt the mountains. My dad worked for a paranormal blogging company called The Sinister. He brought me along to check out the area while he took photos and wrote a story for the blog.

I grabbed my hiking pack from the back seat and headed off to the trail my dad and I had mapped out a few days prior.

He was up ahead, taking notes and snapping photos. I knew not to disturb him while he worked. So I stayed to myself, and check out the surroundings. The mountains seem quiet despite the wind that rustled through the trees. The trail had lots of debris and animal tracks in every direction. Nothing else seemed to be out here.

I mapped out the old house that was rumored to be on that path. On my way to the witch’s house, I spotted a pack of deer out in the fields. I had never seen so many deer. There were at least sixty. I stopped for a few moments and took in the herd of deer. They didn’t seem to mind me as I passed through.

I spotted the house up ahead and jogged over to it. The house had moss that covered the rotting wood, and a small tree had fallen onto the roof, but it didn’t cause any damage. The windows were still intact, and a light was on.

I thought that was weird. I headed inside the house; it looked like someone still lived there. It was small and cozy, and smelled of freshly baked bread. As I wondered around, and the house turned up empty. Yet, I felt a presence there. The house sat completely untouched. All the rooms were clean. Fresh made beds, clothes and a lamp were in the rooms.

I headed to the living room and noticed these rocks that sat on the coffee table. I picked up a rock, and a creak sounded from somewhere inside, that startled me. I didn’t like the feeling the house gave me. Without thinking, I shoved the rock inside my pocket and ran out of the house.

I jogged back down the path and found my dad. He was sitting at a picnic table, and wrote in his notebook. I approached the table and sat opposite him.

“How’s the blog coming along,” I asked him.

He looked at me, “Pretty good; it’s beautiful here but doesn’t seem haunted.”

I glanced around, “I would have to agree; it seems like a normal mountain range to me.”

I grabbed the rock out of my pocket to inspect it. It wasn’t just any old rock; it was a rare orange gemstone. Woah! This is gorgeous, I thought to myself as I placed the gemstone back in my pocket before my dad could see. He would have made me return it. I didn’t mean to steal the gemstone, but I didn’t feel alone in that house. It was too late to go put it back without looking suspicious.

My dad finished jotting down his story in his notebook, and we headed back to the car.

“Find anything cool in the witch’s cabin?”

“It was as if someone still lived there.”

“Oh, that’s weird. Check out the photos I got for my blog.”

I grabbed my dad’s camera and flipped through the photos he had taken earlier.

The photos came out fantastic; I loved looking at his work. I stopped at the last photo. It looked like someone was in the picture. I zoomed in on the photo. From afar, it was the old house. It looked as if someone was standing in the window on the second floor.

Since the day my father and I went to the Appalachian mountains, where I accidentally stole the gemstone from the witch’s cabin, I heard noises in the kitchen. My dad’s hanging rock for pots and pans would sway during the night. Which caused me to wake up and check it out. The hanging rack made noise for six nights, causing me to wake in the middle of the night. I checked it out every night. Nothing and no one was there. My dad was asleep peacefully in his room.

On night seven, the noises in the kitchen had gotten worse. I hadn’t been able to sleep properly for six nights. My father swears he couldn’t hear anything. I stayed up that night, even though my eyes were heavy, yarning for sleep. I grabbed my phone, and it was three a.m.

Great, another night of no sleep.

“Bring me my stone,” a faint whisper sounded from beyond my room.

I sat up in my bed, as I could have sworn I heard something. I threw off my blankets and headed out of my room.

The hanging rack made the noise of the pots and pans clanking together. I ran into the kitchen and flipped on the lights. A young woman in a black hooded cloak was sitting at my table. She looked up at me; she had symbols painted on her face.

I froze in fear.

“You have something of mine, little girl,” she snarled.

I didn’t even reply. I don’t even know if I blinked.

I pulled the gemstone out of my pajama pockets and extended my arm out to her. I don’t even remember how the gemstone got into my pocket. Why was I sleeping with it?

“Is this what you are looking for?”

Her eyes widened, and a smile pulled at her lips. She stood so fast that I jumped back. She danced her way over to me. The witch picked the gemstone from my hand so delicately as if it would explode. We were standing face to face. No way was she older than thirty years old; she’s so young, so beautiful.

Her smile faded, and she grabbed my arm. She started chanting something in a low voice, but I could make it out.

“What it brought down upon me,

Shall be returned but times three,

Head to toe, skin, and nerve.

May you get exactly what you deserve.”

I felt a zap to my skin, and I pulled back. I gasped, “What have you done?”

She laughed, and she made her way to my back door. The women stared at me.

“You are cursed, my child, but that curse will only come true if you return to the land of where it began.”

She snapped her fingers and disappeared into thin air. I stared at where she was supposed to be, and didn't move.

I shook my head and thought to myself; no, this can’t be happening.