The Witch's House

The cabin in the woods has been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window.

The townsfolk were unaware of the flame until a ranger making his nightly rounds spotted its glow.

“Kids,” he muttered as he climbed out of his truck.

He hated the witch’s cabin, ever since he started working there. It was an ugly, old thing. The air inside smelled damp and dangerous, which made it the best place for late-night rendezvous and drinking beer. The foundation sat on the edge of a clear lake and was usually littered with swimmers and sunbathers during the day.

If he had his way, he would let the damn thing burn down. But the town association voted on keeping it.

The cabin is a part of our history, they insisted. The last occupant was a man who inhabited the cabin until 1957, when a member of the church called on him and hearing no answer, found him decomposed beyond recognition in his bed.

The body was taken away, but the smell remained for weeks.

Fundraisers to restore the cabin into a museum would fail from strokes of bad luck. Hail rained down on the school bake sale, and last September, several people contracted food poisoning at a dinner benefit.

Townsfolk began to talk. Much of it began as idle chatter during children's play dates, church potlucks, and book clubs, but the speculation was the same.

In 1693, a woman who lived in the cabin and went by the name of Emily Barrows had been accused of witchcraft by her neighbors.

No one could prove she was a witch, but she was beautiful, with hair the color of starlings and eyes alluring enough to make any man think about her when he was kissing his wife. She refused the hand of several eligible men in the village, which angered the townspeople even more.

Who was she, they seethed, to decide to be alone, to choose to be a constant source of temptation?

She was found several days later, her waterlogged body found tangled in the reeds lining the lake. She must have cursed the place, made the soil rotten so nothing good could grow.

Rumors of the curse made the cabin more enticing to the local youth. Boys as young as thirteen huddled on the floor in their sleeping bags as a test of courage, and kids begged their older siblings to drive them past its leaning roof.

The ranger blew out the candle and smoke drifted lazily up to the ceiling. The handle of fine brass was still warm, but he assumed whoever lit it was long gone.

But what he didn’t realize, however, as he climbed back into his pickup and drove away, was that after all these years the cabin had opened its eyes.

It was awake, and it was starving.

The next night, a group of teenagers from the local high school ambled their way up the mossy path.

Jake looked back at Matt, who was trailing behind him. Layla matched Jake in step, her arm wrapped tightly around his waist.

High school romances were like that. A thrill would go up her stomach and into her lungs every time she saw him, working on his car, hitting the ball into the net at lacrosse practice, or staring at his English book through hooded eyes.

There wasn’t any hesitation, the kind you have when you’re grown, and start putting together practical lists in your head for the ideal partner. Instead, they plunged right in. Kissing came naturally, and every brush made their eyes grow sleepy.

Jake had slipped out of his house and took his Ford to Layla’s, where she left the back gate open. They’d been seeing each other for months but skirted around saying anything with meaning.

She hoped he would tell her he loved her tonight. He seemed nervous when he asked her to meet him, and her heart leaped when she saw him.

What Layla didn’t expect, however, was their friend Matt sitting in the backseat.

He raised his hand. “Hey, Layla.”

She was puzzled. “Matt. You’re here.”

Jake looked apologetic. “I saw him at the gas station. He got into an argument with his dad.”

“I got stranded and he offered to help me out,” Matt added. “Sorry, didn’t know it was date night.”

Layla nodded and smiled, trying not to appear disappointed. “So where are we going?” She asked as she sagged against the leather seat.

“I was thinking Goldman’s hill?”

Jake really liked Layla. He noticed her one morning singing in the church choir with her eyes shining and voice ringing out, and couldn’t stop thinking about anything since.

“With Matt behind us the whole time? I’m sorry, but I don’t feel comfortable with that," she said, "and I don't think he would be either."

Matt nodded in agreement.

“I-“ Jake began, and stopped, trying to think. The night was already coming undone. He twiddled with the necklace he had hidden in his pocket.

Matt leaned over. “Look, I know a place where we can go.”

“What? Where?”

“Easy. The witch’s house.”

“At this hour?” Layla wrinkled her nose. She had been there a few times herself, drank beer on the shore, and swung from the rope hidden on the branch of an old oak tree, but she never liked the cabin that sat on the banks.

She always felt its eyes on her, watching.

“It’s private. Well, most of the time at least,” Matt countered. “Where else are you going to go? Nothing’s open.”

“Yeah, we could go by the lake, and Matt can hang back in the house.” Jake took her hand where it had fallen away. “I’ll make sure you’re safe. Promise.”

She smiled hesitantly. “Okay.”

It was a bad idea to follow them here, Matt thought. It was almost morning when they parked and hopped over the park’s gate.

The crickets chirped and the wind felt warm; perfect conditions for a night swim.

He felt a jolt as he watched Layla and Jake split off towards the banks of the lake.

He knew that tonight was the night when he saw Jake’s truck at the station. He was going to give her the necklace, and after that, there would be no chance with her at all.

Matt trudged up the stairs. He had thought about pulling her aside, getting her alone somehow. Maybe he could make her laugh. He could tell her she made him want to be different. Better.

Shame would creep up his face every time he listened to Jake talk about her. In bed, he'd close his eyes and try to think up imaginary flaws: her lips were too small, her voice was a little off-key when she sang, and he wasn’t into church girls.

But she would listen when he talked about his problems with his dad, and she smiled when she saw him. That was more than enough.

He lit a cigarette but threw it on the ground after a few minutes. He couldn’t stop thinking about the two of them.

He decided he was going to seek them out. Tell Jake to take him home. He didn’t care if he was interrupting or not. It made him crazy, waiting around in this run-down cabin.

Then she appeared in the doorway.

“Layla? What are you doing here?” Matt scanned the room. He wanted to grab her hand, kiss her; run away. “Where’s Jake?”

She shrugged and sat, cross-legged on the seat beside him, close enough to where he could smell her perfume. “At the lake. I don’t think he’s happy with me right now.”

“Why?”

Her eyes flickered. “He asked me to be his girlfriend.”

“You said yes?”

“Well, no.”

“Why? I thought he was going to give you the necklace, and-“ he stopped, embarrassed. “I thought you were into him,” he added quietly.

“I mean, he tried. And I was going to accept it. But something bothered me,” she frowned. “It’s been bothering me for weeks.”

“What’s that?”

“You. You like me, don’t you?” she stated. Her eyes bored into him.

“What?” He laughed.

“Stop pretending. I’ve seen the way you look at me, and I want to know if I’m right.”

“You’re Jake’s girl. Or you seemed like you wanted to be,” he said, feeling exposed. “Are you the type of girl to change your mind so easily?”

“I’m just the kind that knows what she wants.” She stood up and backed him into the window, almost knocking him into a candle holder. “You’ve thought about it,” she continued, “haven’t you? You thought about my clothes, my hair, my skin against yours.”

He thought about lying, saying no, but it came spilling out of his mouth as if he had no control over what he was saying.

He swallowed hard. “Yes. You got me. I can’t get you out of my head, okay?” She brushed her hand against his head. The words came out in a rush. “But you’re with Jake. And I’m a terrible friend.”

She pulled him towards her. “He’ll get over it.”

“No, he won’t,” he started to say, but she kissed him, and his words were lost after that.

It didn’t occur to him that something was wrong. That her kissing him was too good to be true. Layla wasn’t like this. She was kind, warm; not callous enough to turn around and abandon his friend.

His heart was beating erratically, and the room began to feel heavy. He tried to ignore it, concentrate on the soft feel of her lips moving against his, but it was getting difficult to breathe.

“Layla,” he began. “Wait-“

“Shh,” she murmured against his lips. His hands began to claw in the air. The elation he felt was ebbing away.

If his eyes could focus, he would have noticed her eye color changing from green to black and her nails growing into ragged claws. Her long, dark hair dripped with lake water, and the scent of vanilla became earthy and foul.

The girl smiled. He had been much easier to trick than the old man in his bed.

Jake and Layla arrived an hour later. They lingered on the porch, laughing and toweling each other off with a rag he had found in his truck. The jade pendant dangled around her neck.

“Matt?” Jake called. “Let’s get going, we’re pretty tired.”

Matt didn’t answer.

The house remained silent. Layla felt uneasy. She squeezed Jake’s hand. “Is he upstairs?”

“Yeah, could be. Wait here.” Jake bounded into the cabin.

It only took five minutes of waiting for Layla to realize something was wrong. She hovered around the doorway and thought about searching herself, when Jake stumbled down the stairs, his face ashen and hands trembling.

“Layla, call 911.”

She stared at him.

“Now!” He shouted.

They found Matt staring up at the ceiling, his body bloated beyond recognition. His clothes were drenched and his hair was muddy and tangled in knots. Water pooled around his head, and the expression on his face haunted Layla for months.

The cause of death, later written on the autopsy report, was accidental drowning.

Jake and Layla were released from questioning after police found no evidence of foul play. They stayed together, even though it was never the same after that. Each carried their own sense of guilt. Jake couldn’t drive anywhere near the park grounds, and Layla felt as though she had some hand in Matt’s death.

The town had their theories of what happened. The cabin had shown its face, teeth bared, and each story was more fantastical than the last. Parents locked their children’s windows and teenagers were warned away by the park ranger. Whatever had befallen poor Matthew Harris could happen to them.

But the cabin remained silent. The candle was not to be lit for years.

Emily Barrows had claimed her latest victim. Now, she rested.