Witch in Town

There were rumors of a witch in town. Last time I went to Jackson's Supply with Mama and my sister Bethany, all the ladies spoke in whispers behind their bonnets with cupped hands about vanishing eyes peering through windows at night, the unnerving feeling of being watched, and of course, Hannah Tavin.

Hannah said she saw a white face at her bedroom window one night last week. As the sun rose the following day, her father found a severed rat tail beneath her window. No one knew what to make of this at the time, and so the Hannah went to bed as usual. By the next morning, Hannah was not in her bed. Mr. and Mrs. Tavin could not find her anywhere.

The search party lasted 3 days and 4 nights and turned up nothing but a pink ribbon from Hannah's nightgown. Poor Mrs. Tavin has since fallen ill with grief and Mr. Tavin waits on his porch all night and all day, smoking his pipe and watching everybody go by, muttering to himself.

Everyone who knew Hannah wanted someone to blame. My classmates, unsure how to deal with the grief, wrote a rhyming song about Widow Martin, which caught on with the younger students and eventually inspired some of the boys from Hannah's grade to vandalize the widow's house on the far west edge of town.

Hannah was in Bethany's class. They were somewhat close. The Tavins lived down the road from us. Bethany never said too much about Hannah's disappearance. She mostly went quiet and had a distant look in her eyes when the subject came up. I thought she was terrified she'd be next.

It was late September. After Bethany and I fed the goats, gathered the straw, pumped the water, swept the floors, and helped Mama with supper, I liked to stay up long past my bedtime reading. Stories of seafaring adventures, epic poems, and the trials of true love took me out of the tiny bedroom I shared with Bethany, into other lives. The escape from the drudgery of my own life was addictive.

At school, my sister pretended not to know me. I think she was embarrassed of my large glasses and interest in literature. Truthfully, I wanted nothing more than to be like her, to do what she did. I wanted to be her friend, not just her little sister. But I am just me, and I can't change that. That was true then, too. I was just her little sister. And we were just too different to be friends.

I always believed she never loved me, save for one small act: she'd turn off my bedside lamp when I'd fall asleep reading late into the night.

My lightbulb had burned out last night before I could learn the identity of the mysterious woman in the attic. The backup flashlight was not in my drawer where I typically kept it. So, I lay in my bed in the dark that Saturday night, the equinox. The sun had set long before I finished my chores.

My thoughts turned to the witch. I imagined Widow Martin's gaunt face twisted like a gnarled tree watching me and Bethany sleep. Every creak and groan from the house as it settled sent my panic soaring. My palms tingled and I squeezed my eyes shut. I could hear Bethany breathing softly and rhythmically in her sleep, like the waves of the ocean.

I had just begun to lose consciousness when I was jarred from my sleep by the scraping of our bedroom window slat being eased open.

It was her. She was here. Widow Martin. Bethany and I were next.

I felt the chill of the night spill into our room. I couldn't look for fear I'd actually see her and then it would all be true. I curled my body away from the window and braced myself for the witch's frigid claws to grab me.

But there was nothing. And I relaxed a little. I whispered Bethany's name. And there was nothing. No breathing like the ocean.

"Bethany?" I said aloud. And then nothing.

I got up gingerly and felt my way to my sister's bed in the pitch dark. And I could feel nothing but her tousled sheets and quilt.

I heard footsteps on the dusty path just below our window dissolve into the distance. My heart plunged through my body and without thinking, I clambered out the window after them.

I'm not sure if Bethany would do the same for me. Maybe I was so bored from the labors of school and farm work that I leapt at this chance for an adventure of my own. I followed the soft sounds of the witch gliding around the goat's pen, out the back gate, and into the blackness of the forest.

I kept pace with the witch's rustling as best I could in the tangled darkness. My arms and legs were scratched and stinging. My nightclothes were torn and muddy. I had followed her this far, I wanted to at least see where she was taking Bethany, though I knew I had no hope of defeating the witch myself.

The witch's rustling became quieter and more distant as I struggled to keep up. But amidst the mass of vines and brambles and trees, I saw some pale light appear. I stopped. Cloaked in shadow, I could just make out a figure in a small clearing just ahead. I kept my breath as shallow and quiet as I could, though my heart was in my throat and pounding in my ears.

"Whooo WHOOO!" a high pitched screech echoed off the trees.

"Whooo WHOOO!" Another voice screeched in reply.

"Whoooo shall we summon tonight?" the first voice asked.

I knew this voice.

"Bethany?!" I yelled as I pushed through the limbs of the bush I was hiding in.

The figure slowly turned around towards me. And I saw, in the pale light of my missing flashlight, the face of the witch.

"You followed me? You need to go home right now." Bethany said as she pointed the flashlight at me with a look of horror and disbelief.

"What are you doing out here?" I asked.

I looked past my sister to see another face I recognized.

"And Hannah... you're alive!" Hannah's expression didn't move. Her eyes were two black shiny globes.

"You can't be here. Go home." Bethany growled. I had never seen her so angry with me. Her eyes darkened. My face was flushed and I wanted to cry.

"Why can't I play with you?"

"It's not a game. And anyway you're not old enough to understand. I'm a teenager and you're still a child."

"Maybe we could bring her along. If she can promise to keep quiet." Hannah said as she looked up at the sky through the trees.

"No." Bethany said to Hannah. Then she turned to look at me.

"Go home. And if you tell Mama or Papa anything about this, I'll never speak to you again."

I knew even if I stayed and insisted, my sister would never relent. She just didn't want me in her life the way I wanted her in mine. She didn't want to be friends. She didn't want anything to do with me and there was nothing I could do about that.

Bethany stared at me with her jaw set until I turned around and started to make my way back the way I had come. Hot tears filled my eyes and fell down my cheeks.

I took one final look back toward the clearing. Two bright white barn owls silently fluttered upwards, over the forest canopy and out into the moonlit night.

Thank you so much for reading. If you enjoyed this story, please consider reading my ongoing psychological horror graphic novel, Shadows Become You.

Find more of my work at https://antimatter.zone/ or follow me on IG @antimatterzone