Witchlights

“There is only one rule: Do Not Open The Door. No matter what you hear or see. They may look like your families, but if you open that door, you will die. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Miss Beatrice.”

Beatrice scans her students’ frightened faces. “These things are not your loved ones.”

“Then what are they?” asks a tearful child.

She wishes to say something to comfort them, dry the tears.

“Witches,” she replies.

Fear is vital. If one of them opens the schoolhouse door…well, it doesn’t bear thinking about.

“Have you all lit your jack-o-lanterns?”

The children nod, the pale glow of black-wax candles illuminating their pumpkin-gut strewn desks.

“Good. Place them against the walls, hurry now.”

As they do so, Beatrice scrawls an inverted star on the door with chalk.

A scream interrupts her—outside, bouncing lights approach. Torches and lanterns. Shadows filled with hunger and hate.

“They’re coming!” a girl cries.

“Away from the windows! They cannot enter as long as our lanterns stay lit!”

In moments, they descend upon the schoolhouse.

Pounding on the walls.

A stone cracks harmlessly off the window.

The spell holds, for the moment…

“Mary, it’s me!” A voice outside. “Let me in, darling!”

Tears well in Mary’s eyes, but Beatrice shakes her head. “A witchly trick, my dear. We must be strong!”

An ax thuds fruitlessly against the door.

Outside, a shriek of terror, and the shattering of lantern-glass.

FWOOM!

“What have you done?” someone cries.

“They’re trying to burn us!” a boy wails. “What now?”

Beatrice feels the heat rising, even through the spell.

Just like that, it’s over.

A tired grins pulls at the corners of her lips, pointed teeth glint in the rising flames.

“Now, my dears, I suppose I’ll have one last meal.”

The ensuing screams are nearly as delicious as their blood.