The Witch

by Mary Ann Mitchell

“Oh!” Robin’s body fell back against the chair. “He stuck his tongue out at me. Is this a trick?”

  “It’s not a trick. It’s real magic. My mother’s a witch.”

  “Stephen, the demons are wiggling as if they were caught in sticky mud.”

  The children watched the demons writhe.

  “I think they’re getting ready for the nighttime,” Stephen said.

  “What do they do then?”

  “They run free in the basement.”

  “You mean they jump off the box.”

  Stephen nodded.

  “But what if … ?”

  Stephen interrupted: “I think they’ve already hurt my Daddy.”

  “Destroy them! Chop them up into little pieces and flush them down the toilet.”

  “Toilet? I’d never be able to go to the bathroom again.”

  “Then throw them in the lake, or better, throw them where your mother’s ashes are. She brought them here. She should take them away with her.”

  “She wants me to keep them safe,” Stephen said.

  “But they set your father on fire.”

  “I don’t know that for sure. Although I saw the dwarf hiding behind the furnace.”

  “Your mother couldn’t want them to cause anymore harm. Throw them into the furnace.”

  “I can’t. Momma wouldn’t love me anymore.” Stephen broke into soft sobs, and Robin put her hand on his cheek.

  “Your mother will always love you. You can never stop your mother from loving you.”

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  “Your mother will always love you,” the dog with a man’s head said to the bird with the crooked beak.

  “Idiot children.” The dwarf paced the table, swinging his ax in time with his step. “She’ll love her boy for as long as he is useful.”

  “I love my son,” protested a voice that came from every corner of the room.

  “I’m sure, mistress.” The dwarf bowed, his eyes steadily searching the basement.

  “We are one.”

  “Not yet,” hissed the snake.

  “He began life inside my womb. He suckled at mybreast. He sat with me when I was quiet and needed someone to hug. He helped me bring each of you into this world. And now he protects what is mine. His father is useless, bedridden. Disfigured.”

  “But he still lives,” said the gargoyle. “And if I look for him I can see the father. I can’t see you.” “Stephen sees me in the shadows.” “He imagines you, for you have no body. Hubby made sure of that,” the gargoyle argued.

  “Why so brave? Do you little ones scheme to be free of me and my son? You’ll always be prisoner of the box you now circle. I won’t free you of that curse.”

  “I don’t suppose you will, dear.” The old woman with the staff came forth to speak to Stephen’s mother. “But tell me, has the child offered you his body as yet?”

  “Already he dreams of me, even though he doesn’t recognize who I am. Soon he will know and will stretch his hands out for me.”

  “Maybe not. He is a smart boy. What if he should decide to rule us alone without you?” “He doesn’t have the-”

  “Exactly,” the demon old woman said. “He doesn’t have courage. He’ll be frightened of your coldness. The chill of death frightens all humans. When he feels his tiny heart slow down he’ll pull away from you. The rancid breath of death you’ll attempt to breathe into him will make him run from you. His love will vanish along with the ashes of your body.”

  “No!” cried the mother. “He would not leave me here alone in a vacuum. Stephen will usher me into his soul without a single doubt. My son carries my blood and flesh with him. You see me when you look into his eyes and hear his voice.”

  “Sounds nothing like you,” said the pig, who immediately was shushed by his fellow demons.

  “You belong on a spit in hell.” The mother’s angry voice shattered the pig’s eardrums, leaving a high-pitched ring in its ears.

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  Stephen heard the chatter between Grandma and Aunt Rosemary in the kitchen. He didn’t pay attention to what they said. He knew they planned on going out while he and Robin visited with Grannie Smith. But he had to check the basement one last time before he left.

  He closed the basement door behind him before he clicked on the light. Night had crept into the basement without his knowing it and he felt uneasy about leaving the house. What if Grandma and Aunt Rosemary decided not to go out? Would they foolishly go down into the basement, churning up the malevolent demons patiently waiting his mother’s return?

  At the bottom of the staircase he spied the wooden box still on the table. The figures remained glued to the box, barely moving as if waiting. Even when he touched a figure, nothing moved. The dwarf ignored him, and the old woman had her hood pulled down over her face.

  “What are you up to?” he asked, knowing they wouldn’t answer. Too preoccupied with their own anticipation, they ignored him. They should be free of the box, but chose to cling to its sides. Why?

  “Momma, please don’t let them do anything bad. Make them behave.”

  He didn’t feel the coldness of his mother’s embrace, didn’t smell the stink of death, or hear the lilt of his mother’s voice. He felt alone with the uglies. He wished for a single mouse to come out and squeak at him. He wouldn’t mind. Mice didn’t scare him, but the uglies did. He wanted some noise just to know the real world still existed beyond the horror living in his basement.

  A loud crash answered his wish. He looked up at the window over the furnace and saw pieces of glass scattered atop the furnace and back down on the floor. Standing at the base of the furnace was a wolf. A tired, ragged wolf with flesh made of rags and face colored the same as his own brown paints. The beast staggered and finally righted itself as its eyes began to focus. It opened its mouth, and its ragged teeth seemed stained with blood.

  As night drew on, the beast’s flesh and fur firmed, and the face grew harder, sterner. The eyes carried hate, and the ears pricked high to listen while the nose scented for prey.

  “Momma.” Stephen slowly backed away, and the beast padded toward him. “Momma.” Afraid to raise his voice and attract his grandmother and Aunt Rosemary, he kept his voice soft. The dead cannot be called back by a loud scream. He knew that. The dead came when ready, but he didn’t mind trying to remind his mother.

  The wolf nuzzled its head against Stephen’s hand before sidling over to rest under the table. Above, the uglies danced on the table. Their little legs kicked high, and they extended their arms outward in joy. The dwarf had dropped his ax and held hands with the witch, her staff dancing along next to them.

  “Stop!” Stephen said, but the uglies ignored him, not a one bothering to look his way.

  He couldn’t leave the house now. He’d have to fake illness.

  “Stephen?”

  He looked up to see Robin hovering near the basement door.

  “Go away! “

  “But we have to leave soon.”

  “I’m not going. I’m sick.”

  “It’s the uglies again, isn’t it?”

  “The wolf is back, Robin. The wolf costume that I gave to Molly. Its mouth and fur are bloody. I killed Molly.”

  “No, Stephen. You didn’t know it would come to life.”

  “But I did. I saw it briefly come to life on my bed.”

  “It was probably a trick of the lights.”

  “No. I saw it for a brief moment breathe and its body fill out with bones and muscle.”

  “Where is it now? I can’t see anything.”

  “Under the table, resting. I don’t know where it’s been, but it seems very tired.”

  “Fine, then let it rest, and we will take care of it in the morning when it’s just a pile of rags.”

  “But tonight …”

  “If you stay home, so will my mother and our grandmother. They’ll be in greater danger then. You can’t guard the door while you’re supposed to be sick
.”

  Robin made sense. And then he remembered his father coming home and going to the basement before picking Stephen up from Grannie Smith.

  “What if they get home before us?”

  “Make it difficult for them to get into the basement.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. Don’t you have a pile of old toys or something you can pile up on the landing? Block their way. Grandmother probably will yell at you and make you clean up the mess, but she’ll be alive to do so.”

  Stephen followed his cousin’s instructions and barely completed the task before Grannie Smith rang the doorbell.

  From one of Grannie Smith’s windows the children watched Robin’s mother get into her rental car and honk her horn. Shortly after, Grandma locked the front door and slid into the passenger seat of the car.

  Stephen and Robin looked at each other with great relief.

  “My, are you two homesick already, and I haven’t even gotten the apple pie out of the oven?”

  The children smiled, sniffed the air, and hurried to the kitchen right behind Grannie Smith.

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  “I’m going to try this cleaner on the table in the basement. See if I can get the excess wax up. Let me know when the kids come back from Mrs. Rosen’s”

  “Mom, do you have to do that now? The basement gives me the creeps. What about those mice you saw?”

  Mabel carried a rag and a household cleaner in one hand and a bat in the other.

  “You’re not going to beat the poor things to death. Besides, you’ll be too scared to go after them.”

  “I just want to drive them away from me, Rosemary. The loud noise this bat makes should do the trick. I won’t be long.” Mabel opened the basement door, flipped on the light, and shrieked.

  “What was that child thinking?”

  Rosemary arrived in time to see her mother tossing toys, old clothes, magazines (some not fit for small children) into a garbage bag.

  “Mom, what are you doing?”

  “That boy left all this garbage right in front of the basement door. I could have tripped over this stuff and broken my neck falling down the stairs.”

  “You can’t throw that stuff out. It doesn’t belong to you.”

  “It now doesn’t belong to Stephen, either. Most of this stuff is for babies.”

  “Jacob may want to save those toys and clothes to remind him of Stephen as a baby. And the magazines …” She picked one up and flipped through the pages. “The magazines can go out.”

  “Oh, I’m not throwing this into the garbage can. I’m merely getting the junk out of my way. I’ll put it all in the pantry room and let Stephen think I threw it all away. Let him worry a bit. What could he have been looking for?”

  “Something that belonged to his mother or father?”

  “You may be right. I won’t chastise him. I want to hear what that psychiatrist you’re going to see says. Normally this would have called for a scolding, but with all he’s been through I don’t want to say or do the wrong thing.”

  Rosemary hugged her mother and helped clear a path.

  “The kids will be home any minute. Forget the basement, Mom, and sit down in the living room with me.”

  “After cleaning up that mess? I could have left it for the morning if I didn’t intend to take care of that table in the basement. Besides, it will give you a chance to spend time alone with the children before I come up and ruin the evening with a reminder of bedtime.”

  “It’s Friday night; go wild, Mom. Join us for some fun. You can fall back in to your job as dungeon master tomorrow night.”

  “I want that basement cleaned up as soon as possible. Everything down there is a reminder to Stephen of what his mother used to do. I don’t want him trying to follow in her footsteps.”

  Mabel grabbed her cleaning equipment and descended the stairs. The basement had an odd odor.

  At the bottom she skidded on glass.

  “Oh, Stephen, what have you been up to?”

  She resigned herself to staying in the basement for at least an hour to cool her temper down. She had to keep reminding herself that Stephen, like the rest of them, was going through a very traumatic period. A little boy can’t cope and would certainly act out under the current circumstances.

  She looked at the table.

  “Hmf. I wonder what that box is for?” She placed the cleaner and rag on the table and picked up a plain, brown wooden box. She left the bat leaning against one of the table’s legs. “Could be handy for recipes, or maybe Rosemary could find a use for it.” She placed it on the floor near her feet, planning to take it upstairs when she finished with the table.

  She poured out a small amount of the cleanser and used the rag to scrub hard. The wax dissolved slowly.

  “This could take all night.” She shrugged her shoulders, thinking at least she could make a start.

  The door to the basement crashed shut and Mabel jumped. She cursed, realizing how stupid she had been in not propping the door open. Shaking her head, she continued with her task.

  The door to the furnace flew open, and she felt a hot draft almost scald her back.

  She turned to the furnace and remembered what the fireman had said. “Make sure the lock catches.”

  Mabel shut the furnace door but had to work the lock for several seconds before it felt secured.

  She thought she heard some vague chatter. Even thought she heard her own name used.

  Those damn mice, she thought, checking for the baseball bat. The bat no longer leaned against a leg of the table. She circled the table, but no bat.

  She caught a flash of movement near the tarp. The baseball bat floated away from her and seemed to scurry under the tarp.

  Mice can’t do that. But she wasn’t about to shake out the tarp to make sure.

  Something brushed across her slippered foot and Mabel held her breath but refused to look down at the floor.

  The place is infested. Okay, I’ll just calmly head for the staircase and leave.

  A twittery chuckle filled the basement.

  “Rosemary,” Mabel called out in a low voice. Her throat felt raspy, dry, tight. “Rosemary,” she tried again, forcing more lung power into the name.

  Mabel moved toward the staircase but stopped abruptly when the furnace door again opened. Positive she had secured the lock, she broke out in a cold sweat.

  A long growl caught her attention, and she saw a wolf standing midway up the staircase. Her eyes shifted to the broken window over the furnace.

  “Rosemary,” she called. The damn girl must have hunkered down in front of the television.

  Cold dampness moved up her ankle, and a sharp pain splintered her flesh on the other ankle. She looked down to see a tiny snake-like blackness slipping up her calf. She tried to brush it off, but the thing clung.

  Leeches, she thought. How the hell could there be leeches?

  Another sharp pain stunned her into checking her other ankle. Blood dripped from a wound in her flesh, and a little man ran around her foot waving a tiny ax. She went to kick him, but lost her balance when something else appeared to bite the back of the bloodied flesh. She lay on her back looking at the table, where a small old woman waved a staff and shouted out a curse she could barely hear.

  “Let her blood move swiftly through her veins and let the pressure build inside her skull. Feel it, dearie.” The old woman tilted her head toward Mabel. “The heart speeds to move the blood through the veins that snake and coil through your brain. Feel the pressure build each second as the veins’ walls come near to bursting.”

  Mabel felt out of breath. Panic rose quickly, and her head seemed filled with a battering pain. She tried to rise but found she could no longer see.

  “Rosemary, help me.” Mabel’s garbled words sounded choppy, indecipherable even to her own ears. Her chest ached and her head pounded. Still she tried to stand, yet her limbs no longer belonged to her. Her vision cleared, but she wished it
hadn’t when she saw little bodies swarming over her. Most seemed eager to taste her flesh and drink her blood. Inside her head she heard the echo of soft chomping and slurping. She wanted to call out, but couldn’t think of the words.

  Who was she trying to call? The name eluded her. Where was she? Her home or someone else’s? She had known. Why didn’t she know now?

  Her flesh seemed pricked by dozens of needles, yet gradually the pain faded and a blessed numbness enveloped her flesh.

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  “I’m sorry, but Jacob’s having his dressings changed. It takes at least an hour to complete. Perhaps you could grab some lunch.”

  Rosemary breathed in the stench of antiseptics, blood, urine, feces, and disease. She hated hospitals. Hated those who peopled hospitals. Especially the doctors who wore colorful hats into surgery. Who did they think they cheered? And what of the nurses who spent more time gossiping than taking care of patients? Laughing in the middle of the night. Covering their hands with latex to add another layer separating them from the patients.

  The woman across the desk from her touched her arm and Rosemary took a step back.

  “Can I get you some water?”

  Rosemary shook her head and turned away.

  The glass doors to the hospital kept opening and closing with the rush to and from lunch. Rosemary couldn’t find her way out amidst the crowd. Always someone coming toward her or knocking into her on their way out.

  She had been here all night, lying in bed in a small room just off the Intensive Care Unit. The sheets had been stiff, the pillows had the consistency of mud, and the crinkle of the mattress protector echoed with her every toss and turn.

  “Excuse me. Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  Rosemary looked down at the arm of her sweater. Someone had splashed the wool with coffee.

  “Let me get some napkins. I’ll certainly pay for the dry cleaning.”

  Rosemary ignored the intruder. She walked into the parking lot and didn’t know why. She hadn’t come by car. The ambulance had taken her and her mother directly to the emergency room.

  She didn’t know what direction to take. The freeway noise hummed in the background. A young man sat in his car, running his engine while his exhaust polluted the air. The hospital gardener lined up clay pots of unknown flowers that must have been hardy enough for the cooler fall weather. An ambulance sped out of the driveway. A block away she heard the siren start, and she shuddered, remembering last night.