The Witch

by Mary Ann Mitchell

  “The former occupants had some trouble with the heat, but as you say, you did install a new furnace.”

  Mrs. Crowther nodded and excused herself. “My husband is probably wondering what happened to me.”

  “Yes. Well, I look forward to seeing more of your granddaughter.”

  Mrs. Crowther gave her neighbor a broad grin and hurried back to the house.

  “Oh, Stephen, I hope your mother has moved on,” Mrs. Rosen muttered to herself.

  A horn broke Mrs. Rosen’s reverie.

  “Rosemary. Stephen.”

  Both got out of Rosemary’s Jaguar.

  “He’s been dying to pay a visit.” Rosemary made direct eye contact with Mrs. Rosen, sending a signal that Stephen still worried about what he had let loose.

  “You needn’t have come over here. I would have dropped by before the end of the week.”

  The deliverymen returned to their truck and almost immediately pulled away from the curb.

  “A gift?” Rosemary asked.

  “Sort of.” Mrs. Rosen nodded and led her guests to the house when a crow swooped low, barely missing the top of Rosemary’s head.

  “What was that?” Rosemary asked.

  “I’ve never seen anything like that before. I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “I don’t like that bird,” Stephen said.

  “I think the feelings are mutual.” Rosemary ran her fingers through her hair.

  “Come inside before we get dive bombed again.”

  Stephen trailed along behind the two women, searching the sky for the crow.

  “Pay attention or you’ll trip.”

  Stephen heeded his aunt’s advice and stepped over the garden hose.

  Chapter

  78

  As night filled the sky with darkness, the old woman came out from her hiding place behind the piled-up cardboard boxes.

  “Old woman, there is a delightful treat on the first floor. A nursery is being prepared. It’s bright pink with various-sized stuffed animals and a rocking chair containing a musical box.”

  “Mistress, has the house once again changed hands?”

  “No. But I believe a baby will be staying here.”

  “Perhaps it is there to enable the baby to nap more comfortably. It doesn’t necessarily mean the baby will stay.”

  “Cursed old woman, why do you destroy my dreams?” “Mistress.” The old woman bowed low. “I merely—” “First you deride me because I dream of my son. Now you want to steal the baby from me.”

  “Hardly, mistress. I speculated. That is all.” They both heard a tap on one of the basement windows. The crow stood so still he almost blended into the night.

  “What does he want?” Cathy asked. “He has found someone.” “Stephen?”

  “Yes.” The old woman walked nearer to the window and raised her staff to be rid of the crow. “Why did you send him away?” “We wouldn’t want someone to notice him.” “You’re annoyed that he’s found Stephen,” Cathy said. “Your son, the baby girl. It makes for more complications. The baby is pure, new, untouched by this world as yet. Your son suffers prejudices fed to him by the authorities he must obey.”

  “You’re saying it would be easier to take possession of the baby.”

  “Yes. More than that, we must make sure your son does not interfere.”

  “He fears me now and probably won’t come into this house.”

  “Maybe we should reinforce that fear”

  Chapter

  79

  “Are you satisfied now, Stephen? I took you over to Mrs. Rosen’s and you saw how quiet your old house looks.”

  He wiggled his nose.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Aunt Rosemary, that bird wasn’t really a bird.”

  “What?”

  “It was a spirit. I could feel the evil in him.” Rosemary rested her hands on his shoulders. “I was wrong to bring you back. Your dad could use some cheering up.”

  “Is he sick?” Stephen turned around to face his

  “No. He’s not sick, but he is finding the physical therapy very taxing.”

  “I think the bird is spying for Momma,” Stephen said, ignoring his aunt’s comments about his father.

  Rosemary sighed.

  “I find this hard to comprehend. I’m afraid you’ve become obsessed with witchcraft. On the other hand, I didn’t believe you the first time.”

  “And two people died and Dad got hurt.”

  “Momma?”

  “Yes, Robin?” Rosemary turned to see her daughter in the doorway of the living room.

  “Maybe we should pay attention to what Stephen says. If we stay close to Stephen, then his mother won’t be able to attack him.”

  “Neither of you can stop her,” Stephen said. “But I can talk to her. I can ask her not to hurt anyone.”

  “What if your mother won’t listen?” Robin guided herself into the room. “What if your mother has become evil, or what if she isn’t your mother at all? Maybe it’s some demon imitating your mother. Could you tell the difference, Stephen?”

  “She’s my mother.”

  “But you don’t know that for sure. Maybe a demon has possessed her dead soul.”

  “Robin, I don’t think we should encourage Stephen in these fantasies.”

  “I’m not. I’m trying to make him see the dangers he faces if he goes back to the house.”

  “No one has invited us to the house. The people deserve their privacy,” said Aunt Rosemary.

  A crow crashed into the window, its wings spread wide and its head tucked low, close to its body.

  Rosemary screamed as the bird seemingly fell to the ground.

  Robin started for the front door.

  “Where are you going?” her mother called out to her.

  “The bird could be hurt. We should do something.”

  “No. Stay in the house.”

  “But, Mom …”

  “He’s here for me. It’s the same bird we saw at Grannie Smith’s,” said Stephen.

  “Both of you stay in the house and I’ll check on the crow.” Rosemary threw on a cotton sweater on her way out the front door. Once outside she wondered why she had bothered with the sweater. Her body instantly broke out in a sweat. She rounded the corner of the house, hoping there would be no bird prostrate on the ground, but there it was. Its head bent in an awkward position, the wings spread wide, allowing the shine of the black feathers to glow under the sun. As she drew nearer the bird shuddered. She looked toward the window and saw that both children watched her.

  I’ll get a bath towel, she thought, looking back down at the crow. Wrap the poor thing in a towel and take it down to the veterinary hospital. Had the children not been watching she probably wouldn’t have bothered to touch the crow.

  “Here’s a blanket.”

  Rosemary jumped at the sound of Stephen’s voice behind her.

  “I told both of you to stay in the house. Besides, that blanket’s decorative. Mom uses it to cover …” Mom didn’t use it anymore, she reminded herself.

  “Come on, let’s go back into the house and find a towel.”

  “Which towel? I can get it.”

  “Fine, Stephen, get one of the bath towels. Get two,” she corrected herself.

  A minute later Stephen stood behind her again, this time with the guest towels. Again she had to remind herself that it didn’t matter. Mom wasn’t going to be using them for guests ever again.

  She took the towels from the boy’s outstretched arms.

  “Want me to do it, Aunt Rosemary? The bird won’t hurt me.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because Momma sent him.”

  “If she sent the bird, what kind of message did he bring? And couldn’t she find a bird that was less of a klutz?”

  “He wanted to get our attention.”

  “And kill himself?”

  “Maybe he’s not really hurt.” Stephen moved in closer to the
crow, and when he did the bird suddenly became very still. There didn’t appear to be any sign of life.

  Rosemary quickly threw one of the bath towels over the crow. Still no movement.

  “What are you going to do with him, Aunt Rosemary?”

  “I don’t know whether to throw it in the trash or take it to the hospital.”

  “The same place where they took Daddy?”

  “No. That hospital is only for humans. There’s another hospital not far from here that’s for animals.”

  “I think maybe we should leave him there under the towel.”

  “Don’t you want to help it if it’s hurt?”

  Stephen shook his head. “It’s not hurt. It’s faking.”

  The boy had been right before.

  Robin knocked on the windowpane. She waited for them to pick up the bird. Is it hurt? she mouthed.

  “I’ll tell her it’s dead; then no one has to pick it up,” Stephen said.

  “She’ll want to bury it. She always does.”

  “We can have a private ceremony and tell her she wasn’t invited.”

  “Robin will believe that one, all right. Step aside and give me some room.”

  Rosemary held up the second bath towel, a bright periwinkle with tiny daisies decorating one end. She sighed, took a deep breath, and bent over to wrap up the bird. Surprised by the weight, she almost dropped it.

  “Now what?” Stephen asked.

  “Exactly. That’s my question. I guess I could put it into the car and drive it over to the hospital.”

  The bird didn’t move. She thought about digging a hole and simply dropping the crow in and covering it with as much dirt as she could shovel. Holding the bird at arm’s length, she turned to the window and smiled at her daughter, whose green eyes couldn’t have been any larger. Robin was such a sucker for animals.

  A flurry of activity inside the towels made her let go of the bundle. The crow screeched out from under the cover and attacked her face, clawing at her cheeks and pecking around her eyes, until finally its beak did a dead aim into her right eye. Her screams matched the deadly caws of the crow as it swept out of Stephen’s reach and up into the sky.

  “Momma,” yelled Robin, gliding down the path on which her mother stood, the towels wrapped now around her mother’s legs. She could feel the blood covering her hands but couldn’t see. Stephen had obviously gone for the neighbors. She heard his voice calling out for help. She fell to her knees and wept as Robin wrapped her arms around her mother.

  Chapter

  80

  “You do have to do something about your mother,” Robin said, sitting across from Stephen on Grannie Smith’s porch. “You can’t let her continue hurting people. Even if it isn’t your mother but a demon you have to stop it. And I’ll help you.”

  Stephen stared over at his former house. Most of the lights were on, and the dogs lay in front of the house enjoying the light breeze that rustled their fur. He stood and walked to the very edge of the porch for a better view. One of the dogs flexed its legs as if dreaming about chasing a rabbit. The other dog stared back at Stephen.

  “Hello,” Stephen said.

  The dog ears perked up, and when Stephen repeated his greeting the dog stood.

  “Come here, boy.”

  The dog came immediately, giving a brief glance at Robin before setting its jaw on the boy’s thigh. Slowly, Stephen petted the dog.

  “I wish you could talk. I have so many questions to ask.”

  “He’s just a dog, Stephen. He can’t tell you who’s haunting the house.”

  “He could if he could speak. He knows me because of my mother.”

  “Are you telling me she sent him over to you?”

  “No. But he can sense who I am.”

  “And what are you?” Robin asked, a chill touching her voice.

  “Are you afraid of me?” he asked Robin.

  So much time passed that Stephen had given up on an answer until she moved her wheelchair closer to him.

  “I’m afraid of what’s haunting you. You don’t mean any harm, but horrible things happen to people around you.”

  “Maybe you should stay away from me.”

  “No. Instead I’m going to pay attention to everything you say. I’ll not doubt you the way the grown-ups did.”

  As he petted the dog it began to whimper.

  “Is he hurt?” Robin asked.

  “He’s trying to talk to me.” He looked over at Robin.

  “Don’t look at me. Momma started teaching me French, not dog talk.”

  “Let’s bring the dog home.”

  “What? He lives right next door.”

  “But Robin, we can say he joined us on the porch and we wanted to be sure he belonged to someone.”

  “Why not?” Robin carefully maneuvered her wheelchair down the ramp, leading the way.

  Stephen rang his old doorbell while holding onto the dog’s collar. The other dog merely looked at them quizzically and went back to sleep.

  “Oh, hello. I almost missed you down there.”

  “Hi. Robin and I are staying with Grannie Smith.” He pointed toward the house next door. “And we were sitting on the porch. And this dog came up on the porch to sit with us. But we’re not sure whether he has a home. Is he your dog?”

  “Yes. He’s usually very good, never wanders off the property. He must be getting a bit jealous of our granddaughter. He’s used to being fussed over. I hope he didn’t bother either of you.”

  “No. I used to live here.”

  “In this house?”

  Stephen nodded.

  “We moved to Austin to live with Robin’s mother.”

  “You must be the Zaira child. Your father had some sort of accident. Listen, do you both want to come in and have some soda or ice cream?”

  “Ice cream would be great,” Robin shouted out.

  “I’ll get my husband to help you up the steps.”

  Inside the children couldn’t recognize the place. The pale walls were now painted in deep hues, and instead of shades the windows now had velvet curtains.

  A piercing shriek came from down the hall.

  Startled, the woman excused herself and went to check on the baby.

  “I think she misses her parents. She’s only a few months old. A terrible time to leave a child.” The lady’s husband shook his head and invited the children into the living room.

  “My wife said you both used to live here.”

  “Only me,” answered Stephen. “Robin lived in Austin and she still does, but now Dad and I live there too.”

  “I guess you miss your friends.”

  “Sometimes, but I got Robin.” He listened as the woman helplessly tried to quiet the baby.

  “We thought this would be a joy having our granddaughter around, but it’s not such an easy job.”

  “Can I see the baby? “

  The man led the children to the back room, which had become a nursery. The woman sat in a pale pink rocking chair holding the baby close to her breast while singing an old lullaby Stephen recognized.

  “My momma sang that to me,” Stephen said. “Is it a favorite song of yours too?”

  “Actually, I hardly ever sang to my own children. I don’t know how this tune popped into my head, but it seems to soothe her down after a while.”

  The baby held her hands in tight little fists, her beet-red face soaked in tears.

  “Stephen, you’re back.”

  He looked to see whether anyone else had heard his mother’s voice, but the adults and Robin kept cooing over the baby.

  “Will you stay with me this time and not run away? That was very bad of you.”

  Embraced by his mother’s coldness he shivered.

  “Take me out of this house, Stephen. There’s nothing left of our former lives here. Take me to your new home.”

  “No!”

  Everyone turned to look at him.

  “Are you all right?” Robin asked. “We should really hea
d back to Grannie Smith’s before she notices we’re missing.”

  “Of course. I’ll walk the children back to their house, dear. Will only be a few minutes.”

  The husband helped Robin back down the front steps and stayed with them until they climbed the porch stairs.

  “Thank you, we’re okay here. Grannie Smith said we could sit on the porch until bedtime.”

  The husband nodded and headed back to his own home.

  “What happened, Stephen? Why did you yell out like that?”

  “She’s still there, Robin. She spoke to me. She wants me to take her back to your house.”

  “What are we going to do? That poor baby screamed so loud. Your mother must be hurting her. We can’t let that happen, but you certainly can’t take her back to Austin.”

  Stephen’s shoulders drooped. It would be so much easier if he didn’t believe the woman really was his mother. He didn’t want to cause her to suffer, and she sounded so sad.

  He walked to the edge of the porch and looked up at his old bedroom window. Momma stood there, her hands pressed against the windowpane, her hair a riot of smoky white; her flesh shone with the paleness of death, and her frightened features pleaded for his help.

  Chapter

  81

  In Grannie Smith’s guest room Stephen kept his curtains open and the window ajar. Momma stood across from him in his old bedroom window, staring. Not saying a word and not trying to communicate with her hands, she simply stared at her son.

  “Momma, you hurt me so badly. Daddy has trouble moving around. He can’t play rough with me anymore. I have to be careful when I touch him. Grandma’s gone. Molly’s dead. Aunt Rosemary’s in the hospital, and Robin was so scared that she’d loose her momma. Why do so many people have to suffer?”

  He reached under his pillow and pulled out the wooden goddess.

  “I still have the fat lady. You said she’s very important. She’s not mean like the uglies, but she hasn’t told me what to do about you.” He fingered the figure, rubbing the swollen belly gently as if he had an Aladdin’s Lamp. The belly shined under the dim nightlight. He looked closely at the face of the goddess but it seemed amorphous, the features blurred purposefully by the hand that created the figure. The longer he looked at the face, the more different forms it took. Was she young? Yes, she had smooth skin. Was she old? Yes, her pinprick eyes held wisdom. Was she gentle? The softness of her brow revealed her love and patience. Was she strong? Yes, her firm jaw jutted out in defiance.