by Dan Dillard
*****
We got to the end of the street and saw her house. Erin stopped first and we exchanged glances, measuring our courage. We recited the poem, the charm that took away her power, at least in our minds. I hoped it worked without Kevin and Jason.
“Eunice Stubbins, Devil Woman, never shows her face. Those who see her disappear, gone without a trace. She smells of death and wears all black and sits alone at home, on cushions made of children’s skin and furniture of bone.”
It was the last time, to my knowledge, any of us ever said it out loud.
Once confident the spell had done all the magic it could do, we walked across Rutledge, across the sidewalk where Jason and Kevin had confronted Rollie the lawn-guy and stood right there in the middle of her yard. I waved Erin and Adam to the other side of the porch. Adam was already crying.
“I feel like she’s watching us,” Erin said.
“Let her,” I said. “I’ll go first. You two stay behind, in case something happens—or if I find something. You can call the police over to help me.”
Erin opened her mouth to argue, but I counted aloud, interrupting her in a whisper.
“One,” I said.
They each took a deep breath and ducked back behind the porch, the old oak tree a skeleton hand behind them.
“Two,” I said.
I shifted my feet, ready to spring.
“Three!”
I ran. Once on the porch, the old boards creaked under my weight. I reached for the knob but the front door was already opening. There, in all black stood the devil herself.
Erin and Adam screamed. Then they sprinted for all they were worth. I faced the monster alone and that was fine with me. She looked at me with one bushy gray eyebrow raised on her impossibly wrinkled brow.
At least a hundred years old. Not a minute less.
