Sea-Witch

by JE Hunter

CHAPTER SIX

  Riding over the rocky waves was wet and uncomfortable. I gazed at Grandma with loathing; she was nice and dry under the captain's cabin. I could have ridden in there with her, but I had no desire to be that close to her. Instead, I sat in the rain, which grew colder with each wave we sailed over. The water drenched my hair, plastering it to my face. Unfortunately, I'd stuffed my hat into my backpack before the boat ride, for fear of losing it, and was left with nothing to cover my head.

  I saw the island long before we reached it. More people than Grandma called it home—though I'd never met any of them. All I knew about the island was that it was isolated, remote, and uncivilized. As we neared the stony shore, all I saw were trees. We sailed around to the far side, passing nothing but dark green wilderness on our way. Just as I began to wonder if Grandma was a crazy bush lady who didn't even have a house, I saw it.

  Set back about fifty meters from the shoreline, in a tiny little cove with a small crescent beach, was a house built from golden logs that were stacked horizontally for two-stories. The house was topped with a pointed green roof that blended in with the Douglas firs towering above it, surrounding it on three sides. A long, wooden porch stretched across the front, sheltering the red door that sat in the middle. There was a large picture window on either side of the door. Above the porch were three second-story windows, each a perfect square. Looking up at them, I wondered which one would be mine. I wondered how often I'd sit at the window writing emails to Marnie and how long I'd sit there waiting for her reply.

  Grandma nestled the boat up to a chubby, weather-worn, wooden dock. I looked down the road of worn wood and followed it to a hard-packed path leading across a small beach in front of the house and up to the door. I looked at my new home and the forest that surrounded it with dismay; there was nowhere else to go.

  Grandma stepped out of the captain's cabin, tossing a rope over the side of the boat. It was strange how the boat didn't rock at all; it stayed tight to the dock without either of us holding on. Then it dawned on me: could she be using her powers to hold the boat steady while she debarked?

  “Grab your bags and follow me. You can settle in while I prepare supper.” Once she finished securing the ship to the metal loop bolted to the weathered dock, she turned and headed into the house. Immediately, the boat began rocking, and I scrambled to pick up one of my three suitcases, all of which had been soaked on the journey. I placed my largest suitcase on the dock, and then hopped over the side of the boat just as an unusually large wave rocked it. I stumbled onto the dock and looked up at Grandma, she was halfway to the front door and hadn't looked back, but I watched her closely anyway; she’d already tried to drown me once today.

  I gripped the plastic handle of my suitcase tightly and took a deep breath, thinking back to my conversation with Marnie: things could only get better from here. Once I made it through my stay on the island-of-crazy-people, I was going to treat myself to one hell of a shopping spree. I nodded my head and moved forward, suitcase in hand. I could handle this; situations like this were why they'd invented social networking.

  I walked up the path and the three steps that led to the veranda. The red door creaked when I opened it, and sprang shut behind me, almost catching my suitcase. The house smelled of cinnamon and apples. For one bright moment I thought Grandma had baked an apple pie. Then I saw the scented candle sitting on a small wooden table in the front hall. Grandma was impatiently flipping through white envelopes that she had pulled from a basket on the same table.

  “Hurry up,” she said, not even glancing at me.

  Slipping off my shoes, I looked around. The front hall led straight to the back of the house. The walls were constructed from natural, polished wooden panels. There were two doorways on my right, and one doorway to my immediate left—before the staircase that led to the second floor. Directly inline with the front door was another red door that exited out the back of the house.

  “The kitchen's back and to your left.” Grandma nodded past the staircase and pointed to the doorway underneath it. “The door across from it leads to the main floor bedroom which has the only washroom on this floor. The washer and dryer are out the back door, in a small auxiliary building. The fireplace is in the library to your immediate right. It’s the only fireplace in the house, but heating ducts provide heat throughout. That's the living room.” Grandma nodded at the room directly to my left. She dropped the envelopes back into the basket and headed up the stairs.

  I peaked into the living room as I passed it. The room had an old-fashioned square television pushed into a wood paneled wall, a long, comfortable looking, grey coloured couch and a matching reclining chair. I didn’t have time to inspect the main floor any further before following Grandma up the stairs to the second story. The bare wooden floor creaked as we went up each step. My suitcase thumped loudly against the staircase as I dragged it up. At the top of the stairs, Grandma turned a one-eighty, heading toward the front of the house.

  “This will be your room,” she said, stopping in front of the last door on the right, directly above the living room. “There's a private bathroom in there; it should be supplied with everything you need, except for hot water. My room’s across the hall. You're never to set foot in there.”

  “Whoa, wait,” I said. “What do you mean everything’s supplied but hot water?”

  Grandma blinked, tilting her head to the right. “You're a sea-witch, Nessa. You can heat your own water. It saves on solar power.”

  “But–”

  “If having hot showers is something that matters to you, you'll learn quickly.”

  “But–”

  “It works just like asking for your hat, only this time you're asking for hot water. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm getting hungry.” I opened my mouth to say something to her: to yell, scream, or growl, but nothing came out. I was speechless. How could Mom exile me to a place that didn't even have hot water? It wasn't just unfair—it was cruel.

  I stared at the entrance to my new bedroom in silence. The door was a rich chocolate color and much darker than the wood that made up the rest of the house. It was completely different from the thin, almost brittle, white door that had contained my bedroom back in suburbia. I took a deep breath, counting to three before exhaling, and then I did it again, taking in the faint scent of fireplace smoke. Once I'd taken ten deep breaths, I reached out with a trembling hand and twisted the knob.

  The door swung open with a creaky hello, stopping halfway. All I could see of the room was the square window I’d noticed from outside. Through the glass, I could see the trees and ocean beyond. Even in the misty rain it was a breathtakingly beautiful sight—though one I would have preferred to see in pictures.

  I stepped past the invisible line that marked my new life. I headed straight for the window, staring at the rolling, hypnotic waves. I placed my purse and suitcase at my feet, resting my hands on the windowsill. The window was large, bigger than my arm span in both height and width. I looked for the latch and found it at the bottom of the right pane. I opened it wide, welcoming the fresh scent of sea air.

  I took a deep breath and turned around.

  My new bedroom was a complete disaster.

  Crammed into the back, left corner of the room was a small bookshelf full of dusty western novels. Stretching out from the middle of the wall opposite the window was a decent-sized double bed covered with an ugly, orange plaid comforter. A gigantic, brown bear rug hung on the wall above the bed. To my left hung a disgusting, faded painting of a rhinoceros. A doorway in the right corner of the room, at almost a right angle to the door I’d come in through, led to the bathroom. The rest of the room—the polished wooden floor and walls, the tarnished closet door handles, an old-fashioned desk, a three-drawer dresser—was completely covered in dust. Obviously, Grandma hadn’t been in the room for years. Possibly since my grandfather passed away—and I hadn't even been alive when that had happened.

  I took a deep breath. I exhaled.


  “Agh!” I ran over to the bookshelf, grabbed an armful books and walked out of the room. “Agh!” I tossed the dusty paperbacks over the banister. They landed with a satisfying smack on the floor below. Once I finished tossing all of the books, I picked up the comforter, the bear rug, and the ugly painting and tossed each one out. I growled with effort as I pushed the furniture around the room, stirring up the thick layer of dust on the floor. I coughed and sneezed. I got rid of everything I didn't want, everything that was ugly and dirty and gross. Once the room was organized, I checked out the bathroom, which thankfully turned out to be devoid of ugly paintings and knick-knacks.

  The last part of the room I inspected was the closet. It was small, full of hideous yellow rain gear and more ugly wildlife paintings, all of which I tossed over the banister. The only thing I kept was a red plaid jacket that was five sizes too big, but was so comfortable and warm that I couldn’t resist.

  Once everything was out of the room, I marched downstairs and found a broom, a mop, and a couple of rags. I used them all to give the room a good wash. Only once the room was acceptably clean did I open my suitcase and take out some of my belongings. Right on top of all my clothes was the sculpture I’d taken from Dad’s bedside table. I unwrapped it from the sweater I’d used to protect it, and then placed the blue moon and star in the middle of the dresser where I could easily see it from my bed. The sweater I folded up and put on top of my pillow.

  The next thing to come out of my suitcase was a photo album. I took it out and carried it over to the bed, flipping it open and looking at the smiling faces within before realizing that instead of being comforting, looking at the album was an upsetting reminder of everything I’d lost and left behind. I carefully closed the black, leather bound album and placed it beside the sculpture on my dresser, and then I unpacked my clothes.

  Half an hour later, my first suitcase was empty. I was tired and dirty, but I still had to finish cleaning up. I put on the red plaid jacket I'd found and took the scummy water and rags downstairs. I hauled the clump of discarded room furnishings to the back of the house. Grandma could deal with it now that it was out of my room.

  I headed out to the boat where the two suitcases I hadn't brought up to my room were waiting. They were both sopping wet from the mist and waves, but at least they were in one piece. As I hauled them onto the dock, I noticed the sea had turned dark grey. The rolling waves captivated me; they rose and fell like the chest of a sleeping giant. I stared, like someone in a trance, and for the first time in my life I felt a strange kinship with the ocean; it was broad, vast, and most of all it was alone—like me. I shivered as a gust of wind blew in off the water. A large wave crashed against the tall, rocky outcrop to my left. I turned from the water, shifting my attention to the suitcases that desperately needed to get out of the wet weather. I hauled them inside, dragged them into the reading room and dropped them beside the fireplace, which was now roaring with heat. Then I left the warmth of the house, still huddled underneath the red plaid jacket I'd found in my closet, and walked down the beach to the outcrop of black rock. I scrambled up the small escarpment. At the top was a beautiful perch that gave me a great view of the ocean.

  I sat down, breathing a sigh of relief. Being outside felt much better than being trapped in my—temporary—new home. I let the ocean pull me into a relaxed state. Once some of my anger and frustration had been washed away, I looked around. The island curved away to my right. The towering trees whispered in the rain. The island was an isolated pinnacle of crashing waves and crazy old ladies. Why would anyone choose to live here? I watched the ocean bump and sway until I was soaked through and shivering. Just when I decided I was cold enough, and was about to head back to the house, I heard someone approach.

  “Finally, I’ve found the new girl.”

  I turned. Behind me, climbing up the rocks, was a girl with shoulder length, dark brown hair, peaking out from under a toque. Her eyes were dark—almost black—and slightly too big for her small head.

  “It couldn’t have been that hard—it isn’t like there’s anywhere to go,” I said.

  “There are a lot of places to go if you know where to look.” The girl sat down beside me. Like me, she was wearing jeans and sneakers, but she was smart enough to also be wearing a navy windbreaker that repelled the misty rain, and brown, knitted mitts that matched her toque. “I'm Colleen. My mom's at your house helping Shannon with dinner. Apparently, you're so difficult your grandma had to call in the forces.”

  “Well, she could’ve just left me in Surrey; I'm sure we'd both be happier if I hadn't been dragged here.” I picked up a small rock lying near my left shoe, tossing it into the water ten feet below.

  “How could you not want to come out here? The island’s beautiful.” She paused, cocked her head to the side and stared at me like a cockatoo. “I think the city's ugly. I don't know why anyone would choose to live in a world full of concrete.”

  I didn't say anything. I picked up another rock and tossed it into the ocean.

  “So...”

  “So...” Peaking over at her, I saw she was still staring at me.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” She asked.

  “Talk about what?” I picked up another rock, throwing it just as another wave crashed against the rocky outcrop we were sitting on, sending up a spray of white foam.

  “About being a sea-witch. Your grandma said she just told you on the drive out here. I couldn't believe it when she said you didn't know anything about our world or the island.”

  Curiously, I looked at her, taking in her brown hair that was almost the same colour my hair had been three days ago. “Are you a sea-witch too?”

  Colleen giggled. “A sea-witch? No. You have to have red hair to be a sea-witch. I'm a selkie.”

  I flushed, feeling stupid. “What's a selkie?”

  Colleen looked at me, her dark eyes twinkled and her small, round face lit up. “You don't know what a selkie is? That's so cool. I've never got to tell anyone before—everyone on the island could tell I was selkie just by looking at me and I'm not allowed to tell the humans.” She stood up, smiled, and then started taking off her clothes: first her hat, then her mitts, then her jacket and shirt.

  “Whoa. Whoa, what are you doing?” I held up my hand as if it would stop her.

  “I'm showing you what a selkie is. Watch.”

  “Watch what?” All I saw was a very quick, momentary flash of flesh melting downward until all that was left was a seal covered in fur the exact same colour Colleen's hair had been.

  The seal barked, standing up on its hind legs, clapping its flippers together. I gasped as the seal launched itself off the rocks and into the water.

  “Wow,” I said. The seal—Colleen—popped her head out of the water and began clapping. I shook my head and squeezed my eyes shut. I'm crazy. I'm officially crazy. This is not real. I opened my eyes. The seal was still swimming in the water and Colleen's clothes were still beside me on the rocks. The seal barked again and then dove under a large, foamy white wave and out of sight. A few seconds later, Colleen popped up in the waves.

  Smiling brightly at me, she tossed back her head of wet hair and asked, “What do you think?”

  “That someone should lock me in a mental ward.”

  Laughing, she began to step out of the water—naked.

  I turned my head away.

  “I'm really the first shape-shifter you've ever seen?”

  “I…I’m pretty sure you are, but considering I thought you were a normal girl two minutes ago, it’s kind of hard to say.” I stared at the horizon while I waited for Colleen to climb back up the rocks and get dressed. “But I have never, ever, seen anyone change into a seal right in front of my eyes.”

  “That's awesome.” I heard her pick up her jeans, shaking the dirt off them. “So you really didn’t know that magic exists?”

  “Nope.”

  “Did you dream about magic existing?’

  “N
ot really,” I muttered.

  “What about vampires, do you believe in them?”

  I turned my head quickly, before asking if she was fully dressed. Luckily, she was. I said, “Are they real?”

  Colleen burst out laughing. “No. At least…not as far as I know, but sometimes I think it would be pretty cool. The scariest being that exists in the Neptunian world is the Kurage—an invisible jellyfish—and even that’s supposed to be just a myth.”

  “An invisible jellyfish? That doesn’t sound very scary at all.” I pulled down on the cuffs of my jacket to shelter my hands from the wet spray.

  “A poisonous, evil, deadly, invisible jellyfish. But like I said, it’s just a myth. Although I suppose where you come from people think that creatures like me are a myth as well.”

  “Magic isn’t exactly considered real, that’s for sure.”

  “So you've never met a Neptunian?”

  That was the second time I’d heard her use that word. “What’s a Neptunian?”

  “A Neptunian is a creature that's blessed by the sea, like you and me.”

  “Well...I’d met my grandma before…but I didn’t know she was a witch, or Neptunian, or Neptunian-witch, or whatever.”

  Colleen sat down facing me, crossing her legs and leaning forward. With a single nod of her head, she encouraged me to do the same, as if we'd been best friends forever. “So, what was it like?”

  I shook my head; this girl was the strangest person I'd ever met. “What was what like?”

  “Being normal, not knowing that Neptunians exist, what was it like?”

  I exhaled loudly. “Oh. That.”

  Colleen nodded, her eyes blinking as she waited breathlessly for my answer.

  “Well...it was normal.”

  “What? That doesn’t tell me anything.

  “Well, I don't really know what you want to know.”

  Colleen sighed. “Did you like it? The city?”

  I shrugged, looking back at the ocean. “I love the city. But it doesn’t matter now. I'm stuck here.”

  “Well, I think you'll like it here. I love it. And before you say I don't know any different—because I know you’re going to say that—let me add that when I turned thirteen I became the worst teenager in the world. I refused to shape-shift to the point where I was making myself sick. I demanded my parents take me to the big city—which I'd seen on the television a hundred times. I just wanted to be normal. They said they'd take me to Vancouver for a week if I shifted, and to their word they did. We stayed in a normal hotel, in a normal part of the city, and I got to go to a normal mall, and a normal movie theater, and a normal bowling alley, and worst of all, a normal beach. By the third day I was crying because all I wanted was my own private beach and to be free to shapeshift again.”

  I looked at my feet. “You didn't like anything about the city then?”

  Colleen’s eyes were twinkling and she had a silly grin on her face. “Sure. There was one thing. Come back with me to the house for supper and I'll tell you.” Colleen popped up onto her feet, springing down the rocky outcrop with agility I could only envy.

  “Okay.” I stood up, dusting off my jeans before following her back to the house.

  “What was it?” I asked when we reached the front door. “What was the one thing that was better about the city?”

  “The city had better boys.” She laughed, brushing her wet hair back. “Unless you like pirates that is,” she added just before disappearing into the house.