The Witch

by Mary Ann Mitchell

  “He’s a good boy. Never gave Cathy any problems. I don’t know why I’m so harsh with him at times,” said Mabel.

  “Rosemary seems to think it’s because he reminds you of Cathy.”

  “Did she say that?”

  “I’m not making it up. He does look a lot like his mother.”

  “So what if he does remind me of Cathy? There has to be some Cathy in him.”

  “But Rosemary said you could be hard on Cathy when she was a child. And from what Cathy told me …”

  Jacob let the thought linger in the air.

  “I exercised a great deal of patience with Cathy. Far more than anyone can believe. She did the opposite of what I wanted her to do.”

  “From what I hear, Cathy didn’t always know what you expected.”

  “It’s true. I wouldn’t tell her what I wanted her to do. I felt like I needed to write a manual for her, because she always did what I didn’t want her to do, even when I was sure she had to know enough to do the right thing.”

  “Like when she got pregnant?” Jacob wondered whether he might be pushing this too far.

  “When Cathy was pregnant with Stephen I was delighted.”

  “I’m not talking about Stephen. You forced her to have an abortion before I met her.”

  “She told you about that?”

  “Why be surprised? Did you think she’d keep it a secret from her own husband?”

  “I was hoping once the baby was gone she’d …”

  “Forget?” Jacob glanced at his mother-in-law.

  “At least keep it a secret. What good did it do to tell you?”

  “I didn’t think less of her, if that’s what you’re saying.”

  “You thought less of me, though, didn’t you?”

  Jacob planned on letting the conversation drop there.

  “Why bring this up now, Jacob? The baby and Cathy are both gone. You and Rosemary don’t gain anything by pointing fingers at me.”

  “More like talking behind your back. Maybe that’s what made me uncomfortable.”

  “Bullshit!”

  The car veered slightly when Jacob turned to look at Mabel.

  “What, you don’t think I know how to curse?”

  “Ah, but can you spell it?”

  “Listen, Cathy hadn’t even finished high school, and I certainly didn’t want to be responsible for raising her bastard child.”

  “Two curse words within five minutes. Is this a record?”

  “Hypocrite. That’s what you think I am.”

  “Now that you brought up the subject. You were the one lecturing me about church. I don’t believe the church approves of abortion.”

  “I teach young children. What do you think the parents of those children would feel about a woman who couldn’t even teach her own children right from wrong?”

  “You pushed Cathy into getting an abortion so you could keep your job?”

  “You have no idea how complicated the situation was.”

  “Yes, I do. You didn’t want to face the embarrassment of having a grandchild out of wedlock.”

  “Jacob, if you’re going to continue like this, I’d rather you didn’t drive me to the school in the morning.”

  “You’re not perfect, Mabel. You didn’t bring up perfect children, and your grandchildren aren’t perfect. Robin has a disease that keeps her in a wheelchair, and Stephen gets into mischief. We all have failings. Live with your own, Mabel, and don’t worry about changing other people.”

  “What did Molly do that was so wrong you couldn’t forgive her, Jacob?”

  “Like I told you, Mabel, you have to stop worrying about everyone else’s sins.”

  “Stephen loves Molly.”

  “I told you he took it surprisingly well.”

  “Did she do something to him?”

  “He hurt his forehead. Not much. Doesn’t even need a Band-Aid.”

  “What was he doing?”

  “Not clear to me, but I know he was under Molly’s supervision at the time.”

  “You should have told me, Jacob.”

  “Why?” Self-satisfied, Jacob pulled over in front of the elementary school.

  “You think I’m intruding again.” “Nah, I know you are.”

  Chapter

  26

  Molly picked up Stephen from school, and both remained silent during the ride home. Stephen spent the entire time staring out the side window, and Molly kept her radio going, even raised the sound level.

  At the front door of the house Molly had a sick feeling she shouldn’t go inside. She wanted to run away, but Stephen couldn’t be trusted to stay by himself. Inside Molly noticed how cold the house felt. Unusually cold. Perhaps the furnace had gone out. Should she go into the basement to check? she wondered. No, she decided they could both keep their jackets on instead. But Stephen didn’t notice the cold; he pulled off his jacket immediately and dropped it on a hall chair.

  “Do you want something to eat?” she asked.

  “No, I’m on a diet.”

  “What for?”

  “I eat only food prepared by Dad now.” He crossed in front of her to enter the living room.

  “You used to always be hungry.”

  “You can’t tell me what to do anymore,” he reminded her as he sat down on the carpet in front of the television.

  “Excuse me, Stephen. I’m not about to force food down your throat, but I am still in charge until your father gets home this evening.”

  Stephen sat in silence for a few minutes.

  “Why do my father and mother not like you?”

  “I never had any problems with your mother. She hired me.”

  “But she doesn’t like you anymore.”

  “Let’s not talk about your mother.”

  “Are you afraid of her?”

  Molly walked past the living room to the kitchen. The counter had cereal boxes and breakfast dishes sprawled across the tiles. She spotted a container of milk that had been left out on the table. She lifted the container, and despite the coldness of the house the container felt warm. She popped open the container and smelled the contents. Since the milk didn’t smell sour she returned it to the refrigerator.

  “You didn’t answer my question, Molly.”

  Startled, Molly almost dropped the container. She placed the milk on a wire shelf and searched for something to eat.

  “You can have the leftover chili if you want,” Stephen said.

  “It’s from your favorite restaurant. Is this a parting gift from you to me?”

  Stephen walked over to Molly and pushed her aside to reach inside the refrigerator. He lifted out the brown bag containing the chili and carried it off to the waste can where he disposed of it.

  “Don’t eat it. It’s not good for you,” he said.

  Molly slammed the refrigerator shut and declared she could wait until she got home.

  He left the kitchen. She heard his feet swiftly climb the stairs. When he returned he carried the wolf mask and costume.

  “I can’t wear this,” he said presenting the items to Molly.

  “I don’t want them back. What am I going to do with them? Toss them in with the chili if you like.”

  Molly walked past him and plopped herself down on the living room sofa. Fifteen minutes later Stephen entered the living room, still carrying the mask and costume.

  “Please take them away, Molly. I can’t wear them and I can’t throw them out. Momma won’t let me. She says you have to take them. She’ll be angry with me if you don’t.” Tears brimmed his eyes.

  “Why does she want me to take them?”

  “‘Cause you made them. She doesn’t want me accepting gifts from you.”

  “Stephen, you have to tell your father about the basement. I don’t know whether that snake act was a trick, but you have to let your father know how you feel about your mother.”

  “Please, Molly. Momma says if I keep them I might be tempted to wear the costume on Halloween. Maybe she�
�s right. I do think it’s neat.” He stroked the furry costume.

  “Your mother wouldn’t have acted this way before.”

  “She’s different now. She’s mad.”

  “Like crazy?”

  “No. Momma’s not looney. She doesn’t like anything.”

  “Including you?”

  “She says she loves me but needs my help.”

  “To do what?”

  Stephen shrugged.

  “Come here.”

  Clutching the costume he walked over to Molly who lifted him up onto her lap for a hug.

  “I’ll take the costume. I’m sorry you won’t wear it on Halloween because I would have been very proud to see you in it. But if it makes you unhappy to have the costume, then I’ll take it back home with me. I’ll keep it until after Halloween. If you change your mind I’ll bring it back to you.”

  “I don’t think Momma will change her mind.”

  “I said if you changed your mind, Stephen. I don’t care what your mother thinks. Do you understand?”

  “Is that why she doesn’t like you now?”

  Molly smiled at him.

  “That and maybe … But never mind. This is our last afternoon together; why don’t we play some games?”

  “Ladders,” Stephen shouted.

  Chapter

  27

  Jacob paid Molly an extra week’s wages since she had been forced to leave on short notice. She refused the money, but Jacob insisted, saying she had been worth every penny. She wanted to slap the smirk off his face, but Stephen stood by Jacob’s side.

  “Goodbye, Molly,” Stephen said. His sad eyes could barely look her in the face.

  “How about a kiss?” She squatted so Stephen could give her a final hug and kiss.

  “Hey, you two will be seeing each other around. No one is moving out of town as far as I know,” said Jacob.

  “Your father’s right,” she said, giving Stephen a final kiss on the nose.

  As she walked over the threshold she kept wanting to turn back and tell Jacob about the fears his son had and how he insisted his mother had returned. But Stephen would make a scene and Jacob would think she merely wanted to make trouble. Perhaps she could write a letter, but no, Jacob would probably toss it in the garbage.

  Molly knew Stephen’s grandmother taught at the local elementary school. That might be the answer. She had only met the grandmother once, but it was worth a shot, even though the grandmother looked very schoolmarmish and might not take kindly to being told her daughter was a witch.

  Molly threw the costume on the passenger seat and sat down behind the steering wheel. Jacob had worked late, and no moon lit up the night. She turned on the car’s bright lights since she didn’t expect to encounter much traffic on the way home. When she adjusted the rearview mirror she spotted Stephen at the living room window. Instinctively he must have known she saw him because he gave a weak wave to her. She stuck her hand out the open window and waved back.

  There had to be a way to help Stephen. Jacob should have gotten the child therapy right after his mother’s death. Stephen had been pathologically close to his mother, and given the circumstances, any child would need some professional help.

  She pulled out of the driveway and closed her side window. Driving at night made her nervous. Not only did she worry about thieves, murderers, and rapists, but her vision seemed poorer at night. The trees along the road leaned too far in over the car, their bulky stumps standing grimly on each side, daring her to lose the slightest bit of control of the steering wheel.

  Quickly she lowered her brights when she saw another car rounding the bend. She wished the town would invest in street lamps. A few more stop lights would help also.

  A low, steady, deep sound hummed in the background.

  “Please don’t let it be the car,” she whispered to herself.

  A chill in the air forced her to turn on the heater. Usually at this time of the year she wouldn’t ordinarily need to, but her hands felt almost numb. Initially more cold air blew out at her. After a block, when it didn’t get any warmer, she sped up hoping to get home sooner.

  Something moved against her right thigh. Only a slight movement, but enough to attract her attention. Looking next to her she saw that the costume, mask included, had fallen to the floor.

  The car went over a bump, but Molly thought she might have run over some animal, because the car filled up with a foul odor. She wrinkled her nose and tried to open the windows, but the electrical system didn’t work.

  “Damn! Don’t give out on me now,” she said to the car. “We only have another few miles to go. You can make it.”

  A growl sound came from under the dashboard.

  The traffic light turned red, and she stepped on the brake, hoping the car wouldn’t stall. No one walked the streets. Men, women, and children were either home in bed or watching late night television.

  Something flicked against her right calf; looking down she caught the movement of the tail on the costume.

  “What the heck?” She peered down on the floor but could see only a furry ball of fiber. There seemed to be a sudden sheen to the cloth, and in the shadows the mask looked filled out, the snout longer, the ears perked forward; even the eye holes caught the reflection of light coming from someplace. The costume pulsed with deep breaths.

  Molly recalled the episode with the black snake in the basement. Stephen’s mother hated her. As she reached for the door a full-grown wolf sprang from the floor; its hot, stale breath struck her face before the teeth sunk into her flesh.

  Chapter

  28

  The cruel witch took away all of Brandy’s games. He had beaten her once too often in Poker. Why, she had even considered mortgaging her home, except the bank didn’t seem very interested in using her house for collateral.

  “Dad, what’s colla … whatever?” asked Stephen.

  “It means that the bank would loan the witch money to pay off the debts she owed to Brandy, and if she couldn’t repay the bank, then the bank would take away her house.”

  “That doesn’t sound very nice.”

  “We’re talking banks here, son.”

  “From now on we’ll make up our own games,” said the witch.

  “You mean you’ll decide what the rules are, don’t you?” asked Brandy.

  “I’ve been very nice to you. I’m still waiting for that stupid wart to grow. It never gets bigger.”

  “Ah, it was probably just a piece of dirt you saw.”

  “No!” screamed the witch. “I’ve been using warts for years. I know what they look like.”

  “You said yourself that you could barely see it.”

  The witch scratched her dirty hair.

  “Let me see the hands.” The witch moved closer to Brandy to peer between the bars.

  “What hands?”

  The witch jumped up and down.

  “Your hands, fool. I want to see your hands.”

  “Why should I show them to you?”

  “Because I want your wart.”

  “Dad, didn’t the witch want to use Brandy’s whole hand?”

  “He talked her out of it. Yes, he did. Brandy could have been a salesman.”

  “That’s what the witch thought he was when he first knocked on her door.”

  “Actually, he’s a student.”

  “Like me?”

  “A little further along. A college student.”

  “That’s why he wanted the giant spider.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What if I want to keep my wart?” Brandy asked.

  “Why would you want to do that?” asked the witch.

  “I would have asked him that too, Dad. There’s a boy at school who has a big wart on his thumb.”

  “Oh, I hope no one makes fun of him.”

  “No, he draws funny faces on it. Some of the other kids think it’s cool, but I don’t.”

  “Maybe I want to cast my own spells,” says Brandy.

&n
bsp; “Don’t know how.” The witch stood as tall as she could and folded her arms across her chest, raising her chin high into the air.

  “I’ve been watching you. It doesn’t seem difficult to cast spells. A little wiggle of the nose. A snap of the fingers. A wave of a hand. Or even some muttered gibberish words under one’s breath, and poof.” Brandy clapped his hands. “Spell complete.”

  “Not that simple,” said the witch. “Takes years to know what to use and say. I have many books upstairs.”

  “I’ve never seen you read from a book.”

  “Have it all memorized.”

  “Then you don’t need the books anymore,” said Brandy. “Why don’t you bring some down here for me to read, for I often get bored.”

  “She’d have to be a really stupid witch, Dad.”

  “I never called her a scholar.”

  “What’s a schla?” asked Stephen.

  “Scholar,” corrected Jacob. “A scholar is someone who is very smart.”

  “Is Brandy a schol-ar?”

  “He was captured by the witch. That does put his smartness into question. Let’s say he’s a so-so student.”

  “I’m better than that, right, Dad?”

  “I’d say you were closer to scholar.”

  Stephen grinned broadly and Jacob smiled back.

  “The witch said, ‘If you’re good I might bring one book down for you to read.’ “

  “And which one would it be?” asked Brandy.

  “WITCH ZELDA’S BOOK OF MANNERS,” said the witch.

  “I doubt you’ve ever read it,” said Brandy.

  “Don’t need to. I’m a witch.”

  “Isn’t it written for witches?”

  “No. For prisoners.”

  “A manners book for prisoners? Isn’t that silly? Why should a prisoner have good manners?”

  “Why should a witch? Besides, it will explain how you must provide warts.”

  “Even if I don’t have any?”

  “It’s there! It’s there!” shouted the witch while jumping up and down.

  “She sure throws a lot of tantrums, Dad. She’s worse than me.”

  “Than I,” corrected Jacob.

  “I never saw you throw a tantrum, Dad.”

  “No, Stephen. If you’re going to be a scholar you have to learn proper English. She’s worse than I, not she’s worse than me.”