The Red Witch
Page 7
world flashed. Elena was now back at the villa where the kids were partying. Maybe it was the sudden fierce thunderstorm that brought her around, left to stare in wonder. Fire exploded into an elemental wall of purifying destruction. She didn’t hear the screams for a long time. She looked in stunned amazement as she realized they were all trapped within the villa. There was no escaping the conflagration as explosions were heard within the house.
A rustling to her left distracted her. She saw the flash of red out of the corner of her eye before she turned her head. The figure stood beside her, eternal yet broken. The hood concealed the face. The fire momentarily forgotten, Elena stared. Her silent companion stood still for a long time. The continual screams broke into her consciousness. She looked at the fire, not quite comprehending. When she turned again to the figure beside her, it faced her. The hood fell back and revealed a gaunt and withered face of a soul in eternal suffering and wrath. The smile was skeletal, and its hand reached out as if wanting to hold Elena’s hand. Elena’s right hand curled reflexively, and she realized she was holding something. Looking down, her fingers opened to reveal the red-cloaked doll. The palm wood figure was gone, replaced by a bloody shard of bone.
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Christine Lee Frost received a BA from UMass Boston in 1994, a certificate in communications and publishing from Harvard Extension in 2002, and a master’s in literature and creative writing from Harvard Extension in 2008. An editor by day and an avid researcher and writer by night, she lives in the Boston area.
Find me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/#!/Shahrazad1001
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