Thistle While You Work: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Short

by Amanda M. Lee

“I … don’t know. I want to hear the truth.”

  “The truth is I was going to let you stew out there until you’d had enough and walked home on your own,” Aunt Tillie said. “You’ve always had a stubborn streak. It’s annoying.”

  “People say I get that from you.”

  “That’s why it’s annoying.” Aunt Tillie flashed a smile. “You always fight the most with the one you see in the mirror.”

  I couldn’t be sure, but that sounded like an insult. “I don’t look anything like you. Clove is the one who resembles you.”

  “I heard that,” Clove barked.

  “You should be so lucky to look like me,” Aunt Tillie shot back. “I’m so awesome to look at I could be a model … and not one of those fake ones on America’s Next Top Model either. I could be a real one.”

  “Yes. You could do it professionally,” I drawled. “If you wanted to leave me in the woods, how did you end up looking for me?”

  “Your mother noticed you were gone,” Aunt Tillie answered. “I overestimated her attachment to you, and it backfired on me.”

  I furrowed my brow, confused. “You overestimated her attachment to me? She’s my mother. Of course she’s attached.”

  “I love your mother, but let’s not lose our heads about her capacity for thinking,” Aunt Tillie said. “She’s screwy. She loses track of time and people. Quite frankly, I’m surprised she didn’t lose you ten times when you were a kid. You were generally too smart to get lost, so you saved yourself there.”

  “So … what? Did she notice I was gone and you had to ’fess up or something?”

  Aunt Tillie nodded. “That’s pretty much what happened. She pitched a fit. I found you. You cried. You whined. You threatened to make me pay. It was a normal day in the Winchester household.”

  “Did I ever make you pay?”

  Aunt Tillie grinned despite the serious situation. “I believe there was an incident with some shaving cream, a whoopee cushion and some chocolate sprinkles.”

  I shook my head. “I have no memory of this.”

  “That’s probably because I planted a suggestion for you to forget it,” Aunt Tillie supplied. “You spent three days trying to pay me back and got more and more daring with each attempt.”

  “So you modified my memory?” I was horrified.

  “You know that’s not possible,” Aunt Tillie chided. “I merely planted a hypnotic suggestion that you forget the trauma. I gave you caramel apples – your favorite – to anchor it. Within twenty-four hours you were back to yourself. After that, when you threatened retribution it was for normal stuff.”

  “But … that’s not fair,” I protested. “You messed with my head.”

  Aunt Tillie didn’t look perturbed by the charge. “Uh-huh. And what happened to that teacher who caught you skipping school when you were fourteen and threatened to call your mother?”

  My cheeks colored as her weighted gaze landed on me. “I … how did you know about that?” I remembered the incident well. My middle school math teacher caught me screwing around on smoker’s corner and threatened to call my mother. Rather than deal with it, I did the same thing Aunt Tillie did: I used a bit of magic to suggest my teacher forget where she saw me. In truth, memory spells are frowned upon. In practice, I might’ve cast one or two over my tempestuous teenage years. Never for big things, mind you, but I was a master at getting out of little things for a time.

  “Because I’m not an idiot and you had a guilty conscience for days,” Aunt Tillie replied. “I thought it was kind of funny. For the record, I removed the suggestion and then told your teacher we already knew.”

  I stilled. “You lied for me and kept me from getting punished? That sounds nothing like you.”

  “The guilt was punishment enough,” Aunt Tillie countered. “That’s your biggest fault. It’s not the mouth or the snarky attitude – although those give me constant headaches. The guilt is another thing. You take too much on your shoulders occasionally. It’s not healthy.”

  “But this was my fault,” I reminded her. “I was supposed to be watching Annie. I failed Belinda.”

  “You can’t watch one person every moment of every day,” Aunt Tillie argued. “Annie made the first mistake, and we need to be clear on that when we talk to her. Once she’s settled, she needs to see that she did wrong, but that she wasn’t taken as a form of punishment.

  “This woman – this devil who is going to wish she never met me – she did wrong,” she continued. “She’s the one who needs to pay.”

  “No killing,” Landon called out. I hadn’t even realized he was listening to the conversation.

  “I’m not a murderer,” Aunt Tillie barked.

  “I’m just reminding you of your promise,” Landon said, inclining his chin toward the sphere. “It’s moving east.”

  “Then let’s follow,” I said. “It’s cold, and I want to get this over with.”

  “I’m pretty sure that can be said for all of us,” Aunt Tillie said. “We’re almost there. I can feel it.”

  “WHAT IN the … ?”

  Landon extended his hand as we crested a hill, instinctively pushing Bay behind him as a small house popped into view. I was expecting a shack, to be honest. The way Annie described it made me think of a small hunting lodge or something equally tiny and decrepit. The dwelling in front of us wasn’t overly large but it certainly wasn’t a shack. That didn’t mean it looked like a nice place to live.

  “What a hole,” Aunt Tillie muttered, narrowing her eyes as she stepped to the right and glanced around the side of the house.

  “It looks as if the roof is caving in,” Clove noted. “It hasn’t been painted in years. The front porch is sagging. Look, there’s a driveway. How could someone have a driveway out here when there are no roads?”

  I followed Clove’s finger with my eyes, the sound of rushing water helping things slide into place. “This is the Black River,” I said. “There is a road out here. What’s it called again? Kettledrum Road, right? It’s dirt and you can barely get up and down it in the winter. I don’t think they bother clearing it after it snows any longer.”

  “How can someone live out here if they don’t clear the road in the winter?” Clove asked. “We get, like, eighty feet of snow every year.”

  “We get closer to twelve feet of snow,” Aunt Tillie corrected. “You’re always such an exaggerator.”

  Clove crossed her arms over her chest, miffed. “That’s not true. I’m an honest person.”

  “Yes, but you exaggerate,” Aunt Tillie said. “You can’t seem to help yourself. It’s in your nature … and it’s not a lie to you because you convince yourself it’s the truth.”

  Clove narrowed her eyes. “You take that back. It’s not true.”

  “Listen, kvetch, I don’t have time to deal with your issues,” Aunt Tillie said, brushing past Clove and focusing on the house. “We have a kidnapper on the premises, and Thistle’s guilt is almost enough to eat me alive. We’ll deal with your issues next week.”

  Clove’s mouth dropped open as she turned to me. “Can you believe she said that to me?”

  “She’s not wrong,” I shot back.

  “She’s really not,” Bay added. “Focus on the house, Clove. We’ll talk about your kvetch tendencies later.”

  “You’re all on my list,” Clove snapped, extending a finger. “Live in fear.”

  Aunt Tillie chuckled and patted Clove’s wrist. “Thanks for that. I needed a good laugh.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “That’s what makes it even funnier,” Aunt Tillie said. “So, copper, how do you want to handle this? I was thinking you could go around the back and I’ll kick in the front door and scare her in your direction.”

  Landon’s expression was incredulous. “You didn’t really expect me to agree to that plan, did you?”

  “It’s a totally good plan,” Aunt Tillie complained. “I’ve got great hostage negotiation skills. I could do it professionally.”

 
; Landon made a disgusted face. “What hostage?”

  “Oh, you’re absolutely no fun,” Aunt Tillie complained. “Tell me, oh wise one, what’s the best way to deal with this?”

  “Well, I was thinking that I could go up to the door and knock,” Landon said, adopting a patronizing tone. “I know that’s a little wacky and outside of the box, but I think it might work.”

  “Ugh. You’re so boring.” Aunt Tillie made a face that would’ve been comical under different circumstances. “You cannot be on my team when the zombie apocalypse hits. You’re too much of a rule follower to survive.”

  Landon scowled. “I would rock the crap out of the zombie apocalypse. I would be Daryl Dixon.”

  “Oh, I’m Daryl,” Aunt Tillie said. “You can be … Eugene.”

  “Eugene?” Landon was affronted. “I’m nothing like Eugene.”

  “You have the same haircut.”

  Landon crossed his arms over his chest and locked gazes with Bay. “I do not have a mullet. Tell her I don’t have a mullet.”

  “I love your hair.” Bay took on a placating tone as she patted his forearm and glanced at me. “I’m thinking you and I should go to the door and handle initial introductions.”

  “I think that’s a good idea,” I said, pretending I didn’t notice the furious look on Aunt Tillie’s face. “We’re the calmest ones here.”

  “What about me?” Clove whined.

  “You have to babysit Landon and Aunt Tillie,” Bay said, skirting Landon’s hand when he playfully attempted to swat her rear end. “Someone needs to make sure they don’t eat too much sugar or pull each other’s hair or something.”

  “Ha, ha,” Landon huffed, shaking his head. “You’re not going up there alone. I’m the FBI agent. I’ll knock on the door.”

  “You do that,” Aunt Tillie agreed. “While you’re attacking from the front, I’ll handle the back. She won’t get away from me.”

  “I just said … .” Landon was close to losing his temper but he didn’t get a chance to lay down the law because the front door of the cabin popped open. Everyone shifted their eyes to the front porch – to the woman standing on it with a blank look on her face – and my heart fell to my stomach when I recognized her.

  “Is that the woman from the store?” Clove asked, confused.

  I nodded, grim. “That’s her. Cripes. I should’ve realized it was her. I forgot all about her visit. I … we knew she was off and just let her go.”

  “You know her?” Landon asked curiously, keeping one eye on the woman and the other on Thistle. “How?”

  “She stopped in at the store before Annie went missing,” I explained. “She was … out of her mind. She kept asking for juice. I called Chief Terry and told him she was acting strange and headed toward the market, but then I forgot all about her.”

  “I’m guessing Terry did, too,” Landon said, rubbing his chin. “Well, I don’t suppose anyone knows who she is?”

  Clove and I shook our heads in unison while Bay merely looked contemplative. Aunt Tillie, on the other hand, took a bold step forward.

  “Don’t kill her,” Landon warned.

  Aunt Tillie ignored him. “Are you Sandra Bates?”

  The woman’s eyes flashed when they landed on Aunt Tillie, a brief moment of recognition flaring before the dullness of confusion settled over her vacant eyes. “I don’t know you,” she barked out. “I don’t know you and I won’t fall for the Devil’s tricks. Begone, demons!”

  Aunt Tillie pursed her lips as she narrowed her eyes. Landon warily watched her for a moment, waiting until he was sure she wouldn’t attack before moving closer. “Mrs. Bates, my name is Landon Michaels. I’m with the FBI. I have a few questions to ask you about a little girl who went missing yesterday. Do you happen to know something about that?”

  Sandra perked up. “Abigail? Did you find Abigail?”

  Landon was understandably confused. “Her name is Annie Martin. She says a woman grabbed her behind the Main Street stores yesterday afternoon, took her to a house, and then held her until she had no choice but to flee without shoes. We found her in the woods last night.”

  Sandra’s eyes flashed wild. “You found Abigail? Where is she?” The woman hurried down the steps, almost tripping over her long skirt as she closed the distance and stood in front of Landon. “I want Abigail right now!”

  Landon remained calm despite Sandra’s potential meltdown. He never moved his eyes from her face. I took the opportunity to study the woman up close, my stomach twisting when I recognized the disheveled state of her clothing. She was in a terrible position and apparently she didn’t even know it because her mind was gone.

  “We need to do something for her,” Clove said, her voice low. “She clearly needs help.”

  “We’ll do something,” Landon said, although his expression was conflicted. “I think I need to call for an adult social worker. I haven’t been inside of the house, but if it’s anything like the outside, this place isn’t fit for a human being to reside in.”

  “You can’t take me from my home.” Sandra lashed out, catching Landon’s cheek with the palm of her hand as she smacked him. “Where is Abigail? You took her. I know you did!”

  Landon didn’t react out of anger. Instead he remained calm – incredibly so – and carefully locked his fingers around Sandra’s wrists as he kept her stationary in front of him. “Ma’am, we’re here to help. I promise we won’t leave without helping you. I cannot allow you to strike me again, though. I need you to remain calm.”

  “I’ll call Chief Terry,” Bay suggested.

  “That’s a good idea,” Landon said. “We’ll need help … and then someone is probably going to have to come out here and condemn this place.”

  “Wait a second,” Aunt Tillie interjected, catching me off guard. “I think we need to have a talk about that before we do anything.”

  “And why is that?” Landon asked, confused.

  “Because I know her,” Aunt Tillie replied. “There’s more to this story and … well … it’s a sad story.”

  “Does that mean you don’t want bloody vengeance any longer?” I asked.

  “It means that maybe no one is to blame this go-around,” Aunt Tillie answered. “Sometimes things just happen.”

  “Oh, well, I can’t wait to hear this,” Landon muttered.

  “That makes two of us,” I said. “Talk, old lady. What do you know?”

  Ten

  “Her name is Sandra Bates,” Aunt Tillie started. “She went to school with your mothers. I believe she was in the same year with Twila, but I could be wrong about that. She was in there somewhere, though.”

  “I don’t ever remember seeing her before,” Bay said. “I had no idea this house was even out here.”

  “That’s because the Black River is slow-moving and mucky,” I offered. “There was no reason to swim out here, so there was no reason to visit this area. We did all of our partying at the Hollow Creek and the woods surrounding the house.”

  “I wasn’t sure she was still in the area,” Aunt Tillie admitted. “She was … troubled … for a long time.”

  “I’ll need more than that,” Landon prodded. “What does ‘troubled’ mean? Is she dangerous?”

  “Only to herself,” Aunt Tillie said, the sympathetic expression on her face knocking me for a loop as she moved closer and studied Sandra’s wrists. A number of long scratches marred the white skin, and they were etched over long-healed scars that ran along the veins vertically. I knew exactly what that meant. “That’s why I thought she was out of town. She was in an adult living center in Bellaire for years.

  “Her mother died about five years ago,” she continued. “She was locked up because she was a danger to herself for a time. I’m wondering if the funding ran out once the money passed on with her mother, so perhaps they just cut her loose.”

  “Was this ever her home?” Landon asked.

  “It was.” Aunt Tillie bobbed her head. “Her mother lived here until he
r death. She was something of a shut-in. She had some crazy tendencies.”

  “No offense, but just a few weeks ago I saw you wandering into the forest with a chainsaw and a whistle,” Landon reminded her. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

  Aunt Tillie rolled her eyes. “Sandra Bates was an only child. Her father, Luther, was a nice man, but he died when she was about three or so. Her mother, Madison, was one of those conspiracy theory nuts.”

  “You once told me that the police were out to create a slave nation and use senior citizens to do it,” Bay reminded her.

  “That’s a real thing,” Aunt Tillie challenged. “Do you want to hear the whole story or not?”

  Landon nodded. “We do.”

  I risked a glance at Sandra and found her staring at Aunt Tillie with wide eyes. I had no idea if she understood what we were saying, but she was fixated on my great-aunt.

  “Sandra always went straight to school and came straight home when she was a kid,” Aunt Tillie supplied. “Her mother never allowed her do to anything. I always felt bad for her. Because she was overprotected, she did what a lot of lost young women do and married the first man who showed her any attention.

  “He was a total deadbeat,” she continued. “His name was Chris Jamison and he had a huge rap sheet by the time he was twenty. He married Sandra, knocked her up, and took off.”

  “I’m guessing that would be Abigail,” Landon mused.

  “Abigail.” Sandra almost sounded piteous when she said the name.

  “Because this place is so far removed from society and had no running water, someone reported Sandra’s living conditions to the state and said the house wasn’t fit for habitation,” Aunt Tillie explained. “The state came in and took Abigail. I guess Sandra never got her back.”

  “That’s sad,” I said, my stomach clenching. “That doesn’t explain why she took Annie.”

  “It doesn’t,” Aunt Tillie agreed. “But this is an isolated life. She hasn’t had company for a long time and she obviously has no regular visitors to alleviate the loneliness. The loss of Abigail must’ve hurt her beyond reason.”