by Ryan Almroth
“The lady’s in his yard all the time. She lives in the woods. She’s weird-looking and secretive. If you think about it, it makes sense.”
Karim rolls his eyes. “You’re telling me you’re letting your little tween sister scare you with her fantasies about some random lady?”
“Don’t let Stella hear you call her a tween. She’s thirteen and would knife you in the gut for insinuating otherwise.”
Karim lightly smacks my arm with his knuckles. “Never thought I’d hear you defend her. Or is it just because you don’t want to feel embarrassed about believing her?”
“No,” I say and catch his hand in mine to stop him from play-shoving me, but his elbow still jabs at my side. “She said Christian and his gang were in that lady’s garden, and they happened upon something Satanic. They saw her lighting candles inside and performing some ritual.”
“Oh, yeah, makes sense. What kind of a monster lights candles?”
I push him with my shoulder, and he cackles at me. “Seriously, I don’t know. I saw her walking past before you got here. She had a bunch of plants in her hands.”
“Oh boy. I guess we better call the cops! Local woman seen collecting flowers—arrest her immediately, officer. Burn her at the stake!”
“Karim, come on,” I plead. “I know it’s silly. But tell me you wouldn’t be paranoid if you had to be in these woods in the pitch darkness and there was a possibility of a witch living here.”
He snickers at me again. “Okay, okay, fine. But how does Stella even know this?”
“She’s friends with Mike’s brother. He told her.”
“So they’re fear-mongering to all the neighborhood kids.”
I sigh. “Suppose they are.”
Suddenly, Karim stops in his tracks and turns around instead of continuing down to the creek. He points uphill, in the direction of the house far beyond the trees. “We still have time before sundown,” he says. “Wanna investigate up there?”
“The house?” I ask, feeling a shiver go up my spine.
He shrugs. “Hey, if you’re chicken, it’s no big deal. I was just thinking maybe we can go see what all the fuss is about. See how scary of a witch she really is.”
I frown. “It’s getting late, man.”
“Let the darkness hide us, then.”
“Seriously?” I sigh. “Dude—”
He doesn’t give me a chance to refute him because he’s suddenly running up the slope, and I stop calling his name out of fear that the bald woman might hear us. I follow, but he’s too far ahead. No matter how fast I sprint, I can’t reach him before the small wooden house comes into view and Karim disappears around the edge of it. I creep past the side of it, where dark windows and unlit lanterns hanging from the roof watch my every move.
“Karim!” I hiss, not daring to raise my voice but still hoping he hears my urgency. “You’re not funny!”
I walk slowly around the house, torn between staying close to the walls for cover and distancing myself from the strange woman’s presence. Karim is nowhere in sight, and I’m on the verge of a breakdown. A stick cracks behind me, and I nearly shriek as I whirl around to see Karim’s silhouette doubling over in the growing darkness. He laughs at me, and I march over and push him. He pushes back, and the moment that we forget where we are is the moment our playful scuffle attracts unwanted attention.
The porchlight clicks on just around the corner, and the screen door creaks and slams. We freeze. The whites of Karim’s eyes are the most prominent thing on his face as his look of fear reflects my own.
A low voice bellows, “You rascals again?”
The woman’s shadow grazes the edges of the light from the door. She descends her porch stairs, and Karim grabs my arm and nearly throws me forward with him. We sprint down the hill with her yelling after us, but the blood pounding in my ears masks her words. By the time we’re down the rocks by the creek, I almost feel at ease that we’re not being followed. Karim looks like he’s about to laugh his guts out.
“Your fucking face,” he says, wheezing.
I lightly punt his calf to get him to cross the stream. “Your face,” I retort. “You looked like you were about to have a heart attack.”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t nearly piss yourself when I came up behind you.”
“Maybe if you’d stayed quiet, we wouldn’t have had to run.”
Karim latches on to the top of my shoulder with his hands like he needs me to hold his weight. “Come on, Nico. I’m sorry.” His giggles don’t entirely subside, but I smile at him anyway and take his hand when he offers it.
“I told you you’re the ridiculous one,” I say as we finally leave the woods and walk onto the asphalt trail.
We’re both still winded, and Karim keeps glancing back like he’s expecting her to jump out at us from behind. “That was a bad plan,” he admits through another round of laughter.
I give him an exaggerated eyeroll and almost think he’s offended by it when he drops my hand and steps away. I’m about to ask what’s wrong, until their voices catch my ear and I see them over the bend of the path.
The boys’ silhouettes are recognizable enough in the evening light, but I still squint as they come closer. Christian, Mike, and the redheaded twins whose names I can’t individually remember, all laughing and gesturing in a reenactment of some humorous event.
“Hey!” yells Christian once they spot us. “What’re you guys still doing out here?”
“Chilling,” says Karim in that uninvolved tone he reserves for school jocks. Whenever he uses it, I’m reminded that playing soccer technically makes him one of them, but he hardly makes an effort to connect with any of them outside of the sport. “Could ask the same about you,” he tells them.
Christian smirks, wide and mischievous. “If you want the deets, you guys better come with and join in on the fun.”
Karim and I exchange a glance, and I leave it to him to talk to them. “If you make it sound worthwhile,” he says.
Mike looks like he can hardly contain the information, like a crook who’s so proud of the mess he made that he’ll admit to every crime for the publicity. Christian might’ve been about to stop him, but the words spill out of Mike’s mouth anyway. “We were thinkin’ ’bout walking up to the old witch’s place and wreaking havoc again.”
Nodding, Karim says, “So it is true that you go around accusing people of being witches like it’s Salem.”
Mike guffaws. “You mean the old bald hag? There’s no doubt about it.”
“Yeah, I don’t know.” Karim shrugs. “A little kooky? Maybe. A witch, though?”
“She just nearly killed us,” I say.
Karim waves me off with his hand. “They don’t need to know that,” he stage-whispers to me. He clears his throat and looks at the other boys again. “We were just wondering what other evidence you had for her occult affiliation.”
One of the twins bumps his brother’s shoulder and says, “Sam saw a bunch of jars full of wicked shit through her kitchen window.”
“Like what?”
“Well, you get the idea,” Sam says. “Like for potions.”
“Uh-huh,” Karim says.
“And Satanic runes,” Not-Sam adds, “when she was lighting candles and chanting. You gotta admit that’s sus, bro.”
“Yeah,” Karim interrupts before any of them can continue. “Nico’s sister has filled us in on most of that prattle. That said, we’re gonna have to pass. It’s late, after all. But you guys go ahead and have fun with your teenage witch hunt.”
“You sure?” Christian starts to say, like he’s ready to market this awful idea to us. “You can—”
Karim’s phone rings, and he pulls it out to answer. “Hey, Mama.” He takes the phone away from his ear and whispers, “Sorry, gotta skedaddle,” to the boys before continuing in Arabic on the phone. He gives them a painfully false apologetic expression while he talks, followed by a salute as he starts walking away. I trail after him with a last glan
ce at the gang, and Christian’s stony stare holds my gaze for too long.
By the time Karim hangs up, we’re too far away from them to risk another run-in.
“What’d she want?” I ask.
“To know when I’m coming home. And whether I did my homework. And to say what’s for dinner. And to tell me to not cut through the woods again so I don’t get ticks.”
“Too late for that.”
He laughs. “She’s gonna see the mud on my jeans and lose it, but it was worth it.”
“Nearly getting killed by the forest witch is ‘worth it’ in your eyes?”
Karim brushes his hand against mine. I check behind us to make sure no one’s there before I wrap my pinkie around his. He looks down and smiles, and I wish I felt safe enough to kiss him right now.
“I mean,” he says, “having fun with you was worth it. I’d rather ignore the whole almost-getting-killed part.”
“Because it was your fault.”
He tilts his head from side to side and shrugs. “Does it really matter whose fault it was?”
“You’re only saying that because it was yours,” I tease.
“Keep that up and I’ll lure you back there so the witch can sacrifice you.”
“Thought you didn’t believe in that.”
“I don’t, but you do, so it’s funny.”
“Come on, I don’t seriously think she’s a witch.”
“Don’t you?”
He teases me the whole way home, and I retaliate by mocking his decision to horse around outside the witch’s house. We race each other down the sidewalk, high on mirth and the adrenaline left over from our chase. When we get home, I let slip to Stella that we had to run for our lives from the witch, and upon hearing me admit it, she turns to me with a snarky grin and says, “Told you so.”
AS KARIM and I stroll through the woods one afternoon, he points at the white flowering bushes lining the edge of the hill over the creek. “Look. The honeysuckle’s in bloom.”
“I know.” I laugh. “It’s been blooming for quite a while.”
He takes my hand and guides me up the rocks and to the bushes. He picks a flower and plucks out the stamen from the bottom, placing the drop of nectar on his tongue. He offers the next one to me, and its aroma is nothing compared to its taste.
“How long do you think it’d take to collect a jar of this?” I wonder out loud as we sit and pick at the flowers.
“You asked me that last summer, and considering we don’t have a jar of it yet, I’d say more than a year.”
“You haven’t been saving it all this time.”
“Because you’ve been eating all of it.”
I push his shoulder, and he pushes me back with a snicker. We get up and race each other through the woods, shoving and laughing and hardly caring about which one of us is chasing the other. Once he’s out of sight, I run to the large maple tree and hide behind it, trying to conceal my panting breaths. Karim surprises me by skirting around the tree just as I think I’ve fooled him enough to run again. He catches my shoulders before I can escape, and I don’t care to weasel out of his grip when he leans forward to kiss me.
His lips taste sweeter than the honeysuckle. Our laughter escapes between our kisses, and I lose myself in his arms.
“Get a load of this shit.”
Karim tears away from me at the sudden booming voice behind him and whirls around, backing into the tree beside me. Christian is standing on the hiking trail, flanked by Mike and the twins. How they managed to sneak up without us hearing, I don’t know. How long they’ve been watching, I don’t know. My heart is jumping into my throat, and I can hardly breathe as the boys slowly approach us.
Run, warns the knot forming in my gut. I glance at Karim to witness him struggling to hold his composure, but he still looks more relaxed than I feel. Let’s run, I want to tell him, but my mouth won’t move.
“Well.” Christian’s nasal voice pierces through my rushing thoughts. “Didn’t think we had fairies in these woods, but I guess I was wrong.”
Karim barks out the most forced, sarcastic laugh I’ve ever heard. “Nice one! Very original.” He puts his hand up to his ear like a telephone. “The twentieth century called. They want their slur back.”
The boys sneer at him, and Mike spits, “Would you prefer ‘faggot’?”
Karim’s face falls, and my stomach clenches. Quieter now, he mutters, “Sure then, ‘fairy’ is fine.” He clasps his hands together and steps forward, and I almost grab him to pull him back before I realize he’s giving himself space in case we need to make a break for it. Gesturing theatrically at the boys with his arms, he says, “Unfortunately, we’re not the kind of fairies who are nice to you or grant you wishes. So if you could leave us alone, that’d benefit all of us.”
One of the twins elbows Christian’s shoulder and says, “Can’t believe we’ve been hassling the witch when these girlies are just begging for a beating.”
I reach for Karim’s arm, trying my hardest to keep my voice steady. “Let’s just go.”
“You’re not gonna go anywhere,” Christian talks over me. “Who knows how much you’ve been peeping at us in the locker rooms.”
“Oh, the ‘gay pervert’ stereotype—that’s wonderful.” Karim scowls. “As if you’ve got anything worth peeping at.” I’m about to stop him, but Christian jerks forward like he’s about to lunge at us, and Karim stumbles back a step.
“You best not be talking to me like that,” Christian threatens. “Last I checked, you’re outnumbered. We got plenty more fists than you do.”
“Come on, bro.” Karim holds his hands up and takes another step back. “Don’t you think this is juvenile? This ain’t middle school, man.”
Christian rubs his chin and pretends to contemplate that for a moment before he nods. “You know what? You’re right. This isn’t middle school, because in middle school I would’ve just slammed your head in a locker.” He reaches into his back pocket, and I grab Karim’s sleeve and yank him to the side and away from them just as Christian flips out a long, thin blade. “Now,” he says as he gestures between us with the knife. “Now I can do some real damage and teach you fags a lesson.”
My heart is ricocheting so hard in my chest I think it’s about to break my ribs. I’m pushing Karim back and trying not to stumble through the dead leaves and twigs snagging at my shoes.
“Whoa, come on,” Karim stammers, still holding his arms outstretched toward the boys as he retreats with me. “Is this necessary? You guys really think us fooling around in the woods is reason enough to maim us? You don’t have any better hobbies?”
“Karim, not the time,” I hiss.
“Maim,” Christian says slowly, like he’s savoring the taste of the word on his tongue. He twirls his switchblade and saunters forward, urging us back. “You know, I never thought to put it that way. It’s colorful. I like that. Really makes me think about all the relations my knife can have with your faces.”
We’re running before the last word leaves his mouth. I dash through the trees, dragging Karim with me. He swats at my hand to let go of his sleeve, but my grip only slackens when I’m certain he’s beside me and keeping up.
The boys are hooting and hollering after us, but I don’t dare turn around to see how far away they are. This isn’t a game anymore, where the thorns and brambles clawing at our feet would make the chase exciting. One misstep could mean the difference between life and death.
The creek’s curvature brings us back to its bank, where its slope is steeper and littered with stone and gravel. Karim pulls me toward it, and we weave through the denser trees, accustomed to their snagging branches but still stumbling. He descends the rocky slope too quickly and drops my hand, and I reach out for him as I follow him to the sandy shore. I’m almost to the bottom when my right foot catches between the rocks.
Pain shoots up my leg like a bullet, and I’m screaming before I hit the sand. Pebbles cut into my palms as I scramble to get up, but every m
otion sends a new wave of agony through my ankle, my knees, my hands—everywhere. I grit my teeth as my vision blurs from the tears.
“Nico? Nico?” Karim’s hands are on me, desperate to hoist me up, but I can’t move. I somehow end up on my butt, and he wraps his arms under mine from behind, attempting to pull me to my feet.
“I can’t,” I gasp, and he lets me back down. I try rotating my ankle, but it reprimands me with another excruciating jolt. My jeans are torn at the knees, with blood seeping into the denim. Karim’s fingers grasp at my shirt, my hands, but I shake my head. “Even if I could stand, I can’t run.”
“Don’t say that.” Karim tries to push me up again to no avail. “We can—” His words die out when Christian storms through the trees and down the rocks.
“Gotcha,” Christian jeers. He’s only a few feet away, stance wide and knife in hand.
“Come on,” Karim stammers. “Dude, it’s not funny anymore. Look, Nico fell, and—”
Christian steps toward us. “Who said I was laughing?”
A gunshot echoes through the woods. Christian looks up wildly, before he fixes us with a malicious glare again. More gunshots. All three of us are frozen. Screams sound in the woods, and one of the twins flies down the rocky slope, yelling Christian’s name.
“She’s got a gun! The fucking witch has a gun! Let’s go!” He grabs Christian by the arm and pulls him over the rocks in the stream.
Panic crosses Christian’s face, yet he resists, almost starting toward us again. His threatening gaze catches mine, but a much louder gunshot ripping through the woods like a missile shatters his determination. He gives in to his friend’s urgent calls and runs across the creek and out of the woods.
Karim is so close to me that his sigh of relief is a burst of wind against my cheek. “Maybe she won’t find us,” he whispers in my ear. We stay still and silent, listening to the fading voices of the boys crashing through the trees.
Once the yelling dies out, nothing but our heavy breathing and the stream’s faint trickle disturbs the woods. Then leaves and branches crack at the top of the slope, and Karim’s grip tenses on my arm. A hand parts the spindly saplings growing on the hill’s edge, and the bald woman steps out from behind them, dressed in cargo shorts and a muscle tee, with a hunting rifle in the crook of her arm. She spots us and carefully maneuvers down the rocks.