The Witch of War Creek
L.A. Detwiler
Published by L.A. Detwiler, 2021.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
THE WITCH OF WAR CREEK
First edition. October 1, 2021.
Copyright © 2021 L.A. Detwiler.
ISBN: 979-8201144722
Written by L.A. Detwiler.
Also by L.A. Detwiler
The Flayed One
The Journal of H.D. Wards
The Flayed One
Standalone
The Diary of a Serial Killer's Daughter
A Tortured Soul
The Christmas Bell: A Horror Novel
The Redwood Asylum
The Christmas Bell: Rachel's Story
The Arsonist's Handbook
Mr. Alexander Garrick's Traveling Circus
The Butcher's Night
The Witch of War Creek (Coming Soon)
The Delivery (Coming Soon)
Watch for more at L.A. Detwiler’s site.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Also By L.A. Detwiler
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two | Then
Chapter Three | Now
Chapter Four | Then
Chapter Five | Present
Chapter Six | Then
Chapter Seven | Now
Chapter Eight | Then
Chapter Nine | Now
Chapter Ten | Then
Chapter Eleven | The Next Halloween: Now
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Further Reading: It Started on Halloween
Also By L.A. Detwiler
About the Author
To Edmund, my loyal friend
Chapter One
They called her the Witch of War Creek, but she was perfectly fine with the ruse. It was part of their steadfast agreement; the townsfolk would care for her as long as she kept to herself in the allotted cabin in the woods. They would protect her, in a sense, by respecting her aloofness. She wouldn’t cast any wicked spells on their crops or on them.
Still, the pact did not prevent whispers or gossip. She knew what they all thought of her, especially after all these years. She had long ago stopped caring about her reputation or what others murmured about her when she ventured into town twice a month. She was perfectly content, in truth, living mostly alone in the middle of the dark forest. She had chosen not to leave because the agreement suited her. She had always been comfortable with nature and knew how to live off the land. It was one good thing he had taught her.
She sat on the whining rocker, back and forth, back and forth, sipping her herbal tea. Her long, straggly hair hadn’t been cut in years. It wrapped around her like a blanket, billowing gently from the rocking motion as she stared out into the forest. Her cabin was a tiny fortress in the middle of the woods, the forcefield of her so-called powers the perfect moat to keep others out. She had survived for decades on the fringes of it all, just the way they all needed it to be.
She didn’t regret a thing, listening to a few birds singing their final songs of the day as night cascaded down on them. Still, as she rocked and thought about it all, a tiny shiver worked its way through her skin. Tonight was Halloween. There was always a sense of tension in the air on this date. Perhaps it was negative energy from what she’d done all those years ago. Maybe it was him, if that sort of thing were possible. Or perhaps it was just because on Halloween night, the kids got a bit braver. She didn’t like to think about the potential interactions. It made her anxious. There had been a few particularly rough run-ins in the past. She always cringed to think there could be more of the same.
There had been a few harmless run-ins over the years, too, of course. Caught up in the festivities, there were always a few, usually male teenagers trying to impress the girls in the town, who tried to make their way to her. Emboldened by a dare and their lackluster costumes, they would roll up to her front door and knock or make noises or whatever other tomfoolery the kids came up with. It never frightened her, though. She was decades past being afraid for her wellbeing. Besides, her reputation preceded her, so usually just walking out the door with a snarled look on her face was enough to scare away the culprits. She had gotten good at scaring others. They would scurry away and she would be left again in the solitude she’d come to know as a friend.
The sun sank into the horizon, though, and she realized the dread in her was building. She must’ve had too much tea today. That had to be it. For what was there to fear? Her. The people of War Creek feared her, even if a tiny piece of them also revered her for what she had done for them decades ago. She was a legend passed down, a relic still residing in a living tomb.
There is a thin line between reverence and terror, though, and both usually result in a sense of otherness for the person earning either.
The Witch of War Creek gathered her energy and turned to go back inside. She fiddled with the dishes, turned on a lamp, and went to close the back bedroom door. You couldn’t be too careful, after all. There was only one thing she worried about, so she would protect that with all costs.
The rest didn’t matter.
Chapter Two
Then
She sighed as she exited the train, her father checking his pocket watch as he waited for Marvin to gather their trunks. She looked about the foggy station, watching the hustle and bustle of people about her. Where were they all hurried to get to? She was always puzzled by the rush of everyone because, as she’d learned, the days passed regardless and life could end whenever it wanted anyway. You may as well linger a bit longer in case it was your last moment.
She followed her father who was, as always, preoccupied by the scent of money he saw sitting straight ahead. They’d come to War Creek for exactly one reason—the same reason he dragged her anywhere. To cash in on another business investment opportunity—and also to exact revenge for a family disturbance from generations ago. He was able to do both in one, so War Creek was a profitable win for him, in his eyes.
She came along because she had no choice. At fifteen, she had no resources to escape. She’d tried her best to follow her mother, but the plan had been foiled. She hadn’t been experienced enough. Maybe she could try again. These days, though, she didn’t even have the drive to do anything, let alone muster the courage and wits to pull off an escape like that.
“You’re going to love it here, Dear. I’ve heard War Creek is just a quaint little town. It will be a nice change of pace. But don’t worry. I’ve secured for us a perfect residence for the autumn. It’s a mansion that’s rumored to have belonged to a relative of royalty, I forget the name. But it’s big enough to suit us comfortably, especially since Marvin will be back to Chesterfield once we’re settled. I thought it would do us some good to be just you and me this fall.” He eyed his daughter, studying her face and winking. He looked away then, his eyes busied by the imagined sights of glittering gold he saw laid out before him.
She cringed at the words, her heart palpitating. She should have tried again. She should’ve been brave enough. He’d gotten so much worse since her mother died. Without her there to protect some semblance of propriety in the family, he’d let his sick, twisted whims take flight. And who was there to stop him?
She’d thought about killing him time and time again. But with all the servants at Chesterfield, there was hardly a chance. They took care of every aspect of their lives—except one important one. Protecting a child from the twisted ways of a father with too much political and financial power. She hated them for that. She wanted to kill th
em, too. The rage bubbled within her chest. She quieted it out of habit.
“Just don’t get comfortable here, Darling. We’re only staying for a few months until I can settle all the investment contracts. Then we’ll be back home. It’s going to be wonderful, don’t you think?” He squeezed her hand, and she squeezed her eyes shut, tears burning within.
She needed to make sure they didn’t get back. She needed to figure out a way War Creek could be the end of the battle. But how? What could a girl like her do?
As they ambled through the tiny, rural town, though, her eyes took in the sights. Her gaze landed on a storefront, and she grinned to herself.
Mama would be proud of her, she knew. Now she would just have to find a way to get back to town and get the answer she needed.
Chapter Three
Now
She eyed the squirrel skins hanging on the back porch, examining them excitedly. They were drying nicely. She grinned, thinking of the looks the children in town gave her when she wandered in for her bi-monthly visit to the store on the corner, her scraggly hair billowing behind her and the fur jacket she made herself. She certainly looked the part. At least she had lived up to her potential in one aspect of her life, she supposed. That was something.
She was surprised he hadn’t followed her out. He always enjoyed this part of the day when they examined their catch. She shrugged. She’d learned long ago not to depend on anyone else. That was another thing he taught her. She scolded herself for focusing on so many good things all in one day.
He was a bastard. She hoped he burned in hell.
Still, as she wandered back inside to tidy up her surroundings a bit, she couldn’t help but think of those times before it all started. Back when she was younger, when her silky black hair shimmered in the sun and people smiled when they saw her tiptoeing to the candy counter in the corner store of her hometown. The elderly women would gawk at her and make a fuss over her gorgeous hair ribbons as her mama proudly paraded her about. They would talk about how lovely she was. No one was afraid of her then.
She always hated the parading part, though. Her mama insisted it was so good to be noticed for being such a beautiful young lady, but she knew that wasn’t where she was happiest, even at a young age.
It was in the woods. For being a business man who wore tight suits and a waxed mustache, her father had a penchant for the forest that was inexplicable. She supposed it had something to do with her grandfather’s love for hunting. She didn’t ask. She had never been one for many words, and when her father was in the woods, he liked to be still and quiet. It was the only time he wasn’t drawing attention to himself.
Back then, things were better between them. Good. He would take her out on a Saturday afternoon and show her to fish, to hunt, to tie knots, to start a fire. He would whisper the secrets of survival her mama insisted were not appropriate for a lady of her standing to learn. Mama had thought she should be learning foreign languages and studying tea settings so she could marry a man of their same station. Her mama was a fool, she thought. Who would want to be a housewife when you could be one with nature, when you could wander the forest barefoot and catch your own food? She soaked in every taboo second of her father’s teachings back then, if nothing else than for the fact it felt forbidden.
She shuddered to think how the word forbidden would take on new meaning years later.
She often looked back and wondered when it had happened, the shift in him. The sinister change that sparked a whole course of events she was still recovering from. It was hard to tell, she supposed. The townspeople were right about one thing—wickedness incarnate did walk the earth. It was just rarely dressed as a witch or so literal.
She decided another cup of tea would do her good. It was almost dark now, and she knew she had to lock him in. It was a silly precaution she had taken a few years ago when the kids of town seemed to get more brazen. The legend of her powers and ways apparently had lost its effect in recent years. They no longer feared her as much, but they didn’t revere her either. The new generation was hopped up on getting noticed and lacked respect—at least what she’d seen. She did her best to look menacing in town, to speak little and to walk in a confident way. Still, the teenagers especially seemed lured in by her mystical story instead of terrified. That bothered her. Brazen teenagers did stupid things. She did not want the peace of her forest abode broken. Not now, not ever.
She put on the kettle and then headed to lock the bedroom door behind him. He was already settled into his spot, as if he was anticipating her move. She had an irrational fear of losing him on Halloween night, and she’d grown quite fond of him now.
She’d lived for so many decades in solitude, which she had chosen. When they had made the agreement back when she was fifteen, she had said this was what she wanted. He had told her she might change her mind. She never did. She’d quickly adjusted to the easy rhythm of living alone.
They’d tried at first to reach out to her, probably mostly out of curiosity. Humans are always magnetized by the macabre and mysterious. Ladies in the town swung by to bring her pie, to check on her. Some of the men dropped in to see if anything needed repaired. She usually ignored their knocks, staying silent in the corner until they left the food on the front porch and scurried away. She did not like visitors back then. The phase stuck with her.
When you were alone, there were few risks. She had learned long ago no one can be trusted. You are your only true friend.
Still, about five years ago, he had wandered into her life. She didn’t ask how or where he came from. It just felt right when he stumbled onto her front porch tired and hungry. Now, she didn’t know what she would do without him. He had melded himself into her routine, for better or worse.
He had, in a way, won back her deadened heart. He didn’t ask her questions. He didn’t look at her with disgust. He didn’t try to tread too deeply into her heart or the past. He was just there, a calming presence in the solitude of their cabin, even with the growing moss on the siding and the roof which now had a few holes in it. Each corner of the cabin was filled with spiders that never seemed to leave despite her best efforts. After decades of neglect, it had seen better days. She did not wish, however, to invite anyone in to help, and she was getting too old to fix the problems herself. She did not mind a few drips of water during a rainstorm, and the moss added a camouflage effect. She had a comfortable bed and pillow, a rocking chair to sit on, and enough food to be content. She had her needlework she had taken up a decade ago and a few cherished items. She had the mason jars she’d bought at the corner store for her mementos. They always cheered her. Well, one of the jars did.
She had once lived a silver-spoon kind of life with excess and extravagance and extra. It had not been all everyone thought it to be, though. She had learned at a young age simplicity gave you peace, and everything comes at a price. She was happy keeping her price low and her serenity high.
She could die happy there. She really could. After all these years, she still was glad for her humble cabin, a gift from the town when she needed it most. Despite everything, they were good people. She had to be grateful for that.
Chapter Four
Then
The people of War Creek were simple folk, but that didn’t mean they were stupid. They quickly caught on to the wealthy man who moved into the mansion. They knew what his intentions were from day one—and they hated him from the first moment they laid eyes on him.
She could see it when he marched her into town with her pink ribbons and lacey dress. She watched the venom in the townspeople’s eyes as he shopped downtown and tried to make friends with the local government officials. She saw it when he dragged her to church on Sundays because he felt he could get a better feel for the town. He wanted to understand the local economy, he claimed.
She knew better. He wanted to savor in the kill a little longer like the psychopath he was.
She bided her time, though. She’d learned to be patient over the years. As
a woman in their family, after all, she’d been taught to sit silently and look pretty. She could keep her fingers crossed for weeks at a time. And so she did. She grinned and bore the torture of it all. The only blessing was he was so focused on money he did not take advantage of their solitude in the house as often as she would have predicted. That was some comfort. But not enough. She knew when his attention on the town waned, he would put his focus elsewhere. She was not going to let that happen.
And so, a month into their stay in War Creek, her father decided to venture to the post office to send information back home. She claimed she was ill. He was all too happy to leave her behind. It was risky, with the post office being close to her destination. She knew he liked to frequent the bar nearby when she wasn’t along, which would buy her enough time to make her way down to the town. She was running out of time. She had no idea what would happen to her afterward, but she knew she couldn’t go back with him. She could no longer be his doll to dress up for occasions and then destroy behind closed doors. She couldn’t live like that anymore.
It wasn’t hard finding her way back. She’d memorized the glorious street, the storefront, awaiting the time she would go in. The trouble would be convincing the owner of the store to help her. Nonetheless, her father had made the job slightly easier. His reputation had spread through the town. They knew what he was after. She could help them, if only the store owner would trust her. She just needed one person to trust and believe in her, and then her problems would be solved—and so would theirs.
She didn’t feel guilty about any of it. If a gram of guilt tried to weasel its way in, she just thought about all he had done to her. About the twisted man he was behind the money. That made her insides settle down and her heart relax. She had to do it. There was no other way.
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