The Witch (12 page)

“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.

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.

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
.

“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.”

“Or I’m better than she is.”

Jacob laughed.

“That works too.”

Stephen’s eyes twinkled with pride.

“What do you need the wart for?” asked Brandy
.

“I’m making chili,” the witch said
.

“Aw, Dad. Not chili again.”

“I’m just fooling with you. There’s nothing wrong with eating chili.”

“As long as a witch isn’t preparing it,” said Stephen.

“Not many witches sit around making chili.”

“Momma made chili.”

Stephen’s expression turned very serious.

“Mom would never feed you anything icky except for maybe creamed spinach.”

Father and son made a face at each other in memory of the creamed spinach dinners.

“It’s getting late; better bundle up under the covers and get some sleep.” Jacob fluffed Stephen’s pillow and lifted the boy in the air for a goodnight kiss.

“No school tomorrow.”

“And so?”

“I could watch some late movies with you so you won’t be lonely.”

“Got work to do, Stephen. Besides, scholars need their sleep.”

“But I’m not a schol-ar yet.”

“You’re in training.” Jacob shut off the light.

At the end of the school day Mabel hurried out of the school to catch her ride home with Jacob. He arrived just as she reached the curb.

Opening the passenger door, Mabel commented about his punctual service. Jacob pulled away from the curb without answering.

“Hello, Jacob?”

He nodded without saying anything and without looking at her.

“What is wrong? You look way too serious for a pleasant afternoon like this. Has your boss been on your case again about the hours you keep?”

“No, Mabel, that’s been straightened out for a while now.”

Several minutes of silence followed.

“Why are you ignoring me, Jacob? Is this another complaint about how I raised Cathy, or did I say something wrong to Stephen the other day?”

“Molly’s dead.”

Mabel’s breath caught for but a moment.

“How?”

“She seems to have been attacked by an animal. The police aren’t sure what kind.”

“Where was she?”

“In her car driving herself home after leaving Stephen and me.”

“Oh, you’re not feeling guilty?”

“Mabel, it was late. I could have offered to drive her home or at least follow her home to make sure she was all right.”

“Instead you pitched her out the door.”

“I fired her, remember? It was her last day babysitting Stephen. I paid her the money I owed her and was glad there was no major scene. Actually, I recall sighing when I closed the door behind her.”

“What did Stephen do?”

“He ran to the window to watch her drive away and then went up to his room to brood until I came up to tell him a bedtime story.”

“I thought you said he had taken her being fired well.”

“He did. He didn’t throw a tantrum, didn’t spend hours sulking or crying. I thought I was home free until I heard about her death this morning. Shit! What do I tell Stephen?”

“Certainly don’t tell him when and how she died.”

“He’ll find out at school. He stayed with our next door neighbor today. I hope they were sharp enough to keep Molly’s death from him.”

“You’ll have to tell him something,” Mabel said, watching the muscles tighten in Jacob’s face.

“I’m going to tell him she died in the car on the way home. That’s the truth. No one can figure out how the animal got into the car. Seems the front windshield is totally smashed, but what kind of animal could be that powerful?”

“Perhaps it was rabid.”