The Witch Part 3

Image is AI generated. Story is 100% human.

I felt like there was nothing else in existence beyond the whisper thin membrane that had wrapped itself around us like a tent. We were sizing each other up inside this soundless, invisible bubble that managed to shield our interactions from the busyness of the lunchtime masses scurrying by on Woodward. Most of them were deeply absorbed into their own don’t-bother-me world of phones and earpods, sharing conversation with other remote someones moving about inside bubbles of their own. It made me wonder if this contraption was even necessary to keep us hidden from sight. These days it seemed we were all hidden from each other’s sight by design.

But whatever.

“It’s what witches do,” the woman said, her voice now sounding scratchy and rough, not at all like my mother’s.

Then she slowly raised one leg to where it appeared she was balancing herself on the other like a stork, that horrible grin fixed in place as if it had been stapled there. Effortlessly, she raised the other leg as well so that both knees were pulled up to her chest as she remained suspended in mid-air. Her arms were outstretched, the clawed fingers of both hands pointing downward, making herself resemble a huge bird of prey. Next, she folded her legs to where it looked as if she was seated on a bench – except there was no bench.

I was numb. I suspect my brain didn’t know any other way to protect itself – and the rest of me – from shutting down and checking out. Initially there was a rapid, scattered attempt to flip through any and all rational explanations – again a form of self-protection – but too soon it became apparent that whatever was rational wouldn’t do me any good right now. Because whatever this was, it was happening in real time right in front of me, and I was going to have to deal with it on its own terms.

“Witch…?” I said, my voice feeling dry, but sounding as if there was a bit of an echo.

The woman nodded slowly.

Yes, dear heart.

This time her response was mainlined straight inside my head to an internal receptor I didn’t even know was there. I wondered if maybe this was one of those leftover parts of the body from several evolutions ago, like the gill slits they say you can see in embryos, but then something else in me said I read way too much science fiction.

But this isn’t science fiction, is it dear heart?

Her grotesquely distorted lips hadn’t moved at all, but the flickering amusement in her eyes seemed to be taking pleasure in my shocked reaction. Her body, which had been encased in rags and ruin, now seemed to be taking on the dual appearance of smoke and liquid.

“This is real, Marcellus.”

My mother’s voice again. I felt my anger beginning to overtake my fear and shock.

TUNE IN NEXT WEEK AS THE STORY OF ‘THE WITCH’ CONTINUES…