Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S6 Ep350: Episode 350: Nursery Rhyme Horror

Episode Date: July 2, 2026

Today’s fantastic story is the entire ‘Black Week’ series, an original work by the wonderful Boe Whiskey, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all. https://www.reddit.com/user/boewhiskey/

Welcome, Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. Nursery rhymes are unsettling because they take something innocent and familiar and twist it into something strange. Those simple melodies, repetitive words, and childlike imagery create a sense of comfort. But beneath the surface, many rhymes contain themes of lost, danger, death, and the unknown. Hearing a cheerful song about dark subjects creates a powerful contrast that feels unnatural, as if something meant to be safe had been corrupted. Their connection to childhood also makes them more haunting, is the reminders of a time when we trusted the world completely. A nursery rhyme whispered in the dark and feel like a reminder that even the most innocent things may be hiding something far more disturbing, as we shall see in tonight's feature-length story.

Now, as ever before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's tale may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. And let's begin. Throw salt over your left shoulder. Hang a horseshoe in your home for good luck. Never break a mirror. Knock on wood.

Avoid black cats. Don't open an umbrella inside. Be very wary of Friday the 13th. We've all heard these and more. Most of us know that they're nothing but silly superstitions and equations left over from various beliefs and fears. By now, much of the world can easily dismiss these seemingly ridiculous ideas without a second thought.

Sure. People still avoid walking under ladders. It might not be safe after all. And when something is thought to be jinxed, people might say knock on wood. But how many actually do it or believe that it will reverse whatever bad luck you just summoned? It's not smart to open an umbrella inside, especially if it will result in water getting everywhere. And saying bless you to someone that sneezes, well, now. That's just plight.

But, there's a town that still holds onto some of these with an iron fist, though. There's an unintended pun there that you'll see in a moment. My hometown, which I shall leave unnamed for privacy, is that specific town. Maybe there are more in the world. I'm sure there has to be, especially in those countries that still hold faster beliefs that we find to be follies. but in my personal life I've never come across anything like it. I don't mean to make it sound as if my hometown is populated with strange or overly zealous religious people, and in fact the outdated ideals that cause certain preventative measures

barely show to anyone who might just be passing through, if at all. To a stranger of that quaint little town, nothing would seem awful or different. It's just a town, a place to drive through if you're taking the scenic route. it isn't a destination but a stopping point for the night to the more observant visitor it might be considered cute how all of the homes are adorned with an old horseshoe on the front door it might seem odd that so many of those houses are also lined with waist-high iron fences more than you might see in another town where the american dream usually speaks of the white picket fence that town the town i spent my entire childhood in where i was a The fences are all iron, and that's what people want. If you pass through it, you might have at one point, not even known. You won't see that the mirrors are covered every night to prevent the soul from being trapped while the body is asleep.

You won't be able to tell that on almost every single property there is a knife buried in at least the front yard, sometimes the back too for good measure. Most of all, you won't hear anyone talk about a brief time period that you'll be able to came to be known as Black Week. He's rarely spoken of, and when it is, the name is whispered or only mouthed, as if speaking it aloud, is taboo, and will call forth a tragedy to be repeated. The story of Black Week not only goes back over a century, but is also not only mine to tell. I am the only one willing to tell it, though, if only with the hope that sharing what happened

will help get it out of my mind long enough to sleep and dream of something other than death and decay. It's been years and where another person might be able to strengthen their psyche after trauma, it would seem that I cannot. In that way, perhaps, I am truly cursed. I can never return to my hometown. I can never find a way to get closure and I will never have all of the answers. I went to a therapist for a while that told me I needed to go back and face my fears confront my inner demons I stopped going to those appointments after that

let me take you back to the beginning of the black week that I knew it wasn't new by any means but it had been avoided for decades and all but forgotten by anyone young enough to either not live through it or being easily convinced by themselves or another that it could never have

and would never happen again they should all have known better kids will be kids after all what do people do when they're told not to push a button they only want to push that button even more do not enter signs only aid in urging brave and stupid people to do just that enter and enter they did georgina freeman was the first to be struck down in the beginning of my involvement in the tale. It wasn't the beginning by any means, but before her body was found, I was none the wiser to the events that led to her death and more.

Georgina was my friend. We weren't close by any means, but we spent time hanging out in the same group and got along just fine. She was that girl that was absolutely beautiful, and by the time we were 15, people differentiated her from the other Gina, Regina Thompson,

as gorgeous Gina. She deserved it, and to say that I wasn't a little jealous of her natural beauty would be lying. We all were. But what made us not hate her for the simple fact of her being the prettiest girl in school

was that she was also one of the kindest. She didn't see herself as everyone else did, and that only added in making her that much more attractive. I, along with my best friend Lindsay, would envy her but agreed that we just couldn't hate her in typical teenage girl fashion simply because she was too sweet to hate her body was found in the early hours on a Monday in the fall she was just outside of her front yard stripped of all clothing her body beaten and scratched I wouldn't find out until the rumors began that the cause of death itself was from drowning

I didn't believe the rumours at first, but when a statement was announced by the police in an effort to quell those rumours and ones that were much worse, it was confirmed. What they didn't reveal, though, was that Gina had her arms outstretched, lying on her stomach, reaching for the iron bars that separated her from the safety of her yard. She'd been so close, only a couple of feet from salvation. Well, I realised much later that had she survived that night, it probably wouldn't have mattered, as she was already marked. The morning of Gina's death, Monday morning, I was none the wiser as I had prepared for the school day. I slept in later than I wanted, per usual, and was rushing to get dressed and get my things together before heading out the door. Typically, I couldn't be bothered by anything or anyone when I was

in this type of rush, but my mother knocked on my door softly and asked me to stop what I was doing. The tone of her voice caused me to halt and look at her with confusion and concern. There were tears in her eyes as she asked me to sit down. "'Mom, what's wrong?' I asked, taking a seat on my bed. She crossed from the doorway and sat down beside me. She took both my hands in hers and looked me in the eye. "'Honey, there isn't going to be any school today.' She spoke softly.

I studied her face, my own contorted in an expression of not understanding what she was talking about. In my mind, I began going over all possibilities as quickly as I could. It wasn't a holiday that I'd forgotten about, and if it had been, she wouldn't be upset about it. My father had likely already left for work, but something happened to him. What about my grandparents? Were they okay? Did I do something to upset my mother? And she found out that I'd smoked pot with a few friends and was disappointed and upset enough to keep me out of school. She was the type to blame herself for any wrongdoing or mistake that I or my brother made, so that didn't seem out of the realm of possibility.

Why? I managed to ask amidst the commotion of my thoughts. She took a deep breath and forced a weak smile to cross her lips. There's been an incident. Her voice hinted at wavering, as she struggled to find the proper words to convey what she'd already been told to her hormonal and impressionable teenage daughter. Incident?

Is that okay? I spat out. My body tensed and I felt her hands squeezed mine in response. Yes, yes, she answered quickly. It isn't your first. father, it's Georgina. Freeman? I responded with another question.

I was beginning to feel frantic and wanted her to just tell me what the hell was going on. I remember feeling impatient with her, but looking back, now that I'm older, I can understand her hesitation and concern in trying to soften the blow. Yes. She was found several hours ago. She's... She trailed off, searching my eyes and pressing her lips together in thought. She's what, Mum?

Just say it, I told her. She's gone, sweetie. She died. I felt my eyebrows furrow as I tried to comprehend what she just said. I understood the words. The statement made grammatical sense, but I couldn't get my brain and heart to grasp the concept. I'm confused, I said. She took a deep breath before speaking.

Her body was found outside her home. It appears that she was killed. The school called and everything is cancelled for today. They wanted to be sure that all of the students know that there'll be grief counselors available if need be in. Although there'll be no classes, anyone who wants or needs to speak to someone is welcome to go down there and talk. But no one's required to be at school today, and they urge everyone to spend time with their families in the light of this tragedy. She sounded like she was just repeating facts, spewing word garbage that had been told to her. My mother, usually so caring, the woman who just walked into my room with watery eyes, seemed to flip a switch and talk from a script.

I felt angry at this and disbelief coiled inside me. I wanted to yell that she was wrong, that this was a bad prank. I wanted to laugh in her face and tell her that her acting sucked. It wasn't that I was close to Georgina, but when you grow up with the same people, something like this is just so unreal and strange that you can't help but want to refuse it. Something in the way my mum's face softened and her eyes watched me carefully, made me keep my temper in check though. It would be years before I understood that her almost robotic speech was simply the only

way she could handle saying the words out loud. She was in a state of disbelief as well. I sat there, staring at her for a while. I didn't know how to respond. I didn't know what to say. I don't think she knew either. It wasn't that death was unknown, but the murder of someone we knew, someone that lived only three blocks away, somewhere that I had gone to school with since first grade. How are we supposed

to properly process that information? Is there coffee? I finally asked. Even at that moment, I was unaware of how unfeeling and distant that question was. I even let myself worry for a split second that my mom would get upset by just how mundane and callous it might seem. She didn't know, and I loved her for it. She only gave another weak smile that barely caused the corners of her mouth to shift and nodded before standing up. I followed her to the kitchen and we sat at the table, silently drinking coffee and still not knowing what to say. I didn't want to go to the school to talk to any counsellor, but I definitely felt like I needed to get out of the house. So I told my mum that I needed to take a walk and set out, bundled up in a large coat.

The air wasn't particularly cold, and the slight breeze that wafted through the leaves that littered the ground would have been nice, even refreshing on any other day. That day, however, I felt like I couldn't stay warm. Little did I know. It would only get worse as the week progressed. Lindsay lived on the next street over, which was on the way to the neighbourhood park, which was in the opposite direction of Regina's house. I can't remember if I decided to go there. if my feet just led me in that direction on their own. I was so lost in my own head that I didn't hear Lindsay calling for me

until her hand reached out and touched my shoulder. I flinched, startled and turned around quickly to see my best friend standing there with a worried look. Acy, you're okay? she asked. I nodded as I drew in a breath. Yeah, just lost in my thoughts, I guess,

I told her. Lindsay nodded and slowly asked, Where are you going? I looked around, not entirely sure what to tell her, as I wasn't even sure myself. When I didn't respond right away, she asked me something else. I want to sit on the swings with me. I nodded.

Yeah, sure. We started walking quietly the rest of the way to the park, and then to the playground. It was empty as to be expected. After you both took our seats on swings that were side by side, I heard her son. Did you hear how they found her? She asked me. No, I shook my head.

She didn't respond immediately, and I turned my head to look at her. Tears were sliding down her cheeks, and I instantly started chastising myself mentally for somehow not even considering the fact that Gina and Lindsay's brother had been sort of dating. Nick, Lindsay's brother, was a year older than us, and as close as Lindy and I were, Nick was close to my own brother as well, Luke. In fact, if not for them, we might not ever have become best friends in the first place. It was our parents forcing our brothers to bring us along, when we begged to be included in their adventures that gave us the opportunity to form such a bond. Nick and Gina had spent a lot of time together over the past summer and grown quite

close. It wasn't unusual to see the two of them, with Luke in tow, roaming around town or going to the movies or doing other typical teenager things. They were like three peas in a pod, even after the school year started. Lindsay had confessed to me in secret that she saw Nick and Gina kissing one night after Gina had spent dinner at their house. Whenever she, or anyone asked him, Nick would deny that they were a couple, but everyone knew that they were closer to being an item than they would admit. We speculated why they wouldn't just make it official, but if the question was ever posed to Gina, she would just giggle and say they were just friends. I knew that despite Gina being around Lindsay's house more often, they hadn't really gotten close. Maybe, given more time, Gina could have been like a sister to her, depending on how her relationship with Nick progressed, but it just wasn't past the point of her being close to only Nick. Whenever Gina would come up in conversation with their parents, even when I was around, they would

both tell Nick that she was a lovely girl and they approved. He would blush and insist that they were just friends. To that, their mum would wink at their dad, and they would nod as if they knew a secret, a happy secret. She was naked and all banged up. Lindsay finally spoke through sobs. What? I asked, shocked.

Lindsay nodded. Nick is the one who found her. He's really messed up about it. How did... What? I failed to find the right worse to form any type of question. My mind was reeling, spinning, trying to process the information. He...

Lindsay started and took a deep inhale, filling her lungs with as much air as she could hold. I don't know why he told me. I guess I do. I know why he said he told me, but I don't know what to do about it. What are you talking about, Linz? She took another deep breath and wiped the wetness from her face. You can't tell your brother or anyone that I told you, okay?

Okay. I hesitated, a little concerned about what she was about to tell me. Nick and Gina run in the mornings. They usually meet over on Birch and jogged to the high school, then use the track. This morning he went to Birch but she wasn't there. So after he waited a while without her showing, he went over to her house and found her there. Like that.

Lindsay's voice faltered at the end. I shook my head. Okay, but why can't I tell Luke that? No, she said, not that. Okay, then, what exactly? I asked. Cecily, do you believe in ghosts? She asked, turning to look me dead in the eye. Um, can't say ever really thought about it, I answered.

What about curses? She posed another question. Curses? Linz, what the hell are you talking about? I asked. You know the old ghost story about the day rhyme witches, right? Lindsay spoke. I nodded, not understanding what any of this had to do with Nick or Gina or Luke.

Of course. It's that old legend like every kid hears about. It's the spooky story told to keep kids from wandering too far into the woods. What if it's not just a story? She said quickly. Lindsay, I began, but. was caught off by the look she was giving me. I decided to just listen and hope she would connect the dots quickly so I could understand

what she was getting at. Nick had to give a statement to the police, and they accompanied him home to inform our parents of what had happened. He didn't tell any of them what he told me, though. I was asleep when all of this happened, but once I woke up, Dad told me what happened and said that school had already announced they'd be canceling classes today. He said that he and mom would stop by the Freeman's home this afternoon, but they still had to go into work. He made sure I knew that if anything happened or if I or Nick needed either one of them to just call and they'd come home.

I knocked on Nick's door and asked him if I could get him anything. He didn't really respond, just grunted, so I left him alone. I went downstairs and sawed of days and made some coffee. I didn't know what to do. I still don't know what to do. Not long after that, Nick came downstairs and hugged me. I was surprised, but I just hugged him back and asked me if I could do anything. He asked if you could tell me something that I wouldn't tell Mom or Dad or anyone else.

I, of course, told him he could. We sat down on the couch. He was crying and seemed scared of something. Lindsay paused at this point, and I prompted her to continue. What was he scared of? He's still scared, see. I don't know if he's ever going to not be. If what he said was true, then I'm scared too, she said.

Scared of what? I asked. She looked at me for a moment, and told me what Nick had explained to her. At first he mumbled and tripped over his words, talking about how the body was found. He said that she was so close to the fence and if she could only have gotten inside, she would have been safe. He kept repeating that iron was safety, something about a curse.

I couldn't follow his train of thought, but finally he made me promise that I would take care of Mom and Dad when he died. I wasn't sure what to think of this, but I promised. It unsettled me that he said when instead of if. The entire question unsettled me, really. but I gave him what he asked and then listened to what he said five of them Nick Gina, Luke Alma and Daniel

all went into the woods on Sunday Alma moved to her last year and convinced them to go out there she'd heard the legend of the day rhyme witches and decided that she needed proof she said that she did that kind of thing all the time so they went out in search

of the graveyard near the lake Nick said that there were no trails that lead to it It was hard to find. It took them all afternoon and all evening to finally come across it. They started with a trail that leads to the lake itself, and then walked along the shore, weaving it in and out of the tree line in search of some sign.

In the story, everyone says it's a graveyard, but what Nick said he found was something more like a small plot of land fenced off with an iron cage. It was tall, taller than any of them, curving over their heads and enclosing the indenting. entire section. It was covered in leaves and vines, and the grass inside was dead. The term he'd used was deader than dead. He said it wasn't like the changing of the season and everything dying. It was as if the grass there hadn't grown in decades and just sat there, brown and yellow, flat against the earth. There was a gate in the fence with a large lock keeping it shut. The lock

hadn't been touched for years, maybe since it was first built even. There was a wooden sign hanging on the front of the gate that said, stay out, stay away, in an old-fashioned script that was almost too faded to read. After harsh seasons and so much time, it was rusted through and Daniel decided to be a show-off and attempt to pick it. He was successful and opened the gate with a loud screech of the old metal. Nick said they all had to cover their ears because it sounded like the gate was grating against itself inside of their heads. Once it was opened, they all dared one another to go inside. In the end, they all went inside, and despite the gaps in the bars,

Nick said that all sound ceased. It was as if they'd stepped into a soundproof room. He stuck his head out of the doorway and heard the normal forest sounds, but when he pulled it back in, he could hear nothing. There were no gravestones or markers for each individual grave, but the outlines of seven holes were easily distinguished, and a single stone slab lay centered at the head of the scent. It read,

Here lies witches. Let them burn for their sins and transgressions. Let demons feast on their damn souls for generations and never give respite for their crime. The name of our almighty God now, dear Henry. When they got close to the stone, they could see at the top, something carved into it, obviously years later. He said the smaller message looked hastily done and was worn away mostly, but they were able to make out the words, forgive us. As they were all examining the single marker used for all those buried there, Daniel read the original words aloud in a booming voice.

They all stared at him, annoyed and a little surprised and confused as to why he was. would do that. No one noticed that Alma was smiling until he finished and she added, We wish you the fury of hell. May you never rest or find peace. Wait, I interjected. Isn't that how the ghost story goes? Someone is supposed to say that, beckoning the witches to rise from their graves and try to exact vengeance for their deaths. Lindsay nodded solemnly Yes And as soon as Alma spoke those words

Nick said the air seemed to change It was dark by that time And he swears that bright orange and red lighting Filled the sky for a moment He wanted to demand why Alma would say that But didn't get the chance None of them did Thunder resounded through the sky

And their bodies and they felt the vibrations in their bones. The ground began to shake, and mowling and wailing began permeating the air, starting softly, then growing in further and intensity. Given the entire situation, they all felt panicked and ran. They darted out of their iron cage so quickly that they left the gate open. That's when the storm happened. Nick said that, in town, it wasn't so bad.

Even now everything has already dried. In the forest though, he said that they ran through sheets of heavy rain and the constant glow of lightning and barrage of thunderclaps. I told him that I didn't remember it being that bad of a storm. He said that it was only that bad in the woods and around the lake. Once they got back to town, they all laughed and tried to convince each other and themselves that they just spooked themselves in the spirit of things. He said he even really did believe that it was simply their minds messing with them,

and recapturing the scary feelings we all found as little kids hearing the legend. It didn't keep him from sleeping or enjoying the rest of his night. But then this morning he found Gina dead. After he told me about it, he kept mumbling about how he would be one of the seven, and how Gina was Monday's child, that of course Gina was my child. Gina was Monday's child. He wouldn't say much more after that. He kind of just drifted into a quiet mood and stared blankly into the distance. When he wouldn't respond to anything I said, I got up and tried to process what he told me. And that's when I saw you walking down the street.

We sat in silence for a few moments, both trying to make sense of Nick's story and what had happened to Gina. Finally, I asked her. Do you believe him? Do you think they really set the ghosts of those witches free? I don't know, she shrugged. The older people like my grandma tell stories about being plagued by ghosts when they were little, but I never really believed it. Now I really don't know what to believe.

All I know is, if it were real, the Nick and the others are in trouble. The witches are said to kill those who some of them first, before moving on. to others. See? What if Nick dies? She began sobbing once more and I stood up and wrapped my arms around her. I didn't know how to comfort her, and I didn't know if I wanted to believe in something I considered a silly ghost story. It was entirely possible that Georgina was just the victim of a horrible and tragic crime, and sure the timing was impeccably bad and strange. But what if It was supernatural. I just wasn't sure.

Putting any type of stock into telling something like that made any sense. I didn't want to give a real murderer, someone flesh and blood, any less blame than they deserved. Let alone shift any of that to the supposed ghosts of witches. Ms. Johnston was a bit of an outsider to begin with. She was a teacher at our school, a history teacher to be exact, but she was never in. with the other teachers. Even the students could see how much on edge she was compared to the other teachers.

When you work with the same people for a while, you build a sense of camaraderie and even friendship with some of your co-workers. Teachers could often be seen in the halls, exchanging greetings or laughing over something that had happened when they went out as a group to relax. Charlie and Johnston was never one of those teachers. Sometimes I even wondered

if she noticed how her peers reacted to her. her presence. Rather, I should say, that they lacked a reaction. Just as the planets gravitate around the sun, Charlene Johnston was like a star that had no gravitational field whatsoever. She was odd, sure, but until Black Week began, she was simply someone that no one really thought about. Now, after the years that have passed, people probably don't think much of her once again, if at all. I can never forget her though. I can't claim that I ever knew Miss Johnston very well, or that I wanted to.

She was a teacher, I was a student. The extent of us getting along was curbed by my simply wanting to pass her class and eventually get out of high school. I considered her a bit quirky, with her frequent visits to the antique shop and lime green vintage glasses complete with its blue-beated chain. She was easier to deal with than many of the other. teachers and in hindsight I can see that she was guarded but gentle and if not for the botch ritual that the five kids had performed i never would have found out just how giving miss johnston was

or why she was so guarded school resumed on tuesday with everyone in a somber state some teachers attempted to hold regular lessons but overall i don't think much was done in any class If it looked on the outside, as if work was being done, it was all in the state of autopilot, and not actual learning or retention of information. If you were to ask me what I learned in science or what we studied in math, I wouldn't be able to tell you a damn thing. It just wasn't important, especially with the story that Lindsay had shared with me and it was still rolling around in my mind.

I did learn something, though, but... nothing usual in an academic way. The announcement of a second death was made during fourth period, just before lunch. It only served to prove that the low mood of the students and teachers could be brought that much lower. The principal, a typically friendly and happy man named Mr. Keller, didn't include the name of the person who died, but that didn't matter for very long. rumors were already flying by at the end of lunch period and everyone seemed to know it was Alma Harker Alma, who'd just moved here with her family just over a year ago

Alma, who'd been with Gina, Nick, Luke and Daniel Alma, who had urged the group, according to Lindsay to visit the Caged Graveyard, Alma who baited the spirits of the witches to rise up and take vengeance He didn't take more than five minutes for Lindsay and I to sit down before our discussion turned to be one of the Day Rhyme witches and the curse on our town. We spoke in hushstones, not wanting to share our words with anyone else. As we were speculating on why Armour was the second to die, when she was the one who spoke

the words, Kyle Adams slid himself into the seat next to Lindsay. "'You're going to eat that?' he asked Lindsay, pointing at the opened and barely touched chicken salad sandwich that sat in front of her. She shook her head and slid it over to him. He took a large bite out of it while we watched him in disbelief. Car wasn't exactly a close friend, but since he had his own car, while Lindsay shared one with Nick and I had to borrow one of my parents' cars, we had spent quite a lot of time around him.

He lived next door to me and would regularly give me a ride to school if Nick had decided to take the car and do, whatever before heading to school. We'd all gone to the same middle school and now high school. Being neighbours, there was a sort of common ground that we shared, even though we typically didn't run in the same circle of friends. What? Kyle asked, mouthful of food. I rolled my eyes at the rude display. Did you just come eat my food? Lindsay asked him. He chewed and swallowed before speaking. No

I was wondering if you all needed a ride home today I was planning on working out here for a while But if you need a ride I can always work at home He said Lindsay and I shared a confused look and asked Why would you think we needed a ride You didn't need to bring us this morning

I didn't know if Nick would be back To pick you up or not He shrugged and took another bite of the sandwich Nick didn't bring us He stayed at home today?" Lindsay answered. I just saw him getting into your car and leaving the parking lot, Carl said, now becoming a bit confused himself.

He what? Lindsay and I said in unison. Kyle twitched slightly, taking it back for a split second by the intensity of our combined question. Yeah, he was heading out. I figured he walked up here to use it for some reason. You didn't know? he asked. She both shook our heads and Lindsay pulled out her cell phone. She hit a few buttons and held the phone to her ear and then waited.

After a moment she looked at the phone and hung it up and then furiously sent a text message. He didn't answer, she said. Her tone was a mix of anxiety and exasperation. I didn't know what to say. Where would he have gone and why wouldn't he have told his sister? I scoffed down the rest of Lindsay's meal with hardly a word. As he was finishing up the last bit, I stared at him, curious as to how he was being so heartless about this situation.

Most of the students, including Lindsay and I, couldn't seem to eat much, if anything, at all. You heard who died right? I asked bluntly. Kyle nodded slowly. Yeah, it was armor. And that doesn't bother you at all? I get that she was your ex and all, but you don't seem like she mattered in the slightest,

Lindsay said. It does a little. He shrugged again and then cleared his throats. Look, Amo was a great dancer and all, but that was all she had going for her. She seemed like she was nice and sweet to most people, but really, she was a bitch. Did you know that we broke up because she cheated on me? She treated me like dirt and then hooked up with like five guys at some frat party a sister took her to. They filmed it and everything.

When I found out she tried to say she was drugged or something, but I found the video. I shouldn't have watched it, but I don't know, I just had to. I could catch easily on his insinuation that the video revealed something more than what she had told him, but before he continued, I couldn't help myself. I blurted out a question that I still believe seemed callous and cold, given the situation. How did you find the video exactly? Carl looked me dead in the eyes and blushed. I just came across it.

Hmm, I mused sarcastically. I think the three of us all knew that he must have come across it on some porn site, but looking back, I really wish I hadn't have asked. It wasn't that I didn't want to know the answer, but we were talking about someone who just died that day, and not only that, Carl was telling us about something awful that she'd done to him. It doesn't really matter how he found it, Lindsay said,

shooting me a look that screamed, really, see? Right, Carl composed himself and continued. It was obvious from the video that she wasn't drugged. She was really, really into it. She did things with them that I never would have asked with it to do. When I told her that I found her sex tape, she laughed and told me that at least they'd be. could satisfy her, unlike me. She said some pretty hurtful things, and yep, I didn't want her to

die, but, well, I can't say that I'm completely broken up about it, at least not right now. I apologize to Carl for being brash, and both Lindsay and I told him we were sorry that happened to him. Carl sat with us for a little while longer, and the entire time, I couldn't help but study his expressions, and noticed that, even though he was outwardly appearing to not care very much about Alma's death. His eyes told a very different story. I wondered if working out was going to help him also work through those emotions that he seemed desperate to hide and pretend didn't exist. We assured him that even if Nick wasn't back with the car in time, we wouldn't need him to drive us. At worst, we would just walk home. He was hesitant to accept that answer,

especially with two of our fellow female classmates having been murdered in two days, but he relented eventually. Fifth period for me was history with Ms. Johnston. It was also the only class that Lindsay and I had together. We joined the zombie-like students in the classroom and took our seats. Ms. Johnston sat at her desk, quietly watching everyone file in and waited for the bell to ring. Her typical garb of an ankle-length dress and button-up sweater were a little off.

The buttons on the front of the burgundy dress she wore that day were mismatched, and her sweater hung limply off one shoulder. I noticed that her hair also didn't look as if it had been brushed that day. It wasn't particularly messy, but it wasn't smooth either. A few strands seemed to be sticking in different directions, and there was a small lock of hair looped next to her ear. Her gaze caught mine, and her face softened. She looked tired and weary, as if she'd been struggling with something that none of us knew about. Class, she began once everyone had taken their seats and the bell had rung. By now, you've all heard more details

than you were probably supposed to know, I'm sure. There was a murmur among the students, confirming her statement. I don't know how much, but... I've been told a few details that I feel you are welcome to, so please, does anyone have any questions about what's going on? She asked us all. There was an awkward silence and a few people shifted in their seats. Of course we all wanted to know. It's human nature to be curious and want to be informed, but no one appeared willing to be the first to speak. Think of it as a lesson in current events, Miss Johnston spoke again.

and if you don't feel up to talking about this particular event, what questions might you have about, well, current events, local, countrywide, worldwide, any at all? A kid toward the back of the class, Patrick, raised his hand, and Ms. Johnston responded with, Yes. Is it true they found her at the dance studio on first? He asked. For the first time that I could remember, Ms. Johnston. Johnston had the undivided, enraptured attention of every single one of us. She nodded.

Yes, Alma Harka was found at the dance studio, which will be shut down until the police finished their investigation. Was she really murdered? Another student asked, without raising her hand. As Johnston took in a deep breath and looked at us all for a few long seconds before answering. Yes. Is it the same person who killed Georgina? The same student blurted out. The police have not announced anything of that sort as of yet,

Ms. Johnston responded. Did she drown too? Yet another student asked in a small voice. I glanced to the speaker and saw that it was Freddie Tucker, the son of a sheriff's deputy. Oh, wouldn't you know better than her? Patrick asked before Ms. Johnston had the chance to say anything. I watched Freddy shoot Patrick an annoyed look, but everyone turned their attention back to the front of the room when our teacher began to speak.

I don't think that information is supposed to be public knowledge yet, Mr Tucker. But as of right now, we haven't been told how Miss Harker perished. What about the curse? The girl that sat next to Lindsay asked. I think her name was Jennifer or Jessica or Jericho or something. Lindsay, alarmed by the question, looked at me with wide eyes, and I shrugged, also concerned. Who said anything about the curse? Miss Johnston asked her, her eyes narrowing in on the girl.

The student only shrugged and sank back into her seat. I heard that Gina and Alma and some others started the curse too. A male student, Hansen, I said. Miss Johnston sat down in her seat with a sigh. They didn't start any curse. Vera, a quiet bookish girl who almost never spoke, raised her hand. Miss Johnston, what's the curse? Miss Johnston took another moment to look at all of us.

She interlocked her fingers to create a bridge with her elbows on her desk and leaned forward. glancing to the open door before talking again. Will he close the door? She asked the student closest to it, and once they had, she began to relay the full version of the scary old story that we'd all heard. Centuries ago, the Salem witch trials drove people

deeper into the country. The witch hunt that was sparked in young America terrified those who didn't entirely fit the mold of the Puritan lifestyle, and in order to avoid prosecution, Some fled the area and found new places to make their homes. Our very own town became one such home to three families who would later be accused of witchcraft. Word spread about witches and the trials, but the newcomers seemed to acclimate well and fit into society,

if not being well a little strange. Most of the townspeople considered their odd behaviors as simply a difference in lifestyle from a larger populated area to this one. This town was still an infant, and much as small town see differences in people from large cities, it was the same in that time. Well, at least it was for a while. The second generation came along, and people began noticing failing crops and sickening livestock. It would seem that the town was faltering.

Some pointed their finger and accused the specific families of witchcraft. The families accused were the ones that had joined them during them. in the panic of the witch troughs. Although the town quickly grew wary of these families, they did not outright call them witches just yet. Children and the elderly began to grow sick during a harsh winter, and by the next spring, many had died, including some of those who had moved here to avoid persecution. It didn't matter, though, as the town overall began to hold them at fault, whispering about black magic rituals and disease that only appeared because of work with the devil. The following year proved to bring the town out of the slum, however,

and crops and livestock thrived, bringing a plentiful harvest and hope through the darkest of winter days. With nothing to fuel their rumors and accusations, most of the townsfolk began to back off of the idea that there were witches amongst them. One, however, was very outspoken about his beliefs. His name was Thomas Miller. Thomas had lost to him. Thomas had lost. his life to childbirth a few years earlier and held the witches accountable for whatever reason his twisted mind had come up with. His child, Henry, was sickly as a toddler, but by the time he was six was very robust and strong for his age.

Thomas suspected that there was something not right about this boy and did anything and everything he could to keep him separate from the witches, fearing that they might have something to do with his oddities. He claimed on more than one occasion that he heard chanting outside his son's room at night, and that little Henry would often walk around in his sleep, mumbling things that didn't make sense. He was utterly convinced that his son was a target of evil, and that he needed to keep him safe at all costs. He loved his boy very much, although he found some strange things about him. In his mind, Henry was his son, and anything weird he did was the direct result of black magic.

and dark worship. One night, Thomas awoke to the sound of the door banging open. It took him a moment to understand what was going on in his semi-conscious state, but once he did, he ran to see what had caused the noise. The door stood wide open, letting the harsh autumn and wind pushed through and rifle through his belongings. He called for Henry, but there was no answer. Looking outside, he saw nothing in the darkness.

He checked his son's room and found the bed to be empty. It was then he knew something or someone had taken his child. Of course, he just knew that it was the witches. He awoke the town and they searched Henry's normal spots where he liked to play but turned up nothing. They searched the woods and found still no sign of Henry. By morning Thomas had made up his mind that it was absolutely the witches. that were responsible. He gathered as many people as he could,

including the remaining members of the three families, seven people in total. He split them up under the guise of searching the woods deeper for this missing boy. He maneuvered himself to be the leader of the group that included the seven supposed witches and led them to the shore of the lake in the woods. There, it's unclear of how exactly he managed it,

but he trapped them all and questioned them one by one. demanding to know what they'd done with Henry. He swore at them an inflicted pain in various ways, trying to force each one to tell him what they were in fact witches and where his son was. This lasted a week. At first, Thomas didn't mean to kill anyone. The first day changed that, however, after he accidentally drowned the fairest maiden in the lake. He had tortured her, thinking that threatening her beauty would make her break. He branded her with iron and beat her until she was no longer beautiful. She never spoke, but he found her screams as she was held under the water to be intoxicating.

Once she was dead, he saw the looks on the faces of the rest and knew that this could be his way of getting them to hand over his son. He informed them that for each day they didn't return his boy, he would kill one. more. He left them in the woods. We can't be sure if he built the iron cage that kept them in, before or after he began his daily kinnings, but personally, I believe it was before. I think that in the hysteria of the previous years, he'd build it just in case. Either way, he kept them locked behind iron bars deep in the forest, while he would return home to say that he hadn't found his son. The people of the town fell for him, and believed he had to be able to the town. He had to

that he spent each day of that week combing the forest, searching for his boy. Seven days passed, and the final witch was dead. Although Thomas kept hope that one would talk, by the time the strong man was cut down, none of them had told him how to get his son back. He left the gate open when he returned home, having no more people to keep contained. He was distraught and forlorn as he made his way back. to the village. It would not last longer. Once he returned to his home, several of his neighbors came to his house, excited about something. They told him that little Henry had been found

and was with the doctor. He rushed to see his son, and found him hungry and thirsty, cold and shivering, but alive. The child told his father that he'd awoken in the forest, in a tree that first night, and had struggled to find his way home. Everyone returned. rejoiced, and as he heard them talk of telling the missing people they no longer needed to look for the child, Thomas felt his heart grow heavy with fear and anger. He still felt that they were responsible for his son's sleepwalking episodes, but he was also afraid of what the people might do when the ones he'd call witches never returned. Days passed, and Thomas pretended not to know their whereabouts.

began complaining of seeing spectres of the missing seven and having nightmares of being hunted and chased through town. They began burying iron in front of their homes, and some hung iron on their doors. They would speak of sleeping better once they'd done this, but Thomas couldn't be bothered with their superstitions yet. Exactly a week after the final death, Thomas had his very own dream. The witches stood around his bed, looming over him and keeping him pissed. down. They whispered hexes and angry words into his mind, while taking turns stabbing him with fingers that felt like talents. Thomas woke up screaming, but assured himself it was only a dream. The witches were dead. He continued to have this dream for several more days, before the terror

and pain and his own guilt drove him to come clean to his friends. Instead of being put on trial or punished, however, his friends aided him in burying the witches in the same iron-case. where he left their bodies to rot. He commissioned a single headstone to be built, to mark their graves as one, and erected it as soon as it was complete. He also hung an iron horseshoe on his front door. People continued to complain of nightmares, though,

and he still sat awake at night. Henry had stopped trying to leave the house in the night, but still sleepwalked around their small home. That wasn't what kept him awake, however. What kept Thomas awake was the banging of fists against the exterior of his house. The hexes shouted just outside of his bedroom, the scratching noises against the front door. Everything culminated one night when he was shaken by a banging on his door. He hadn't been to sleep yet, and the urgency of the knock made him jump and shake.

He didn't move until he heard the voice of one of his neighbours yelling at him. The metal smith shop in town was on fire. He rushed to help, leaving the door unlocked and his son in bed. As they fought the blaze that was quickly spreading to more stars and buildings, Henry, dazed with sleep, wandered out of his home and to the town square. Thomas noticed him only when a chorus of laughter began rising above the din of the flames. heard it, and everyone stopped to try to locate the sound. No one knew how long they'd been there, but the ghastly visages of the seven dead witches stood, watching the blaze with glee in their eyes.

Henry was headed right for them. One of the female witches reached out her arms to him, and beckoned him close. Thomas sprang to action, running for his boy and standing between him and what surely would have been his death. The fire is said to have increased right at that moment, and Thomas struggled against his son to make him stop. The witches then spoke together, in a single tone made up with seven different voices. They said that Henry Wood succumbed to them one day, that Thomas's transgressions would never be forgiven. They confirmed that they were witches, that Thomas had been right, and they cursed the town and the lack of action taken by the people who lived in the world. They swore they would return each day in exact their revenge.

They would take someone that matched the witch in some way that had died on the corresponding day. And then they were gone. One person perished in the blaze before it was able to be put out. He was a charming and handsome young man with a full life ahead of him, engaged with him married in a short time. He'd been the young man that all the ladies wished to count. of the attention of. He had been beautiful, just like the first witch had been. The second day, the clockmaker. Man considered graceful in his works, was found dead. This continued on, and the rhyme

that tells the days of the we began to hold a sinister meaning to the town. There were no real records of how Thomas and the townspeople were able to stop the attacks, but the violence ceased for a long time. A few decades ago, how I had to be able to stop the attacks. A few decades ago, how However, murders began to spring up again, and action had to be taken to prevent it. There used to be a path that led to the iron cage that houses the souls of those witches, but many, many years ago, it was covered and nature was allowed to reclaim it. I must urge you that, no matter what you believe is going on right now, do not go looking for it.

It's easy to get lost in the woods, especially with the world. out a path to follow. Do not put yourself in harm's way and take care of one another. Always be alert and if you see anyone suspicious, report it immediately." Mrs. Johnston concluded the tale with what felt to me like a rushed afterthought. I got the impression that she believed in the witch's curse and she just wanted to make it seem as if she was the same as every other sensible adult. I couldn't help but wonder what else she knew or what she might be able and willing to tell someone in a one-on-one setting. After class, I exited the room with Lindsay,

and we walked to where our lockers were side by side. We were silent until she spoke, putting words to exactly the thoughts I was having. See, Gina was gorgeous, right? Everyone knows that, but Alma? She trailed off. I looked at her, and I looked at her, nodded solemnly. I know. Alma was a dancer. Alma had grace. I think we need to talk to Ms. Johnston

after school. Approaching Miss Johnston alone was admittedly a little daunting for me. When you're younger, people such as teachers have this air of power about them that makes you inherently nervous. You don't fully understand or grasp that they are just people with their own lives and worries, and sometimes they're just as lost as you are. It isn't until we're considered adults ourselves that we truly see that we're more like those people we look up to or the people that we fear when we're children. That Tuesday, it took all of my confidence to go to Charlene Johnston's classroom as the school quickly emptied of staff and students. This wasn't just asking about a homework assignment after all. This dealt with murder and witches and something that only that morning I'd considered folklore and a tall,

tale to keep kids in line. Lindsay had planned on joining me, but when I checked my phone the moment the bell rang, I saw a text message from her. Nick had texted her shortly before and would pick her up. As much as I hated to lose my best friend and the confidence that she exuded, I understood that right now she needed to talk to Nick more than Miss Johnston. I could handle it, I repeatedly assured myself mentally, as I made the short walk through the halls to the hill. history room. I also continually went over my options for just what the hell I was going to say to start the conversation. As I closed the distance, I saw Ms. Johnston exiting the room and stopping to lock the doorknob. Miss Johnston, I called out to her over the other teens

milling about the hallway, opening and closing lockers, making plans and gossiping. She looked up and she raised her eyebrows when we locked eyes. As she pulled her key out of the night. She pulled knob, I hurried over to her. Yes, Miss Wood, she asked. Her hands fumbled with her purse as she tucked the small ring of keys inside and pulled out another set, presumably, for her car. Can we talk? I asked. I glanced around at the busy hall and added, somewhere less crowded. She didn't respond right away, but looked me in the eyes intently.

She seemed as though she was trying to decide something. something difficult. She didn't ask me what I wanted to talk about. She didn't assume or pretend to assume that it was about school. I felt in my bones that she just knew what I wanted to know even before I'd said anything about it. There was a sense of understanding between us and, honestly, I didn't question it at the moment. It wouldn't be until much later, as I replayed the events in my mind that I would find it strange. Luke was there, I blurted out. I'm not sure what I was thinking as the words left my mouth, but as they fell out like something

distasteful, I pleaded in my mind for her to make up her mind and help me if we were truly in danger. She put a finger to her lips and shushed me. Her face softened a bit, and she nodded. Walk with me. I obliged and followed her down the hall. There was a noise all around us, but it sounded muffled to me. In my concern, concentration and fear, the only sounds that made themselves known to my ears were my own footsteps and my heart beating.

It wasn't pounding yet, but I felt like it could take off at any second, just as a racehorse takes off out of the gate. For a few seconds, as we walked without speaking, my mind wandered, and I related my heartbeat to the pounding of steady hooves on hard dirt. We exited the building via the door to the teacher's parking lot. and I continued to follow her, my eyes scanning the surrounding cars and people leaving the locks. In my periphery, I noticed my teacher hit a key fob, and I looked at the vehicle we were nearing. The lights flashed in response to her unlocking it. I'd never thought about what Miss Johnston might drive, but I was rather surprised at just how dirty it was on the outside. The lower half of the silver Subaru sedan was covered in a layer of dirt and dried mud.

It wasn't unusual to see a dirty vehicle in this way, but for some reason I just didn't expect it from Ms. Johnston. Although she'd seem to she'd seem dishevelled today herself, she was typically clean and well kept. I wondered briefly if that only reached her person and not her car or home. What is it that you want to ask? She prompted, after opening the back door and gently placing her purse and work back inside. Her keys remained in one hand, while her other rested on the top. of the still open door as she turned to face me. I don't really know what to ask, I admitted.

Well, first off, I'm sure you're wondering if it's real. Am I correct? She said. She was correct, and in response I didn't say a word but looked sheepishly to the ground and hiked up the strap of my backpack to sit more comfortably on my shoulder. You said your brother was there? she asked. Her voice was calm and stoic, but there was an undertone of concern that she struggled to conceal. I looked back up at her and nodded. Yes. Is it real? Is he going to die?

Her brows furrowed, and she let out of breath before answering. Do you have anywhere to be, or would you be willing to take a ride with me? To where? I instinctively asked. It's a place with answers. They might not be the answers that you want to hear, but their answers nonetheless. She spoke quietly. I stared at her for all of three seconds before nodding and walking around to get into the passenger seat. I heard the door close and the driver's door open.

I was pleasantly surprised by the interior, which I hadn't even bothered to glance at until I was sliding into the seat and setting my backpack carefully onto the floor beneath my feet. As messy as the exterior looked, he was almost. immaculate on the inside. It wasn't anything special, but I could tell that my musings a few minutes before were incorrect and that Miss Johnson did, in fact, care about her car as much as her body. There was also a scent that I couldn't determine the origin of. I glanced around, searching with my eyes for an air freshener or something but discovered nothing. It was a relaxing and mystical scent, and despite the situation I found myself focusing on what was creating it.

The therapist I used to go to said that, for some people, in stressful or traumatic experience or times, it's easier to detach from the most of their predicament and focus solely on a detail of some sort. Unlikely, that's exactly what I was doing. As Johnston placed herself in the driver's seat and slid the key into the ignition, the engine started up with ease and we both reached up to secure our safety belts. She caught me looking around and gave me a quizzical expression. What is that amazing smell? I asked. She led out a light-hearted laugh. It's a special homemade blend. As she spoke, she pushed the cover for the cup holder open and pulled out a jar and handed it to me. I took it and examined the contents. It appeared to be candle wax or something similar with herbs melted in. I held it under my nose and took a deep inhale before handing it back to her.

It smells incredible. What's in it? I asked. She smiled and winked at me, and she placed it back in the holder. Oh, some herbs and oils, but it's a secret. She said and shifted the car into drive. We exited the parking lot. We drove in silence to our destination.

I wasn't sure what to say. Several times I opened my mouth to speak, but felt myself lacking words to actually utter. For Miss Johnston, I think she was just waiting until we arrived at whatever the place was that had answers. It wasn't too long of a drive, about fifteen to twenty minutes. I recognised most of the roads until we turned off the pavement and began to follow a dirt path. It was smooth, despite looking like it should be riddled with holes and dips. Most people tend to automatically slow down on dirt roads, especially those that they don't know.

Ms. Johnston maintained a speed of 40 miles an hour, leading me to believe that she knew this road well. It was no wonder that her car was so filthy on the outside. The road turned out to be a long private drive, and after coming around a sharp curve, we stopped, facing a small, unassuming cottage. I had no previous knowledge of this place, and although it fit perfectly into the witch law around the area, no one I knew had ever seen or spoken of it. It looked as if it fit perfectly in a fairy tale that spoke of someone who spent their time tending to love potions or helping pixies and woodland creatures.

It wasn't dark or spooky in the least, but its location and quaintness may be curious as to why there were no pranks to teen boys talking about visiting this old house in the woods where some secret witch lived. It turned out that I wasn't entirely wrong in those thoughts. almost as soon as the engine was shut off and we opened the doors and stood another car came barreling down the driveway both miss johnston and i looked in the direction we just come from and i saw the familiar to forerunner breaking hard in a cloud of dust and dirt in a flash the driver's door opened and nick practically leapt out yelling my name what the hell i asked him stay in the damn car he said to Lindsay, who I could see in the passenger seats and then turn back to me. Get in, Cessaly.

No. What are you doing? Did you follow us? I asked incredulously. Just get your stuff. Get in the freaking car. Now, he shouted at me, taking swift steps towards me. I looked at Miss Johnston with a defeated expression.

She shrugged at me. You should do what he says. She told me. But the answers, I sputtered. She solemnly shook her head. Nick was toe to toe with me now, placing a hand around my upper arm. We need to leave right now, see? I drew in a sharp breath, full of frustration, but obeyed and bent down to grab my backpack out of the car.

He released my arm so I could shoulder it and then waited for me to make a move to their car. Once I was walking away He followed while glaring daggers at Miss Johnston the entire time Even as I got into the SUV and we drove away I saw Miss Johnston stand there Watching me The sadness on her face What the hell was that about? I demanded the second the tires

Reach pavement I didn't care that my voice was raised or that Lindsay was sitting there silently Nick turned onto the road I wanted the bat tires squealed from the force. Answer me, Nick. Why did you follow us? If what Lindsay told me was true, Miss Johnston could have helped if she was taking me to find answers.

I spat at him. I saw him turn his head briefly to glance at Lindsay, but she only turned her head to look out of the window, avoiding his gaze. He sat in silence for another minute before I continued. I mean, what's going on? I said in a low voice. voice, putting all my effort into sounding as forceful as possible. She's a witch,

Cecily. She's a damned witch, Nick finally answered. I sat back in the seat and considered this information. I wanted to ask him how he knew, but couldn't manage to form the words or even a full thought. When Nick pulled the car up to my house, no one said a word as I opened the door and got out. He was reversing out of the driveway almost before I slammed the door shut. I stood there, unmoving, as they drove down the street and then turned out of view. What the hell was his problem? How was Miss Johnston a witch? Is that how she knew so much about the curse? Was she planning on sacrificing me or something? Thoughts and questions swirled around my head as I made my way inside into my room. Mine was the only

bedroom on the first floor, and it had originally been an office. As I began to grow and needed my own space, my parents converted it to a small but cozy bedroom for me. I heard the floorboards of the second floor creaked slightly. I knew that Luke was home, probably sulking in his own room. I planned to go check on him as soon as I'd calmed down enough. For the moment, though, I just needed to breathe. Half an hour later, I found myself knocking on Luke's door, asking how he was doing. The only response I received was a grunt and a, I'm fine, from my brother.

My heart sank just a little when I considered that our relationship would never be remotely close to what Lindsay and Nick had. They were more than just siblings. They were friends. They got along and confided in one another about things. Nick always cared and did what he could to protect her. One time, when we were younger, Lindsay and I had wanted to swing at the playground, and when we arrived at group of older kids were there and started teasing Lindsay about her glasses and me about my patchy overalls. Nick and Luke had walked us there, but went to a friend's house across the street to play video games. It was only Nick who came to our rescue, appearing before I even realized he'd noticed our conflict. He threatened the other kids and ran them off without hesitation. After, he asked

if we wanted him to stay while we played. Lindsay said yes, and he sat on a little. He said, a bench where we laughed and ran around and spent time on the swings. After a while Luke joined us but only briefly asking Nick why he didn't come back. He was annoyed with Nick, but all I could think about was how I wished I was Lindsay and Nick's sister instead of Luke's. And that's how our relationship was. We weren't close, we rarely talked, and if you didn't know better, you'd have no reason to think we were related, apart from some of some of the relationship. similar physical features. I wanted more, though, but no matter how much I tried to be his friend, for even much of a sister, I was shot down and pushed away. As I salt back to my room, downstairs,

I couldn't help but wonder why I cared so much about his safety when I knew that he wasn't and likely would never be concerned with mine. That night, I was woken abruptly by loud movement around the house. My mother threw open my door before I could understand what was happening. My eyes blinked open as I saw her rush to the side of the bed and begged me to get up. She was frantic and I grogly sat up asking her what was going on. Something striking the side of the house came as a response and my head whipped around to look at the window across from my bed. What? I muttered. Come on honey, we have to get away from the windows.

Mom tugged on my hand gently. She was panicking, and I was confused. Heather, did you get her up? I heard my father call from down the hall. We're coming, she yelled back to him, as I slid out from under my comforter and began to stand on tired legs. What's going on? I asked her.

She didn't say a word, only looked at me in the darkness. Without any light, I couldn't tell what her expression was saying, only that she was facing me. Another object struck the house somewhere. I jumped and gripped Mom's hand. She all but dragged me through the door and down the hall to the living room. There I saw Dad and Luke barricading the windows with the couch, love seat and any other large furniture they could get into position. Mom positioned me in the center of the room, a motion for me to sit, and then release my hand and vanished somewhere back down the hallway. I sat on the floor and pulled my knees up to my chin, listening to the ruckus of small

things falling or being thrown at the outside of the house, and my family moving things around. All I knew was that I was scared, and something had really spooked my family. I'd never seen them act in such a way. After what felt like seconds, my mum returned with some blankets from a linen closet, and the three of them joined me on the floor. We sat there in silence, and I began to make out a voice from outside. No, not a single voice, several voices, all taking turns speaking.

They sounded distorted, and had a strange lingering quality to them that I could only describe as an audio representation of the effect waving a light and trying to spell your name in the dark has. Wednesday's child, one voice spoke. is full of woe. Another chimed in. We the third. Word.

Yet another. He called us. Voice number five. He released us. The sixth. He can end your suffering child. The final voice spoke. louder than the rest, or was it just closer?

I looked at my brother and saw the sheer terror on his face. He looked like a small child again, and there were tears in his eyes. I tried to remember if I'd ever seen him so afraid before. My father whispered something to him, but my mind wouldn't comprehend the words. I'm sure it was something either comforting or something meant to keep him strong against the people or things outside. The barrage of bangs against the house picked up. At first I thought that whoever was outside was throwing small pebbles or stones at the side of the house. But when they started to hit against the back and the roof rapidly, I knew that couldn't be.

With every second that ticked by slowly we huddled together, petrified of what was happening. I still didn't understand just what was happening, but I knew from what they'd said. knew from what they'd said that this was related to the witches. The noises stopped for a moment, and one of them spoke. Come outside. Come to us, Luke. My brother stood up against the pleading from my parents. He took a step toward the front door, and my father lunged to his feet, grabbing Luke's

arm and telling him to stop. What happened next was so fast that I still don't know just how I remember. the details. Luke's free arm pulled back as he turned to face our father. As his head pivoted, I saw a glint of silver from his eyes. It was similar to how a deer's eyes reflect headlights when encountered at night, but the colour was unusual. I also realized that his face was blank, devoid of emotion. It was as if he was an empty being. I assume that my father saw this too, as he momentarily stopped, his eyes narrowing on his eyes narrowing on Luke's visage. By the time he saw Luke's fist swinging toward him, he was too late to duck.

His knuckles made contact with Dad's jaw and sent him hurtling to the floor. Some people become hyper-aware when presented with extreme fear in a traumatic situation. For others, the mind blocks things out and details become fuzzy. I am one of the latter, and that's one thing I can still be thankful for to this day. I don't remember the sound of my brother. brothers fists colliding with my dad's face, all the sound is body made when he dropped to the carpeted floor, incapacitated and unable to keep Luke from trying to leave. I can't even remember my mom's voice as she rushed at Dad's side. I know she was talking, and I know there were sounds that accompanied every movement,

but my mind shut everything out. It was muffled, as if I was wearing well-fitted earplugs. The only sound I heard clearly was the front door. being unlocked and then opening. I remember stumbling as I tried to stand up and move to the door too quickly. I remember Luke standing there, staring at the group just outside of our iron fence, and I remember coming to a halt next to him, taking in the sight outside. Seven beings glared at us with such a burning hatred that I felt my body flush and become

warm, despite the chilly night air. They weren't solid in a conventional sense, but also they weren't completely transparent like I'd seen in movies and TV shows. They were opaque, but their presence was heavy, weighing on the ground they stood upon. Their old clothes were torn and missing in places, and I saw various injuries clearly. There was a young woman whose face was tinged with an eerie blue-gray color that I recognized as the first to die from the story. An older gentleman had a bloody mark lining his neck that still leaped black blood. Another, only a child of maybe ten or eleven, had hands that reached out to Luke, revealing fingers that were broken at every point and a missing thumb.

His eyes were ringed in bruises and there was a hole in his cheek, showing off chipped teeth. My heart couldn't help but break at the sight. What I don't remember was how I wound up in the yard It was no one to tell me what transpired either So that memory remains a blur One moment I was standing there in the doorway with Luke My brain working as rapidly as possible

To think of a way to keep Luke from leaving The ghastly coven raised their arms above their heads And hail began to fall on the roof The yard and as far up the covered porch as possible Luke took a step to stand on the porch and he yelled that they needed to go back to hell. This only enraged them more, and the older man, who was standing an inch or less away from the iron fence that lie in the yard, spoke with a voice that echoed through the night and into

my bones. Not without you, Luke. We will get you one way or another. It is your turn. Your heart is full of sorrow and misery. just like mine was. His voice cut through the cacophony of ice chunks falling heavier and more rapidly with each breath I took. Sapplings line the space

between the sidewalk and the streets. They would have been pretty if given the chance to grow. Like those that had already been struck down by these spirits though, they were not allowed that. Three of the infant trees shook and were uprooted before pausing in the air

and exploding into high. hundreds of small, sharp spears. They were aimed at the house, at Luke and I. I heard the wind rage suddenly, as the witches pointed, spoke something in a language that I didn't understand. And then I was on the grass. My mother was leaning over me, tears flowing from my eyes and sobs racking her body as she begged me to be okay. I sat up slowly, my head spinning. I tried to speak, but only incoherent noise came from my vocal cords. Shh, sweetie, just be still. She whispered in my ear, she pulled me close to her.

After sitting there like that for a moment, my father joined us from outside of the fence. They helped me to my feet, and we made our way inside. Luke was despondent, seated on the floor, staring at empty space in front of him. His face was empty still, but there was no. no glint in his eyes. Mum and Dad guided me to the couch,

still out of its normal place in the room, and laid me down. We remained silent, all four of us, for a while. Mum made some coffee, and Dad got me a glass of water, and no one said anything until the doorbell rang. My father answered it,

while Mum knelt beside me, clutching my hand. She'd stopped crying, but I could tell that she was still on the verge of breaking down, again as she watched the EMTs enter our home and tend to me. I answered their questions, still a bit dazed, but was given a clean bill of health for the most part. They said that I didn't seem to have any severe damage, just some bruises and scrapes. My head might hurt for a while and I might seem out of it but that would

likely wear off as the shock went away. Then they spoke to my father in hushed tones and when the door opened once more for them to leave I saw the flash lights of police cars outside. I wanted answers, but at the same time I felt in my gut that I couldn't quite comprehend most of the information anyone might give me. Dad urged Luke to go up to his room and get some sleep. It took a bit of pushing, and him physically being lifted off the ground for him to respond with a nod and trunch up the stairs. And then the attention was turned back to me. How are you feeling? Mum asked in a small

voice. I don't know. That was them, wasn't it? The witches. We saved Luke, I answered. My mom and dad shared a look that lasted only seconds, but felt drawn out. I couldn't read their faces completely. They were still fear there, yes, but there was something else, something painful. They seemed to be briefly considering the next move with one another. Finally, my mom nodded to my and sat beside me on the couch. She took my hand in hers, and I remembered when she told me about Georgina. Before anyone said a word,

I knew that we might have saved Luke, but someone else wasn't as lucky. Yes, Luke was saved, but honey... She paused and glanced up at Dad. Charlene Johnston was caught in the storm. I don't know why she was here, but by the time I got outside, she seemed to be battling.

He trailed off, his face grimacing, the thought of admitting what we'd all seen and now knew to be true. He continued. She was killed, but not before tossing this toward the gate and saying it was for you. He reached for a small book that I hadn't noticed on the floor and at one end of the couch.

He hesitated for only a second, but then handed it to me. I took it gingerly and saw that it had hard blank cover. I opened it and saw lined pages with handwriting that I immediately recognized as Miss Johnston's. Confused, I looked up at my dad, but his expression matched my own. Do you know why she would have wanted you to have this? What is it? he asked. I shook my head and yawned involuntarily, a journey or something, but I don't know why she'd give it to me. You need some rest. We all do. It's late. Mom chimed in. As much as I wanted to know what the book contained, I also knew that she was right. I glanced at the large clock on the wall and saw that it was almost 3.30 in the morning. If I was going to understand anything that I read, I'd need some sleep first. I spent most of Wednesday in bed. I slept a bit, but I think I tossed and turned and stared at it.

the ceiling and the window more than anything else. At one point, I tried reading the journal that Mr Johnston had left, but I didn't get very far. The first page of the journal contained a short passage. It was the only thing written neatly. I knew the words already. Most people in our town did, but I still found myself reading it over several times. Monday's child is fair of face. Tuesday's child is full of grace Wednesday's child is full of woe Thursday's child has far to go Friday's child is loving and giving

Saturday's child works hard for a living But the child born on the Sabbath day Is Bonnie and Blythe and good and gay A thumb the edge of the pages in the first half of the book Letting them flip quickly And saw that the rest of the pages although the majority were blank, were written hastily. It was easy to assume that Ms. Johnston had done her best

to write down everything she could in a very short amount of time. As I went back and stared at the first page, the one with the poem, I thought back to the previous afternoon. I wondered if she'd decided to jot all of this down after failing to give me any answers because Nick and Lindsay had shown up. What was it that my dad had specifically said? that she had been battling the witches how exactly had she been doing that

throughout the day in the moments that I was awake I wrestled with the idea of trying to at least talk to Nick to find out more information I wasn't exactly sure what he could tell me that he would be willing to tell me but I needed more he said that Ms Johnston was a witch

how would he have known that would it be possible to find out from Lindsay instead The more I thought about speaking with Nick about this, the more nervous I felt about it. She had been there with him when they interrupted my knowledge-seeking, so maybe she knew also. Maybe he had told her. By the time I finally made up my mind and forced myself to get out of bed and get dressed, it was later than I'd realised. I opened my bedroom door to find a darkened house, and quiet, permeating every inch of it.

my first thought was that something was off this wasn't right where were my parents I expected not to see Luke because well he'd be hiding in his room but if it was dark mum and dad should be at home as I stood in the doorway

my stomach rumbled and I glanced down of it a little surprised by the sudden organic noise breaking the silence okay step one get something to eat and some water I whispered aloud to myself, suddenly feeling how dry my throat was. Step two, fight evil witches that put some sort of darkness spell on the house. Oh, and find out where Mom and Dad are.

I drew in a deep, determined breath, then let it out with a soft sound. Then I focused all of my energy and willpower on putting one foot in front of the other in the direction of the kitchen. I kept waiting for something or someone to jump out of the shadows, but none of that came. I was made to jump slightly and I saw a figure sitting in the kitchen. There were no lights on, and the soft glow coming into the room from the window revealed a person, shoulders slumped forward, bent against the table. I couldn't see any features, but the mere presence of this shape sent chills down my spine. What if they got inside somehow and killed my parents?

I shook my head at the thought and then counted my mental quandary with another. If they had gotten in, why was I left untouched? What if they hadn't left me untouched, and they were just waiting here to get me? They're dead, right. So what's a little extra time in the scheme of instilling fear into their victims before tearing them apart, or drowning them or torturing them, until the sun comes up? I reached to the wall beside me as I walked slowly through the open arch that separated the kitchen from the living room. Other than my searching hand, I froze when I didn't immediately feel the light switch.

My fingertips fell around the smooth wall until they brushed the plastic, and, as quickly as I could, I turned on the lights to see who or what was in my house. I braced myself for something gory or terrifying, clenching my eyes shut for a moment, and waiting for whatever it was to bolt up and attack me after I started it with a change. Nothing happened. I opened one eye and then the other, immediately and spontaneously relieved, confused and embarrassed. It was Luke. What in the hell, Luke?

I called to him in a voice just above a whisper. He was slumped over the table, but stirred when I spoke. Slowly he lifted his head up and sat upright. I saw his shoulder shift as I heard him sigh deeply. I didn't wait for him to turn around. I moved quicker now and walked over to the table and stood beside it, in front of him. He looked up at me without a word. Where his eye should have been white.

They were bloodshot and dark rings hung in the skin just below each. His gaze was distant, and I got the impression that he saw me but wasn't really seeing me. It was sort of like when you're looking at something far off and notice someone or something approach you, but you're still focused on something in the distance. I placed my hand in front of his face and snapped. He didn't flinch or jump, but just calmly looked me in the eye. You're up, he said in a hoarse voice. Where are mum and dad? I asked.

He shrugged and answered. Upstairs, in bed. I looked at him quizzically, wondering why they would already be in bed. My eyes narrowed on his for a few seconds, and then I turned my head to look at the bright green number. was on the stove. It was 1.42 a.m. It's what? I asked no one in particular, definitely not my brother specifically. He seemed to take it upon himself to answer, though. You slept like all day, he said with another sigh and stretched his arms above his head. I slid into the nearest chair and stared at the clock in disbelief. There's no way I'd been out for the entire day was that? In my

periphery, I saw Luke slide something from his right over to in front of me. Here, Mom left you this. My attention shifted back to the table, and I looked at him, and then at the small piece of paper he'd placed in front of me. It was from the little notepad that Mom used to leave messages and make grocery lists. I read over it quickly, and easily took in the simple message of her, telling me that, in case I woke up hungry before the morning, there were leftovers in the fridge for me. She'd hoped I was feeling better by the time I read it and told me that she loved me. She really knew me well and I couldn't help but crack a lopsided grin at the thought of her knowing my stomach would likely be my first concern upon getting up. A gentle but urgent knock on the

back door pulled me from her sweet words into the present setting. Luke got up and opened it before I could do much to protest. His name was halfway out of my mouth when I heard another familiar voice. My panic subsided abruptly, and I watched Luke lead Nick and Lindsay into the kitchen and to the table. Luke returned to his seat, and our guests each took a seat in the empty chairs, Lindsay to my left, and Nick across from me. We were all quiet for a few moments, and I absentmindedly pushed the paper in front of me around. Without asking, Lindsay took the note and read it. For a brief handful of seconds, I was comforted by the gesture, proving that we was so close, she didn't feel like she needed to ask. I realized then that I'd been worried about

our friendship with what had happened the previous day. But perfectly on cue, my stomach growled again and her eyes shut from the paper she held to me. You haven't eaten yet, she said. It was more of a statement than any type of question. As I shook my head, she stood back up, pausing to tap the table with her finger. When Nick looked up at her, she gave him a forceful expression. with both eyebrows raised and pointed to Luke and then me. I remember thinking that she looked so much like her mother in her silent command to him. He nodded solemnly at her, and she left the table to go to the refrigerator. I didn't even have to ask what she was doing.

I knew she was getting the leftovers. If she had to shove them down my throat, she would, just to make sure I had eaten. That was just the type of person she was. Even from a young age Lindsay was motherly and nurturing to everyone no matter if they were younger or older than her. That was a trait that had actually gotten her into a handful of arguments and almost fistfights

if not for Nick looking out for her. When we weren't getting picked on ourselves Lindsay would find ways to get in hot water with other kids by foiling their bullying or teasing of almost anyone else. Not only was she kind but she was feisty as well letting her mouth run away from her off and typically against people that I thought we should avoid.

Nick cleared his throat and straightened his back, preparing himself for what he had to say. When he spoke, his tone was flat and unfeeling. Daniel's dead. What? When? I found myself blurting out. Maybe a half hour ago, he responded. He opened his mouth to say something else, but upon not finding the words, he closed it again and shook his head.

I watched his facial expressions change as his thoughts churned, but it wouldn't be until years and countless therapy sessions later that I would understand he was probably feeling horribly conflicted at that moment. He'd just lost a friend, but at the same time that meant that at least one other day he and Luke were safe. Daniel was Thursday's churned. I didn't know him very well, but everyone knew that he was the younger, but he was the younger of three kids born to a family that had high standards.

His parents owned several businesses in town and were very successful. His older siblings had both already left for college, one aiming to be a lawyer, the other an engineer of some sort. It was a typical story of expectations being high, but the baby of the family is the screw-up. The year prior, he'd been busted for drugs and had even done a stint in some rehab in another area of the state. He had a strong standing in the social hierarchy at school, but he didn't really excel at anything,

not schoolwork or sports or anything else. He was mediocre at best, with a smart mouth and a ponchant for getting what he wanted from almost anyone, except his own family. I'd never really thought about the stress that might cause him, but his situation was dire enough, apparently, for the witches to think that he had far to go. And in the year since this happened, I have wondered sometimes if that meant he had possessed potential to do greater and better, but just never acted on it. I like to think that if he had survived Black Week, he could have been an incredible adult, or at least found his way and his calling. The microwave beeped, and Lindsay returned to the table, setting a plate and fork in front of me with a single demand of, eat.

She sat back in her chair again, despite feeling awkward about being the only one eating, I began shoveling food in my mouth. I knew I was hungry before, but smelling the food in front of me put my body into some sort of starving overdrive. You owe her an explanation, Lindsay said sternly to her brother. Everyone had been quiet for a while, the only noise being my fork against the plate. As I took another large bite, I glanced from Lindsay. to Nick with an eyebrow raised. He frowned and shifted in his seat, obviously uncomfortable

with whatever she was talking about. When he didn't say anything still, she pushed him further. Now! Okay, I will. Let's let her eat first, he told his sister. I finished the food in my mouth slowly, feeling painfully aware of the awkwardness of my eating when no one else was. I set my fork down and swallowed. See, now you made her too self-conscious, you ass.

Lindsay said to him, and then turned to me. Keep eating, please. From what Luke told us, you haven't eaten in over 24 hours, and you're not very pleasant when you're that hungry. My face contorted into one of mild annoyance or frustration, but I knew that she was right. When I got hungry, if I didn't eat,

I got cranky and bitchy. Whatever explanation Nick was supposed to give me, it'd only go better if I wasn't pissy to begin with. I huffed and picked up my fork to push some food around on the plate. I pouted for a bit, feeling my ego hurt, despite knowing she was right, and that she wasn't meaning any harm by what she said. I heard Lindsay sigh, and then the coffee maker beat. In my haste to fill my stomach, I hadn't even noticed that it was going, brewing up a pot of go-juice for us.

She stood and told Luke to help her with the coffees. He obliged, and as he got out of his chair, his sweatshirt shifted enough for me to notice something on the flesh just above his collarbone. What's that? I asked him. He only glanced at me and shrugged before going to Lindsay's aid. It's this, Nick answered me. I turned to look at him and he pulled his own shirt down and to the side.

showing off his bare shoulder. There I saw a symbol of some kind that looked like it had been burned into the skin. It wasn't in the same location as Luke's, but it appeared to be the same pattern from what I glanced at on my own brother. What is that? I asked before finally putting more food in my mouth.

It's a brand, their brand, he answered with sadness. Their victim. are always marked. I stared at him as he returned his shirt to its rightful place. I thought back to what I'd heard of Gina's death and how she'd been branded. It hadn't occurred to me to even try to find out if the others had been branded as well. How do you have it if you're still alive? I asked between bites.

He shrugged. It just showed up. Wasn't there when I went to bed the other night, but when I woke up Monday morning, it had just appeared. Maybe it's how they pick their kills or something, or maybe it's just because we woke them up. I don't know. Lindsay and Luke returned to the table, setting steaming mugs in front of each of us, then seating themselves again. The police didn't really say, but so far everyone who's died had one. Daniel, Alma, Miss Johnston, Nick trailed off. And Gina?

Didn't she have one? I mean, you found her naked, right? Not that it would have been a new thing, but I'm sure you noticed a new mark on her body. Luke spit out, his words dripping with a venom that took me by surprise. I looked over at him and saw that he was glaring daggers at his best friend. My mind blanked, and all I could think of was, what the hell? I've already said, I'm sorry, Luke. What the hell more do you want?

Luke's voice raised a little. I moved my gaze to Lindsay, non-verbally asking just what I'd obviously missed. Her expression was sad and she just shook her head slightly. I turned my attention back to Luke. How about not stabbing me in the backer? Well, I guess that was too much to ask for someone as selfish as a dick like you. My brother seethed. Dude, it just happened.

It's not like we wanted to hurt you." Nick tried to respond calmly, but I could see that he was becoming agitated also. You knew you were hurting me. You freaking lied to me. Both of you. Luke practically yelled. I set my fork down and my eyes grew wide as I took in back and forth. Had there been something between Luke and Georgina that I didn't know about?

We didn't lie. We just didn't tell you. Nick said. Still, a goddamn lie, Luke replied. Does it matter now? She's gone and both of you are going to die if we don't figure this shit out. Lindsay said in a low but firm voice. They both looked at her and she continued.

You can hate each other for the rest of your lives, but those lives will be pretty short if you don't shut up and stop bickering. After a few seconds of silence, Nick muttered. I don't hate him. Luke looked as if he was about to speak, but another voice came from the living room. What's going on? I looked over Luke's head to see my dad entering the kitchen. He paused in the archway and took in the sights.

I shrugged and Luke stared at the table in front of him. Sorry, Mr. Wood. We just found out that someone else... Nick trailed off again, looking at my dad. His face softened and he nodded. It's fine, kids. I'd rather know you're all safe. Nick, Lindsay, do your parents know that you're here? He asked them.

They're both nodded in response and he spoke again. Okay, good. Both of you can stay here for the night. I know there's a lot going on. I wish I knew how to help you all. Just stay in the house, okay? We all nodded this time. He looked at the four of us with pain on his face. I wished he knew how to help us too.

He returned upstairs to go back to bed, and I wondered if he and mom were even able to get any sleep with what had happened the night before. I hope they did. Can we have a civil discussion now? Lindsay asked the boys. They both muttered a positive response, and I pushed my plate away from me. Some food still left, but my stomach satisfied enough. I pulled the coffee mug closer. Well, how about someone tell me what the hell's going on?

I spoke up. Nick's a lion, bastard. That's what's going on. Luke murmured. Luke, Lindsay reprimanded him. He gave her a sheepish look and slouched further into his chair. Nick looked hurt and guilty,

but finally started giving me some insights. Lindsay already told you what we did, and obviously the legend is true. Our friends are dying. Miss Johnston wasn't your friend. In fact, you were kind of rude the other day to her, I said, feeling my own anger at him trying to service. I took a sip of coffee in an attempt to swallow it and my own frustration at him down. I didn't know, he whispered.

His eyes focused on his own mug held in both of his hands. He sighed and looked back at me. I found out she was a witch. I thought she was evil. Evil? "'Miss Justin, really?' I asked. He nodded. "'Well, the ghosts were witches, and she was, so...

"'Yeah.' "'He saw her going into the forest the other day at lunch, "'so that's why he got the car without telling me,' Lindsay interjected. "'I went there to where I had seen her enter, "'and I drove down this little road until it ended. "'She wasn't there anymore, but I saw a bunch of weird things hanging from the trees. I walked around a while till I found a clearing

and the little cottage she took you to kind of broke in and saw a bunch of books that had spells and shit in them and herbs and stuff scattered around I wasn't sure it had anything to do with Miss Johnston at first but one of the books on the table

had her name on the inside cover I looked through it a little it was easy to tell they were spells and information on things to use Nick explained I nodded slowly understanding now just how he came to his conclusion. Ever since my father told me she'd been battling the dead witches,

I felt like I knew she was a witch herself, but I could never have believed she was evil. But she was a good witch, I said, without really thinking first. I guess, but on all witches bad? I mean, they worship Satan and kill animals and shit, Nick said. God, Nick! Lindsay said, this isn't the Salem witch trows anymore. Witches aren't devil worshippers.

I told you already, witchcraft itself isn't evil. They don't all kill animals. As far as we know, even the ghost didn't kill animals unless they needed food. They're people too. They're killing people now, though, I spoke. I wasn't really trying to stick up for Nick, or say that Ms. Johnston wasn't some kind of good witch, but I understood his point.

Until Miss Johnston, I would have thought all witches were bad, and creatures of darkness and death. I mean, it made more sense to me, even in the Wizard of Oz, that the wicked witch of the West could be more real than Glenda the good witch.

They were also murdered themselves. Lindsay's response came, with a bit of attitude towards me. I nodded and took another drink of coffee, the still hot liquid stinging my tongue from the amount I let wash over it. We talked some more about what had been happening, although I didn't get the full story as to why the boys weren't getting along

until after Lug went back to his bedroom. Because of the bad blood between them, I offered for Nick to sleep on the couch or on the floor in my bedroom. He opted for the floor, saying he'd rather be closer to protect us, just in case, but I wondered if he also didn't want to be all alone. It was almost four in the morning by the time I led him and Lindsay to my room. He waited in the hall for Lindsay and me to dress in something more sleep-friendly.

I'm not sure how long it took them to fall asleep, but I passed out quickly somehow. Despite spending most of the day in bed, I still fell exhausted and suspected I hadn't actually gotten much rest before. When I woke up later, the sun was shining through the window, and Lindsay was still passed out beside me in the bed. I quietly and carefully got up and left the room, shutting the door, so as to not wake her up. I found Nick in the kitchen, sitting in the same chair he'd been sitting in before. He had a glass of water,

and the book, Ms. Johnston, had left for me in front of him. Excuse me? I asked, sarcastically, feeling as if my privacy had been invaded. Nick looked up at me and quickly spoke. Oh, I'm sorry, I couldn't sleep much for a while and was looking for something to read or do. I found this, and I was curious.

Have you read through this yet? I slid into the chair nearest to him. Not just the first page with a poem. I think she wrote this specifically for you. She talks about the legend and even references some books by title. In one part she says that you can find answers and help with her cottage and here. He moved the book in front of me and flipped to the back cover. She even left this.

I stared at what he was showing me, not understanding. how I'd missed it before. It was a key, taped inside the cover, with the words, use it, written above. I looked at Nick with wide eyes, unsure of what to say. Want something to drink?

He asked, before I could process my own thoughts. Um, yeah, I answered, looking back down and using my fingernails to carefully lift the tape and pull the key loose. As he stood up and went to get another glass, I added. Hey, shouldn't I be the one getting you stuff? He led out a small laugh and I stood up,

setting the key on the table before joining him deeper in the kitchen. I took a picture of iced tea out of the fridge and poured some into the glass he'd set on the counter. One son? I asked. He nodded and retrieved his glass from the table, then dumped the water in it into the sink and set it next to mine. I paused before pouring any and took the opportunity to ask.

What's going on with you and Luke? The tiny amount of joy that he'd been holding fell, and I could have almost heard it shatter. I felt bad for bringing it up, but I still wanted answers, and with him alone, I felt like this was the best chance I would get. I poured his tea and set the pitcher on the counter. He picked up his glass and nodded his head toward the table. I followed suit, and we returned.

to sit. Look, Luke really likes, liked, he corrected himself. Gina. This past summer though, Gina and I started having feelings for each other. We knew that Luke would be upset, so we didn't say anything to him. But Lindsay even knew that you all were almost dating or whatever, I said. Yeah, but no one else really did. If anyone ever suspected anything, we just laughed it off and claimed that all three of us were close. We made sure we didn't go on dates where we'd be seen, spent more time with Luke than alone. We just didn't want to hurt him,

but we also started falling for each other. He said, How did he find out? I asked, taking a long drink of the cold tea. I was really upset about Gina, and he was complaining about we would never get the chance with her now. And I snapped at some point, said something about how she was my girlfriend and it was more of a loss to me than to him.

Nick said. His eyes were trained on the table in front of him. I could hear his voice hitching occasionally, tears threatening to start falling from his eyes. I got up and wrapped my arms around his shoulders, giving him a comforting hug. Moving in on my sister now too. Luke's voice came from the doorway and I stood up in an instant. You know what, Luke? Shut the front. fuck up. I've had enough of your shit. Just get over yourself. I spat at him. Immediately after the words left my mouth, I was surprised at myself and felt a small pang of guilt for being so harsh. Luke glared at me for a long moment and then walked away. I wanted to call out to him to apologize for being so brash, but I found myself unable to move

or speak. After his steps faded as he went up the stairs, Nick, conceded. You didn't have to do that. He's your brother, you know. I know he's hurting, Nick said. I whipped my head around to look at him. The guilt and shame he felt were apparent in his posture and all over his face. He's never been much of a brother to me, I said with an exasperated breath and sat back down. Quickly wanting to change the subject, I asked.

So, do you think you and Lindsay want to go with me? He looked at the key I held up, pinched between my fingertips and nodded. We waited for Lindsay to wake up and then as soon as we were all dressed and ready to go, we piled into the forerunner and set off for the cottage. It wasn't a long drive, but amidst the extended silence between the start and stall conversations we were trying to have, it felt like a lot longer than necessary. We didn't have a plan past seeing what was in the cottage. I flipped through their pages occasionally on the way, skimming over different passages.

There was one toward the end that seemed incomplete. It taught about a spell or ritual of some sort. It was Johnston either forgot or didn't have the time to describe what it was, or even finish it, but I hope we would find more information. The key fit into the lock smoothly, and I pushed open the door for a second before leading the other two inside. We were greeted immediately with an open area that had no barrier to the kitchen at the back. To the left there was a small sitting area with a couch and two armchairs. To the right was an entire wall made into a bookshelf, lined with books of various ages.

There was a table in the centre of the room, complete with books piled haphazardly on it. Some open, others closed. Before getting down to any business, we opted to look around the place and get a sort of layout of the cottage. We found a single bedroom and bathroom down a short hallway on the opposite side of the sitting room, but that was it. It was small and quaint, clean aside from the cluttered books. It seemed fairly empty once she passed the room with a bookshelf. There was a bed, made up with sheets and a quilt in the bedroom, but there were no personal items to accompany it, or in the bathroom either. Do you think she lives somewhere else? Nick asked.

Yeah, probably, I said with a shrug. I think, Lindsay began, but was cut off by a loud thud that came from the front porch. We all shared a look, and Nick moved to open the front door. His gasp made Lindsay and I rush over to see what it was. After seeing the mutilated turkey just outside the door, I immediately had to turn and keep myself from vomiting. Lindsay made gagging noises and did the same. I'll move it, Nick said, and stepped outside.

I didn't turn to look, but heard him dragging the hefty bird off to the wood and through the grass. He stopped abruptly when we all heard laughter coming from somewhere outside. I slowly turned to face the door and took a single step through the threshold. Lindsay nudged me so she could stand beside me outside. It didn't take long for us to see something standing a few feet on the other side of the car. The person approached with careful steps until they were in full view. It was Luke, but there was something off about his appearance. What are you doing here? Nick called out to him, dropping the bloody bird where it was,

and walking back to the porch without taking his eyes off of my bird. brother. Another laugh sounded from him, a strange tone of two voices mixed as one, and then he spoke. This one has so much rage. It's delicious. Nick? Lindsay caught out to him, drawing his name out for an extra second. Luke continued to advance, taking something out of his pocket as he did. Nick wore backward to the porch, matching Luke's speed, but we were all taken by surprise when Luke suddenly darted forward, running at full speed. As he ran, his form seemed to glitch somehow, and I saw the image of one of the witches for a split second before seeing my brother again. Nick's ankle came into contact with the bottom step, and he fell on his butt. Luke, or whatever was possessing Luke, came to a sharp stop at the bottom of the bottom of the bottom of his foot.

came to a sharp stop at the bottom of the stairs as Lindsay tried to drag her brother up onto the porch. He didn't just stop, though. It was like he hit a wall and was stopped by something unseen. He knocked him back a few steps, but he only returned, banging a fist on something invisible. This only served to upset him, and he let out an angry roar that turned into a smirk. His hands moved, and I saw that he'd taken something from his pocket. it. A box of matches. He pulled one out and struck it against the side. A small flame lit up and he tossed it onto the steps of the porch. Nick got to his feet quickly and stomped it out

before it could catch. I looked around and saw all the potted plants and dried herbs that lined the front of the house. Even if the wood didn't catch at first, something certainly would. Luke closed his eyes and muttered something I couldn't understand. He then struck another match and dropped it onto the ground. Instantly, the grass flared and spread out in a thin line that spanned one end with a house to the other. He opened his eyes and took a step back, grinning. The line thickened until it was about a foot in depth. We have to find a way to stop them, Lindsay said frantically as she started coughing. I watched as she fell to her knees. acting like the breath had been knocked out of her.

Her body shook as she continued to cough and sputter. I couldn't understand what was happening. There wasn't much smoke coming toward us, and Nick was closer to the fire in the yard than she was. He rushed to her side and beckoned me to help with his eyes. I nodded to him, and we all but dragged her back into the cottage and onto the couch. Her choking coughs calmed a bit, and she took gulping breaths. Go find something.

Nick urged me. Like what? I answered. Freaked out over what was happening. I don't know. Just something. Until Luke leaves, I don't think we can, he answered. Right. Okay.

I said. Set myself to work. Looking through the books Miss Johnson had lying on the table. I wish I could tell you that there was some big showdown where we saved Luke from being possessed. The simple fact is that there was no such. thing. I'm not sure when he left, but he did leave the cottage of his own accord. Well, either his or the ghosts, I'm still not sure. We were there for hours, and somehow, while Lindsay and I were

engrossed in the various books and notes, Nick fell asleep on the porch. And we asked him how that happened. He said that he wasn't sure. He didn't even remember falling asleep or feeling tired enough to be able to. When Lindsay went to check on him, she woke him up and they discovered together that Luke was gone. Once the sun began to set, we knew that we needed to head out and get home before our parents started to worry too much. I still felt confused about the entire situation and hadn't really found much in the way of answers, like Miss Johnson, who claimed that I would. It wouldn't be until much later that I discovered what she was referring to. When I was there with Lindsay, we concentrated on the spellbooks and notes that Ms. Johnston had left out in reference to banishing the ghosts.

She was trying to find a way to banish them for good, but it seemed she was still coming up with nothing solid for that. We did discover two earmark spells and rituals that could banish malevolent spirits, but they were focused on specific buildings, such as a home, and didn't seem promising for ridding an entire town of the beings. I would discover, after everything was over, the history books and old journals that give first and second-hand accounts of the legend and the trouble the town had seen before. We still hadn't completely settled on a solution, but we picked a few books to take home with us. We divvied up the books and agreed to both spend time that night going through them and to try and get our best sleep as well. I wasn't sure just how much to share with my parents. So I only told them that I spent the day with Nick and Lindsay. They asked if Luke had joined us at all.

I told them that he hadn't. He was upstairs by the time I got home. Although being under the same roof as my possibly possessed brother made me uneasy, I did my best to not let that on outwardly, so as not to worry mum and dad. But I also didn't go check on him or say hi or anything. In fact, I mentally begged whatever force there was in the union. verse that I wouldn't even have to see him at all, at least not for the rest of the night.

Dinner was quiet, and I'm sure that my parents could tell something was going on, but they didn't press. I was inwardly yelling for joy when Dad informed us that Luke didn't want to come down from his room and had said that he wasn't hungry. Curiously, I asked if he was okay, who was met with a frown and a shrug from Dad. Mom, on the other hand, spent dinner, glanced at towards the stairs with a worried look on her face. In the end, she took a plate of food up to his room, something unheard of in that household, and returned empty-handed. She still looked worried, though. I wished I could have told her that everything would be okay, that I was working on a solution for the town's problem, but I had no idea how they would take that, and I still wasn't

sure I didn't think everything that was happening was absolute insanity. I don't remember when I fell asleep, but I found myself waking up to the sunlight, books strewn around my bed, my right arm a mess of painful tingles and numbness, oh, and a stiff neck. As I walked to the bathroom and prepared to get in the shower, I hoped it was all worth it. The hot water gave me a comfortable shiver down my spine as I stood there, letting it wash over me and my thoughts.

No matter how soothing the moment should have been, I couldn't completely calm down and let go of my stress and concern. It was a new day. Friday, and that meant another victim to be discovered. A new person to have lost their life because some asshole in the past, couldn't deal with people being different, and felt the need to blame someone for his son's own sleep problems. I understood that back then sleepwalking was a mystery,

but to go to the lengths that Thomas did. the very thought made me sick and I found that I couldn't hate witches for wanting revenge I did hate them for spreading their curse to the entire town and not just his descendants or something along those lines even now I feel the same it's not that I condone the violence that they used or the killings

but it would just make more sense if they targeted specific lineages would also possibly made it easier to protect whoever was in danger that way. After spending several minutes wishing that I could stay in the shower forever, I forced myself to get out. I dressed quickly and called Lindsay and Nick from the phone in the kitchen.

Lindsay answered, and I could tell by her energetic tone that she was well past the first cup of coffee for the day. Slow down, unlike you, I haven't been caffeinated yet, I said, trying to quell her rambling. What? I've been up since five. How can you sleep with everything going on? She blurted out. I rolled my eyes. Fitfully and with great difficulty, I answered sardonically.

Get coffee started. I'll grab Nick, who also managed to sleep somehow, and we'll be over in like five or so. Her answer came with rapid fire words. She definitely didn't need any more bean juice for a while. We hung up and I did as she instructed. I was about to anyway, I murmured to myself, making sure the empty kitchen knew that I wasn't just doing what I was told. As the coffee brewed, I retrieved the books and notes from my bedroom and set them on the table. There was one specific book that I wanted to share with my friends. It contained a couple of spells about banishing spirits that I thought and hoped would be helpful. Lindsay and Nick showed up at the back door almost ten minutes later.

They entered the house. Lindsay with bags under her eyes, but caffeine-based energy coursing through her veins, and Nick looking tired and worn out. She apologised for taking so long, citing Nick not wanting to get moving. Nick and I shared a look, and he shrugged, rolled his eyes slightly and shook his head, telling me that he had no words for his sister's current state. I nodded in response and pointed to the coffee maker, pot still mostly full. He looked relieved and went to fill up a mug while Lindsay and I took our seats at the table. Oh, hey, get me some of that too, Lindsay called to him. No, you have any more and you might explode. Wait a bit first, energizer bunny, I told her. She harumphed and frowned at me, but didn't push it.

At least there was one. tiny battle that I'd just want. Once Nick joined us, we began going over the different information and spells that we'd uncovered. He also began to talk about an actual plan and was so enthralled in our conversation that none of us heard the footsteps coming down the stairs all toward the kitchen. What's going on? Luke's voice came as a shock, and I almost fell out of my seat. Actually, I did kind of fall out of my seat, but it was a horribly awkward and uncle.

graceful set of movements that crossed tumbling from my position and moving quickly to get further away from my own brother. I've been the closest one to the doorway, and therefore Luke, and my first instinct was to get the hell away. The result had me standing behind Nick, who'd been to my right. Luke stared at the three of us, and we all returned his gaze. I can't speak for Lindsay and Nick, but I know I was wondering if he was really Luke now. If he wasn't, then my mind was screaming that we were screwed. He and whatever could

possibly be possessing him would have made their way into my house, and there was nothing I could think of quickly enough to protect us from him at such a short distance. I felt my muscles relax a little, though, when I saw his confused expression. He doesn't remember, I commented aloud. "'Remember what?' Luke asked. He was oddly calm and looked even more tired than before, something I wasn't sure would be impossible. Lucy, Nick and I all share glasses with one another, apprehensive about the interaction and what we should tell him.

Once we all silently agreed with nods, Nick began to explain the previous day to Luke. His expression was a mix of disbelief and what I interpreted as numbness as Nick spoke. When he finished, Luke broke down and began apologising and crying, hiding his face in his hands. I'm sure of what to really do in this situation, we just gave him half-hearted reassurances

and told him it would hopefully be over soon. After a strained 15 or so minutes, he went back to working on our plan. Luke stopped actively crying, but sat silently. listening to us and wiping his face every few moments. I glanced at him from time to time, found it so strange that my big brother was acting like this.

My heart ate for him, while I also thought he could have been a little stronger, like Nick, and pushed through in order to come up with a solution or try to do something, anything, to keep more people from dying. Now I regret ever having that thought. We spent the rest of the day,

offering ideas to one another and shooting some down completely. Hours passed by and Luke still remained quiet for the most part. I think he was actually feeling bad for attacking us and he took it upon himself to keep the coffee coming. Something that Lindsay was more thankful for than Nick and I and even got us a snack at one point. I honestly can't even remember what we had now, no matter how hard I try to recall that small detail. I can easily picture Lindsay's face how it lit up when Luke placed a steaming mug in front of her, and how Nick and I groaned. In my mind, I can still see the clock with its hands indicating it was 3.24 p.m. when we came up with our final plan. I even remember the exact shape and placement of the paper cut I received when turning the page

too quickly. But I can't remember what we ate, or how we prepared for our little quest. I can't remember if we stopped to get gas or not, or even what all the stuff. stores we went to in order to get supplies. Before I realized it, the four of us were driving amongst trees and no longer on a real road. The path was almost non-existent and barely large enough for the SUV. Nick had already explained that we would be taking a different course than they did the night that the day Ryan Witches were summoned. Instead of walking most of the way, we would be driving to the lake and parking and then

walking after that. He didn't explain how, but he'd found this pathway and determined the direction we would need to walk in order to find the iron cage. I was terrified, and it took everything I had just to put one foot in front of the other once we began the trek through the woods. I kept my hands tightly gripped around the strap of the messenger back. Nick and Luke each carried a small potted pine sapling, and Lindsay clutched two bottles of spring water, a white, candle and a light of that, for some reason, she felt the need to hold instead of leave tucked in the back. And the iron fencing came into view. I think my heart stopped for a second or two. It was uglier than I'd imagined, with its twisted bars arcing from the ground to meet in the air.

The vines that were looped around the bars had withered, and the deadness from inside seemed to have spread. I thought back to what Lindsay had relayed to me from Nick. what he had said. Deader than death. It's spreading, Nick muttered quietly, and I watched him look at Luke, who nodded. The death from the inside was definitely making its way outward, and I wondered just how far it might spread if not contained.

The four of us walked around and stood at the open gates. I think we were all scared to step through the barrier and into something so private, so personal to the ghosts. It was probably easier for Nick, Luke and the others to have done it before they knew the truth. It was just something intriguing and spooky back then. But now it was dangerous and sacred to something evil and vengeful. We have to get this done. Nick finally spoke.

I don't want to go back in there, Luke said in a small voice. Reminded me of when we were children and he'd got scared of the fun house at a couple. carnival. I hadn't been afraid, and found the hall of mirrors, the random blasts of a, or the room with the floors that shifted as you walked. I found it all absolutely fascinating and fun. I suppose that even back then I was a little braver than my older brother. Sometimes I still wonder if I should have been born first and looked after him, instead of wanting him to look after me. The girls, well, you're going to help me with the trees. Nick answered. He and Lindsay shared a look, and Linz gave him a determined nod. I followed her silently inside. Just as had been described before, all sounds ceased once we were inside.

It was, for lack of a better term, as silent as the grave. I didn't take more than a few seconds to glance around, before I took the water bottles from Lindsay and handed her the small packets of poppy seeds, from my bag. She tucked them under her arm and then walked to the headstone. The large white candle was set on top of the stone, and then she lit it without a word. We watched with bated breath as the flame flickered a few times, threatening to go out in a wind that we couldn't feel, but then steadied itself and stayed lit. She stood next to me and opened the packets of seeds. I then handed her my bag and one of the bottles of water.

She slung the strap over one shoulder, and we looked into each other's eyes as we both took a deep inhale. My footsteps made no sound as I approached the graves and opened the bottle. There wasn't even a sound from the plastic seal being broken. It unnerved me, but I pushed my brain to focus on the task at hand. I began to pour the water over the ground, and, once I was there. The first bottle was empty. I dropped it down and turned to Lindsay. She tossed me the second bottle, and I cracked it open, again soundlessly, and began to continue saturating the dirt.

This time, while speaking the words I'd memorized only a few hours before. I forgive you. Don't harm me. Don't haunt me. They be... I was suddenly cut off by my breath being knocked out of me. I stumbled backward and fell hard on my butt. "'Sessely!' Lindsay yelled.

Her voice was muffled as if she was far away. A laughter began, a laughter that I recognized as being multiple dead voices. "'The seeds!' I yelled back, hoping she heard me. Something invisible knocked into me again, and I felt myself struggling to catch my breath. I fought to stand up. It felt like a thick blanket was tangled around me, soaked and heavy and bearing down on me. It was one of the strangest sensations I've ever felt, like cold was penetrating every part of my being, all while the very gravity surrounding me was intensifying. As I pushed through the force, I saw her begin to spread the seeds over the entire caged area.

I saw our brothers just outside the gates, which had somehow swung clothes. without a sound. They were trying to open it back up, but failing. I caught Nick's eye for a second, before his attention was torn to his sister. I followed his gaze and saw her being lifted into the air. In an instant, the ghosts flickered into being, revealing themselves to us. Five of them stood around, Lindsay, holding their arms above their heads, keeping her off the ground. to more on me, a ghastly sight that would have stolen my breath if I'd still been able to breathe.

Each had a hand thrust into my chest, their forearms vanishing into my body. I felt a squeeze, then a sharp pain from the inside, I knew that their fists were clenched around my lungs. They released me, and I fell to my knees, gasping for the air that I so desperately needed. It stung in my chest and hurt, all while bringing life back to me. Lindsay screamed. She screamed and I couldn't move. They spun her slowly in the air, low enough for their hands to reach. They cut into her with the remaining black and sharpened nails on their fingers.

I think I screamed too. And then all I knew was pain. It was blinding, causing bright flashes in my eyes as my face collided with the ground. Dirk ground against my teeth and into my open mouth. Sharp jolks shot like lightning through my ribcage. I tried to crawl away to get to the bag that had been thrown away from Lindsay. I could see the content spilling out and spied the iron knife. I didn't know if it would help, but I needed to get to it,

at least try. My hopes for it being harmful to the spirits were confirmed and crushed all at the same time when I felt my hand crunch. I couldn't hear it, but I felt it, the breaking of the bones resonating through my body. I cried out and recoiled. One of them gripped my cuff and I felt several points dig into the skin and drag down to my ankle. And then the screams from Lindsay. The cackling from the evil beings and the entire world went silent and black.

Sometimes I still find myself wishing that I'd never woken up after passing out. I was screaming and gasping for breath when I awoke, whether it was residual from the moment I lost consciousness or from a dream, I don't know. I was confused at that moment. I didn't understand where I was, what was going on, or how I'd gotten there. It only took a few seconds for me to realize that I was in a hospital room, complete with machines beeping next to me. My face wrapped in a bandage and an IV hooked into my arm.

A nurse rushed into the room, no doubt alerted by my screams. I hadn't realized that I was sitting upright, so I felt her hands on my shoulders, firm yet gentle, as she tried to calm me down and get me to lie back. I obliged, still panting but no longer screaming. I remained silent as she checked my vitals, an ache causing me not to want to open my mouth. She tried to ask me a few simple questions about how I felt, and after attempting to answer and feeling pain and difficulty moving my mouth properly against the bandage, I stuck to answering with a nod or a shake of my head. Despite wondering what had happened and how I'd ended up in

the hospital, the main thing I was concerned with was the fact that I'd woken up alone. Before the nurse joined me, the room was empty of any other person. My mom, my dad, Luke, Lindsay, Nick, none of them were here. As the nurse finished up and assured me that she was going to get my doctor, I went over the final moments that I could recall. From what I assumed, Lindsay would likely be in her own room as well, which would account for Nick not being here, but I expected at least one member of my own family to have been at my bedside.

I looked round the small room and felt a pit make itself known in my stomach. I felt fuzzy from the pain medication, but there was something more there, a surrealness that I couldn't put my finger on. I knew something wasn't right, but I didn't know what it was yet. My questions would all be answered by the kind-faced doctor that came into my room a few minutes after the nurse had left. He was patient with me and spoke with a soft, concerned voice. He also seemed genuinely sad to be the one to give me the grave news.

First of all, I was told that it was now late Saturday afternoon. I had been unconscious for around 24 hours at that point. Next, he explained that my leg would soon be in a cast for a while due to being broken in two places, along with deep gashes and damage to the muscles in my calf. Due to the stitches, they wouldn't put a hard cast on just yet. so I had to wear a sort of medical splint that started at my knee and kept my foot immobilized as well. He expected a painful and possibly long recovery process, but was hopeful that I would be able to regain most, if not all, function over the leg,

with physical therapy and time. I ended up also losing my pinky finger on the hand that the witch had crushed, as well as having a cast from my knuckles to above my elbow. My jaw had been dislocated and would take it. up to two months to heal. In that time I was to do my best to refrain from speaking and eating anything too difficult to chew. It was almost as if I was only now realizing my own body and the damage as he pointed each thing out. Then came the difficult part for him to say and even more difficult for me to hear. Lindsay didn't make it and my father was gone. The instant

I heard about my father. All noise dulled, and I felt my entire body go numb. He couldn't be correct. There was just no way. I vaguely remember him telling me that my mother would be here soon and if we had any questions to let him know. In the time I was alone, I kept going over every possible reason as to why the doctor would have been wrong. I couldn't believe it, nor did I want to. It just couldn't be that simple. He could. couldn't be gone. There was just absolutely no way he was right. It was my dad. My mother could have messy days, just like anyone else, but she never looked as disheveled as I saw her that day. When she entered the room, it was obvious that she'd been crying. She looked more than just tired.

She looked completely beat down, exhausted and broken. Just seeing her like that confirmed what the doctor had told me. I didn't even have to ask. She slid her hand in mind and I closed my eyes tight while they welled up with hot tears. My baby, she whispered to me. Her voice was quiet, meek and threatened to break with even just those two words. She was in pain and it hurt me more than my physical injuries to see her like this. All of the weight of my failure hit me in a split second. The four of us thought we could get it done and fix everything, but we had failed. I had failed. Look, I asked with great difficulty. My throat felt dry and the word scratched as it came out. Oh, Mom answered, more tears threatening to spill. We sat in silence for a while.

She fought back her own tears, and I could tell that she was trying to stay strong for me as she dried each of my own tears. She didn't ask questions. She didn't try to make me talk. I felt the sorrow of my father being gone now, but I still struggled with truly accepting it. I wanted to think that it was all just a dream, that I would wake up and find it was just a vivid, entirely insane nightmare. I still wish to this day, but... I've come to turns with the tragedy that befell my family and that town. Nick showed up a few hours later, and the tears that had slowed pick back up as I was reminded of my best friend dying as well.

Mom left us alone for a while, saying she was going to go home and check on Luke. She promised to be back soon for my discharge. I'd already undergone the minor surgery needed, and aside from aftercare, there's nothing left for the hospital to do. I wanted to go home, and my mum wanted me home. The doctor didn't even fight it, and agreed to discharge me. As I waited my mother's return and my release, Nick showed up and softly tapped on the door before poking his head through the narrow opening. I bid him enter with my good hand, and he shut the door softly behind him before taking a seat. I'm... I started, held his hand up to stop me. He nodded. I know. I am too. How are you feeling?

Hurt. I managed to get out. Even with the medicine in my system, it still ached to try and speak. Before he said anything else, I pointed to my jaw and the bandage around my head. Without a word, he pulled a pen and notebook from the messenger bag that I hadn't noticed he was wearing. It was my messenger bag, the one that we'd packed full of magical help and taken with us to the gravesite. He stood and gently placed the notebook, opened to a blank page on my lap, and held the pen to my good hand. For the first time that day, I felt thankful for something, the fact that it had been my left hand that was royally torn up. I wasn't sure why I hadn't thought of this before either. Have they told you about Lindsay? He asked. I didn't need the aid.

to answer this. I nodded to him. Have you told to Luke? He posed another question. I shook my head and scribbled at home on the paper and held it so he could see. I messed up, see. I thought you two would be safe, he said, beginning to sniffle. I gave him a confused look. He then explained. Luke and I were the ones they should have been after still. I didn't think you or Lindsay would be in too much danger with us there. I don't think you heard what they said about Lindsay. I shook my head again. When he didn't respond, I wrote. What did they say? He took in a deep, ragged breath and waited a few seconds and then spoke. They said she was the perfect Friday's child. He brought their chosen one right to them. Our eyes met and we stared into each other's for a moment.

For about a minute, we were the only ones in this strange world, a world of darkness and pain and loss. No one else existed, simply because no one else could know the pain and guilt that we were both feeling. We understood each other then, and knew that we were kindred spirits in the way only those who lose so much at the same time can be. We went through a traumatic event together, and not even Luke would fully understand. He couldn't, not really.

He was too much in his own world, fueled by more anger than pain. My thoughts turned to him, and I felt my own anger beginning to rise up. I was angry at him, at the ghost and at the town, that Thomas, who caused this curse, at my dad for dying, and for failing, and at my body for being so broken. They can't get away with this, I jotted down. Nick gave me a strange look. His brows furrowed as he tried to understand what I was thinking now. I was sure that he saw the determination in my eyes, and finally he shook his head.

His eyes were sad. I knew he wasn't agreeing with me. No. He was asking me not to try again. You can't. You could have died. Lindsay died. His voice choked on the last word.

I looked at the notebook and began writing, allowing the rage to slowly build in me. I had to take a page from Luke's book. I had to get angry. This was the only way I would get through this and end it. It was the only way I could get my own vengeance and stop anyone else from getting hurt. Even if it killed me, I'd made up my mind in a matter of seconds. I would be going back, and I would go tonight. before Sunday came, before someone else could become a victim.

I showed Luke what I'd written, he took the notebook into his hands and read it quietly. I have to do this. I can't let anyone's death be meaningless, not from this. I saw some preventative measures, and I'll go alone this time. I'll stop them if it kills me. He stared at the page longer than necessary to read the words. After a long few minutes He looked up at me

And searched my eyes with his own Tears whirled both in his and mine And I mentally begged and screamed And pleaded for him to understand This curse had taken away my father My teacher And now my best friend It had taken my finger

Mamed my body And it was still after my brother And my best friend's brother Someone who didn't deserve to die It had stolen too much from my life and the lives around me. Those witches had to be stopped. Nick nodded very slowly and set the notebook on his lap. I'll go with you, he said in a soft voice.

I shook my head as vehemently as I was able to. He clenched his jaw and stared me in the eyes with his own anger and determination. He took his own stance and made it clear. That's not a question. A few hours later, after night had fallen, I found myself manoeuvring my body, with a leg that was way out of commission, into the forerunner. Nick stood there, trying to aid me, but all I could do was snap at him and tell him that I had it handled. I didn't regret how harsh I was with him until later. It was easy to sneak out after reassuring my mum that I'd be

all right, and spiking her cup of tea with a painkiller that I had been prescribed with. I was also sure to bring that specific medication with me, and had Nick supply a large thermos of strong coffee. I'm not sure how he was able to sneak out, and honestly, until now, I hadn't really thought about it. Even in all the time that has passed since this, I just never considered that detail. I wasn't sure where Luke was, nor did I really care. Last I knew he was again holed up in his room, avoiding the world, and in my opinion that was the best place for him right now. Despite his help the last time we attempted this, I couldn't guarantee that he wouldn't be possessed again, especially going there after dark, which is when the ghost seemed more active. Nick and I drove in silence to our first stop, the cottage in the woods.

We needed to gather a few things that I was sure I'd seen there. Due to my leg, I ended up sitting in the running car while Nick ran inside to grab the specific items. It was unnerving, sitting there in the night, knowing that they could be lurking anywhere. I felt like a sitting duck. Shortly after Nick left me, I reached over and managed to turn off the headlights. I thought that maybe they could alert the witches that we were there somehow, and it would be a little safer without them.

Next, we headed to the gravesite. When we'd gone there before, we'd chosen to bring two bottles of store-bought spring water with us. This time, however, Nick had prepared for this part of the ritual by finding a real spring and filling up three-gallon jugs with the water. As we approached our destination, I went through the items he'd retrieved from Miss Johnston's cottage. There was fennel, two more white candles, a book of match, some sticks of incense and two amulets to be worn around each of our necks. The one I gave Nick to wear was what I now know is called a Hamsa. It was a metal figure of a hand

with an intricate design and an eye with a blue stone carved into the palm. The one I chose for myself was much simpler and I felt drawn to it. It was a hollow, upside-down triangle with a purple stone placed in the centre, affixed to each of the three-stained. sides. Pretty, Nick said when I put mine on and positioned it over my clothes to sit against my chest. I glanced at him and wanted to answer with a smile, but found myself unable to do so. Instead, I gave him a small nod. The only part of our journey that I hadn't thought out was how exactly I was going to manage the walking portion. I'd been so concerned with finding and thinking of preventative measures in order to complete the ritual this time,

that my inability to use my right leg had been completely overlooked. Thankfully, I was the only one who'd forgotten. Nick tried to combat this issue by passing where we'd part before and pushing the SUV through the brush and down a walking path. It was narrow, and the trees were frighteningly close at times, but he was able to get as much closer to the gravesite than had possibly ever been driven before. Eventually, though, we did come to a spot where it was impossible to pass in a vehicle. The most frustrating part was it was short of the gravesite by maybe 100 yards.

The instant I opened the door, I felt a cool breeze. It was unnatural and felt more like the cold breath of a sleeping giant. And that giant was hungry for us. I slung my messenger bag over my chest and used the car itself to get out and stand beside it. it. Due to my broken arm, I could only use one crutch, which Nick pulled from the back seat and handed to me. I put it under my armpit and began the frustratingly slow hike to the iron cage. I couldn't even hold a flashlight easily, so I struggled to use the light of the headlights we'd purposely left on this time. I guess the last time we were here, Nick had felt that

the few seconds it took to get the car started was two seconds wasted. He let me know that he'd be sure to leave it running this time round. I didn't have the heart to tell him that it would be more likely I would take longer to get back to the car than he would in running ahead of me and starting it up. He caught up to me within a minute and we continued, still without speaking. I was as alert as I could be, given the heavy dose of pain relief I had in my system. A few times I felt myself begin to stumble, and Nick was right. there next to me, his arms out, making sure I didn't fall down. When the cage was in sight, I paused and dug around in my bag and gave him the sheet

of paper that had the incantation on it. Due to my inability to speak very well, we'd agreed that he would be the one to say it. He shifted the duffel bag full of water jugs up onto his shoulder and took the page, reading it over in his mind by the flight of his flashlight. a few more yards and we will begin, this time starting before we were inside. As he shone his light over our path, I caught a glimpse of the unfinished holes and small pine saplings that lie near the gate. It felt like my heart stopped for a moment, as I saw the scene that we left and remembered that such a short time ago we'd been here with our siblings, one of which was gone forever now.

Are you ready? I'll start with the water here, just for good measure, if you want to start with the seeds. Nick said in a low voice. Yeah, I managed to whisper back. I stopped for a moment in order to retrieve the newly stocked supply of poppy seeds Nick had picked up. The air grew still and somehow chilled me more to the bone than the breeze had. I transferred the loose seeds from the packet into my broken hand. I was acting more like a cup than a fist.

I carefully prepared myself to move my shoulder in order to gently spill the seeds as we continued walking. I gave him a nod, and he began the incantation that I hadn't been able to finish before. We forgive you, he began. I tried to feel the words as he spoke them, tried to find something in my heart to forgive. I was too angry, though, and my heart just couldn't agree. I kept my thoughts to myself as he kept speaking. Don't harm us, don't haunt us. They behave badly towards you and Thomas is the one who murdered you.

Please forgive us, we forgive you. As he repeated the entire thing a second time, we arrived at the gate. The second Nick was close to it, a hand shot out from between the bars and grabbed his shirt, pulling him in close. He winced, but kept speaking the spell. all the while looking the dead witch in the eye. You returned, you fools! Another of them spoke, materialising with his words.

I looked at the older, rotting man with hatred burning inside of me. Let him go, I attempted to demand. The bandage around my head and the healing jaw made it difficult to sound very strong. They laughed in unison. the remaining five coming into view. The once beautiful young woman, no doubt the original Monday's child, was the one grasping Nick. She gasped and dropped her hold, recoiling it if something had struck her.

I saw a faint blue glow and immediately understood that she had come into contact with his amulet by the way she held her hand. After only a second, she lashed out once more, snarling like an animal. She lunged and made to grab for his head. My eyes shut tight and I begged for her not to be able to touch him. What is this? I heard a booming voice echo around us. I opened my eyes to see the maiden on the ground, seemingly not back. A soft blue aura enveloped Nick's entire body and he was looking down at his own glowing hands. His head turned and he shot me a look.

You will not touch us. We only wish to help you and this town. I spoke. Pain shot through my face, and tears began to well up. I didn't want to help them. It was a lie. I just wanted to be rid of them. I wanted them to burn in hell.

You lie! A voice came from behind us. It was a familiar voice, an unexpected voice. A voice that would have brought me to my knees. if I hadn't been propped up with a crutch. I felt my hand fall, and the seeds tumbled out into a heap on the ground. No. Nick's word came as a far-away whisper. Quiet for my ears, and my breath stopped.

I slowly shifted my weight, and did my best to turn around and see who had spoken. I didn't want it to be true. I wanted it to be a cruel trick from the witches. I wanted to believe it wasn't possible, that it was too soon, too insane, just something, anything but who it really was. Although my wish for Nick to be unharmed somehow worked, my wish for it not to be Lindsay failed. She stood there, a similar visage to the cursed ghosts, with wounds that still appeared to be

seeping blood, bones that bent at odd angles, and a face. twisted with anger. You let them kill me, she said. The ghastly echo of her voice matched that of the other ghosts, and it broke my heart. No, we tried to stop them, Nick exclaimed, now turned to face her. I couldn't see the tears, but I could hear the pain and the crying in his voice. Not you, dear brother. Her!

She stretched out her arm and pointed at me. I tried. I choked out. You should have known what would happen. You were the one in there. You didn't complete the spell. You were the reason I died, you selfish bitch. She spat.

My broken heart sank deeper, shattering more with every faint beat. I was there too, Nick yelled at her. Now, when I think back on that moment, I can be so grateful that he stuck up for me, but then all I felt was not. You tried. You were outside. She was inside with me. My dead, best friend said. Her arm dropped back down to her side, and she tilted her head. I'm so sorry, I said, between tears. Her arrival had stolen all of the anger and rage and hatred from me, replacing it with sorrow, heartache and pain.

The ghost behind us must have decided to take advantage of the situation and us being distracted. I felt hands grabbed me from behind and gripped me tightly. They were on my shoulders, my arms, my legs, my waist and my head. Agony ripped through me, and I didn't see Nick dart over to me. A warmth began to spread over my. my body slowly as he wrapped his arms around me as best he could. The witches let go for a moment, and he helped me tighter, his protective glow seeping into my body and trying to protect me as well. Through all of this, he somehow managed to get us turned around so that his back was to the

ghosts and mine was to Lindsay. I clutched the back of his shirt with my good hand, and fought back the urge to bury my face in his shoulder and cry. I saw the witches spread into a semicircle and begin advancing on us. The glow that had surrounded Nick before was very soft, but as soon as he tried to add me to it, it became duller. The semicircle morphed into a full circle as they closed in on us. Hold on tight, Nick whispered against my hair, and I pressed myself into him.

I felt myself lifted off the ground, and he used all of his strength to carry me between two of the ghosts and through the iron gate. The silence had been intense before, but now it felt heavy. He set me down against the headstone. Hurry, the candles, he said. My mind had stopped working, but luckily my body responded.

I pulled the two candles from the bag, and he set them up on the stone, one either side of waxy spots left by our previous attempt. I struggled to strike the first match. but it flared to life finally. I lit one and then the other. Here, spread these on the graves quickly. I sat through the blinding pain in my jaw

and handed him some more packets of poppy seeds. He snatched them from my hand and ripped them open while moving quickly over the resting places. I'm not sure if he noticed, but I watched in horrified silence as the ghosts passed through the gate. even without holding on to me anymore, his aura was fading back into nothing. He was going to be completely unprotected soon.

I looked around helplessly as they closed in on him. I was frozen and knew that it really was my fault that Lindsay was gone. Almost as if someone inside by my thought of her, Lindsay appeared next to her brother. You will not touch him. She screamed at the others. The force of her voice made them stop, and they seemed as if they come upon a physical barrier. I forgive you.

Don't harm me. Don't haunt me. They behave badly towards you. Please forgive them. I forgive you. Nick chanted. He repeated it over and over as he finished spreading the seeds. The ghosts seethed and gnashed their teeth at Lindsay for a moment.

moment. She calmly placed her hand on Nick's shoulder and whispered something in his ear. He ran for the entrance, and I looked on at everything as he moved out of sight into the darkness. Losing their first choice, the witches turned their attention to me. What about her? One of them asked. Lindsay responded, I don't care. She was never a good friend, deformed in demonel. smile spread across their faces and they began advancing on me. I dropped at the ground, my butt landing hard against the dirt. I cried. I couldn't do anything but cry and say, I'm sorry, over and over.

I was a broken child, less than a typical humor. I deserved to die. Before I knew it, my eyes were shut tight, and I felt their hands upon me once again. I felt their touch burned my skin like an ice-cold fire, and I felt the pain from their deaths one by one in rapid succession. It was overwhelming, and I could do nothing but cry harder as their hatred tore through me. I'm not brave. I'm no hero.

I should have died that night. My life did not flash before my eyes in an instant. It was drawn out, and the memories were all those I used. shared with Lindsay and my father. They melted into one another, blending with the sorrow and rage and pain that was being inflicted on me from the outside. Out of the entire experience,

the single thing I learned was, I'm not the hero, and this was not my story. This was the story of Lindsay, the kind and wonderful girl that I grew up with, the one that should have survived instead of me. This was the story of Nick, The caring and valiant older brother that did what ever he could to rescue others every chance he got.

This was the story of a man who tortured and murdered innocent people, creating a curse on that town. That curse that wasn't fair to the generations after them. This was a story of how I should have died. But I didn't. I was rescued once more, again while I was unconscious. That was what I was good at, passing out and being a burden.

I came to outside of the cage. Nick was there, as was Lindsay. He was shoving fennel into the lock on the outside of the gate, and I saw the ghost standing at the bars, yelling and cursing us, unable to break free again and unable to even touch the bars in order to rattle them in frustration,

like the inmates that they once again were. Never have I forgotten the full story as to just how I ended up on the outside. I can only assume that Nick carried me out, but I don't know how he managed to even get to me at time. The thing I know for sure is he lost his ability to speak. His tongue somehow cut out by the horrifying, cursed things that were finally shut off from the world again. I wish I could say that. I tried several times to find out the truth. but I didn't once awake

I did the best I could to help him complete the precautions and finish planting the pine saplings he showed me only once that his tongue had been sliced and somehow court-rised more than halfway into his mouth I gave him some of my pain medication on the way home I'd love to tell you a story where I truly helped and we defeated some great evil saving the town and its future.

And the truth is, I can't. I can only share what I remember, and that's what I've done. In order to save my own life from my best friend, I had to make a promise the following night to leave town and never attempt to speak to Nick again. Lindsay came to me, waking me up from a medication-induced sleep. The light from my lamp fell across her, healed face, as I sat up in my bed, confused and frightened.

We had a love that I cannot deny, but I also can't hold back the hate. I know right now, right this moment, that you aren't the reason that I died. I can accept that, but I can't hold on to that. I can't know that you will be in contact with my brother and not feel enraged. It's uncontrollable,

and seeing you with Nick makes me want to be. to pull your insides out through a small gash in your esophagus. You need to go. She spoke calmly. Her hand gently laid on mine as I felt the confliction that she felt. I couldn't blame her for wanting me dead. She wanted to keep her brother safe and so far the only thing I'd done was help put him in harm's way. Yes, he was part of the reason that the ghosts were released in the first place, but he could have done like Luke didn't. hide inside his home, protected by the iron knives buried in the yard and the horseshoe on the door. Instead, I shared my plan with him and Lindsay and let them join me.

After Lindsay was killed, I shared my new idea with Nick, part of me knowing that he probably wouldn't let me go alone. So, I nodded in response. She moved her hand from mine and touched my face softly enough, I could barely even fear it. and she spoke her final words to me. Never come. I didn't.

I packed up a small amount of my belongings and spoke with my mum the following day. It broke me to see her saddened by my decision, but in the end she didn't fight it and she seemed to understand at the least that I needed to get out of fear for one reason or another. Luke stayed with her while I moved to a different state to live with my uncle.

He didn't know the first thing about raising a child, let alone a broken teenager, but he did his best. I only saw my brother twice more after that. Two years after I'd left that town and everything that had happened in it, Mom found Luke's body in the bathtub. She would admit to me he'd been struggling with depression for a long time, even before Black Week happened. Finding that out shed light on some things that he'd. did and said, and his absence that I never even considered before. To this day, I struggle with thoughts of wishing he'd been a better brother and wishing I'd been a better sister and understood his pain, and didn't blame him for so much. Within a month of his passing, my mother was checked

into a mental hospital and remains there to this day. It's only a few hours drive from him, and I try to visit her at least twice a month. Her brain shut down. She simply became unable to care for herself. Sometimes she seems to recognize me, and other times it's more like having an awkward lunch with a stranger in a cafe. At least she's still alive. Although I was told never to return,

I did go back to the town once and once only for Luke's funeral. I stayed one night and saw Lindsay everywhere. I don't know for certain if it was her ghost or only my mind conjuring an image of her, or maybe even a combination of the two. Either way, I made sure to avoid Nick. He was at the funeral, but when he looked as if he would approach me, I quickly walked away and pretended not to see him or even recognize him. We'd only spoken once, via email.

I planned to keep it that way. Once he'd boxed up the books from the cottage and sent them to me, I thanked him and never said another word. The last time I saw Lindsay was when I was driving out at the town limits. She stood next to the goodbye sign. She looked the same as when she died, broken, bloody and ghastly. Her head nodded to me once, and I glanced in the rearview mirror several times, until she and the sign were no longer in sight. And my heart broke all over again.

And so once again, we reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favor of you. Wherever you get your podcast wrong, please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review. as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again, same time, same place,

and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.