Page 89 of You'll Be Sorry

He’s all swaggering bravado, this young boy who still sleeps with a nightlight. His siblings appear less convinced. But I have nothing more to offer.

My head is starting to hurt. These huge, pressing boulders don’t offer solace. They’re bathed in shame and rage and terror. This place is not a shelter; it’s where hope goes to die.

I work to pull myself together. Lovey is now pressed against my legs, her nose nuzzling my hand. I try to think of something suitably intelligent or convincing. What I come up with is:

“Take it from a witch, there’s dark magic here.”

Henry’s eyes open slightly, though he quickly catches himself. “You’re not a witch. Even William knows that.”

William’s gaze is reproachful. He does know better, and I should, too.

I don’t know what else to say. “I have to go. Thank you…thank you for the apple juice.”

Then I turn and quickly make my way back to daylight, Lovey close to my side.

Vaguely, I’m aware of their dog following me out. William as well. Maybe he waves behind me. Memory is such an imperfect thing.

I don’t think I turn back. I think I mostly retreat to my cabin, where I bolt the door against whatever madness is out there, and take two hits of my father’s favorite whiskey just to steady my nerves.

And then…

I do nothing.

Because there’s nothing to do?

Or because all these years later, that’s all I know how to do?

I failed you. I know that now. First the journal, then the cave…I should’ve stayed a shut-in, kept myself to myself. I should’ve known better.

But sometimes, the anger and pettiness get too much for me.

And other days, the good memories can be as painful as the bad.

You think I’m coming for you; the truth is, you’re coming for me. And when that moment arrives, when you want back everything I took from you, I will stand before you and let the hammer fall.

Epigenetics. No escaping it anymore. The die was cast hundreds of years ago, long before either of us were born. And yet, here we are.

Ding dong bell, the witch is in the well.

Red witch, blue witch, black or white; One for love, one for fright; One will dance all night long; One will see you dead and gone.

Ding dong bell, the witch is in the well

Night’s a-coming; She draws near; Wind’s a-howling

Which one’s here?

28

Sure about this?”

“I think as local police chief, I’m qualified to identify those bones as human, especially as I had a refresher course just this week.”

First nod.

“I think as local fire chief, you’re qualified to access the site, especially as you had a refresher course just this week.”

Second nod.