Witch 13 Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2022 Patrick Delaney

  Copyright © 2022 Oblivion Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Published by Oblivion Publishing

  Cover design by Ross Nischler

  To the Chavez family.

  Rick (Mr. Chavez). Sally. Vanessa. Jesse. Crystal.

  And Ricky.

  Since first grade, man. Since first grade.

  Witch 13

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  “13 Witches”

  They walked together,

  old as time,

  they’ll take your soul,

  but don’t take mine.

  Skin like milk,

  hair like ash,

  they’ll kill anyone,

  who crosses their path.

  Hats full of stitches,

  make your wishes,

  because coming for you,

  are the thirteen witches.

  — Unknown

  prologue

  A WITCH.

  That was seven-year-old Madelyn Lamprey’s first thought when she saw the woman standing there in front of the tree, still as a statue. In fact, Madelyn thought she was a statue initially, like an old Halloween decoration someone left out, maybe to try and scare her. So when she had seen the witch down near the river, she’d froze in her tracks. She began to retrace the events that led to that moment in her head, not believing the thing right before her own two eyes. This had been her routine for the last four months, but Halloween had come and gone, and now it was December.

  There shouldn’t be any witches in the forest, she thought. Especially not here.

  There was a soft, cloying wind that evening. The forest was littered with the fossils of dead leaves. After supper she’d rinsed her plate and silverware off and set them to dry in the wire rack, just like she was supposed to. Her parents had already started up the evening news, and that was boring with a capital B. So while they were busy listening to the “exciting new developments” about the accident on Old Ferry Bridge, she’d slipped out of the sliding glass door into the wintry air and closed it so softly it wouldn’t make a sound. She was careful to wear her winter coat and gloves: the last time she’d been outside, her fingers had nearly turned blue by the time she’d gotten back home.

  They lived on a nine-acre property that held a forty-year-old colonial-style house, a two-story guest house, and trees as far as she could see. She loved the way the gravel sounded when their car climbed the driveway. She loved watching her father repair bicycles down in the shop at the bottom of the hill. But most of all, she loved exploring the beaten rock path in their backyard that led down to the Connecticut River. The stones were smooth and round and they reminded her of a fairy tale, like there might be a big shiny castle waiting for her on the other end. She liked to imagine beautiful white horses with hulking knights riding on top of them. Sometimes she’d start to see a dragon there too, in the forest, but she’d wish the thought away before she ever really got a good look at it.

  The trail twisted away from the house, but not too far. Her mother and father had warned her about what could happen if you strayed too far away from the path, warned her about what could happen if you couldn’t find your way back before dark.

  Which is why she always listened.

  She stayed more or less on the trail, and the only times she went anywhere near the wall of black forest surrounding the Painted Mountains was to see if maybe she could spot a deer just beyond the trunks, hidden away in that other magical world.

  Madelyn carefully marched along the path, weaving down the hillside, her mouth curled into a dreamy smile, humming to herself. She counted the stones as she descended the path, kicking her feet at the little weeds sticking up from between the rocks. She made a note of the mist creeping along the woodland edge, pretending she was somewhere where magic did exist.

  As she breathed in the fresh winter air, her sinuses began to burn. The air slowly decayed, peeling away and leaving something else in its place.

  Madelyn stopped and curiously lifted her head to see the river lazily carrying past below. She listened to the water slip between the wet, moss-covered stones, and for a moment, she forgot all about the smoke.

  She’d smelled burning oil before. Father’s car engine leaked oil constantly, and when it burned it smelled worse than a dead possum.

  She wrinkled her nose and lifted her eyes away from the safety of the trail to the top of the tree line.

  Far in the distance was a plume of black smoke feeding into steely gray clouds. Her eyes widened as the thought crossed her mind that it might be a tornado forming, but she shook her head because she remembered that tornados didn’t happen way out here on the East Coast. They happened more in the middle states, like Kansas, where Dorothy and her house had been swept away to Oz. She’d learned that in Mrs. Avery’s second grade class.

  The beautiful view in front of her slowly began to transform. The “mist” wasn’t mist at all; it was smoke. Dirty, filthy smoke that was seeping in from between the trees on the right side of the trail.

  Was the forest on fire?

  The river was nearly gone now, obscured by the dark smoke rolling across the land. She could feel it sticking to her skin and clothes. It made her eyes itchy and her face tingle. As the last of the river was swallowed up by the burning air, a panic began to crawl over her like bugs. She started to brush her hands against her arms to scrub the burning oil smell off and looked down to remind herself that the trail was still there. She wasn’t lost yet; she could still follow it back to the house.

  She waved her arms at the air, beating away the smoke.

  That was when she heard it.

  A giggle, sharp and abrupt. Like there was another little girl out here, too. She halted in place, confused and curious, and turned toward the opposite side of the trail. The side that wasn’t burning.

  She heard it again, faint among the sound of the lazy river.

  She threw a glance over her shoulder and watched the smoke seeping out between the tall trunks.

  There was another giggle, louder this time, and she drew closer. She wanted to call out, but hesitated. Who could possibly be on their property this late? Mackenzie, the young
girl who lived next door? Not a chance. The Millers would never let her go this far away from home.

  She began to step toward the sound but stopped, warily regarding the trail. She bit her lip, then shook her head because she knew she needed to be brave. She needed to warn Mackenzie or whoever was playing out there that a fire was coming. There was a dragon in their midst.

  Her chin held high, she hopped off the trail, scuttling across the hillside toward the tree line.

  “Hello?” Her voice came out stronger than she expected, and hearing herself gave her the courage she needed to move faster.

  A shadowy figure passed between the trees, startling her and causing her to stumble back.

  There was another snicker ahead, and she almost thought it sounded older than before. Like it wasn’t young Mackenzie Miller out here, but a woman instead.

  Madelyn arrived at the edge of the forest and stopped. Her hands grew sweaty and her heart was beating so hard she thought it might blow up. She was still, peering into the shadowy veil beyond.

  “Hello?” she called. This time her voice didn’t sound so brave. It echoed in the dark place beyond where she could see.

  Dry twigs cracked and she jerked her head to the right.

  It wasn’t Mackenzie.

  No more than twenty feet away stood a woman.

  Madelyn’s heart slowed and she stepped away from the forest, partly relieved to know she didn’t have to go any further. The woman was facing away from her, standing so close to the tree you’d think she was talking to it.

  The woman didn’t move; she was still, like one of those Halloween witches people put on their porch to scare away kids like her.

  Madelyn approached, and the smoke began to curl away. She could see the woman clearer now.

  A witch.

  Madelyn recognized the tall, pointed hat.

  “Hello?” Madelyn said timidly. “Are you okay?”

  The woman didn’t answer.

  Madelyn slowed as she neared the stranger.

  “What are you doing out here?” she asked.

  Witches weren’t real. She knew that. But even the fake ones weren’t supposed to be out when it wasn’t Halloween, and it was two weeks until Christmas.

  What was a witch doing in her parents’ backyard? The thought made her a little uneasy.

  Madelyn took a step forward and looked closer at the woman’s clothes. She had the straight, pointed hat just like witches do, and a long black dress that hugged her body. She’d never seen anything quite like it.

  Madelyn squinted harder at the bizarre outfit.

  Her clothes look like they’re made of ashes, she thought to herself.

  The ash reminded her of the fire, and when Madelyn quickly turned her attention to the other side of the path she was amazed to find that the smoke was gone. She could see the river again at the bottom of the hill, only it looked even better than before. Beautiful even. Clearer than she ever remembered it. She could see fish swimming below, and even the smooth rocks buried in the sand.

  Something wasn’t right. Where did the smoke go? Why couldn’t she smell it anymore? She crinkled her nose and looked back at the strange person standing in front of her.

  The witch towered like a giant above Madelyn, her black hat rising into the sky.

  Why was the woman facing the tree? Why wouldn’t she turn around and talk to her?

  The peaceful sounds of the forest had returned and quelled her anxiety a touch, enough so that she was able to work up the courage to take another step closer.

  The smoke gone, she stepped right up to the witch, noticing that she smelled like sweets and cinnamon and everything delicious. She breathed in that intoxicating scent, and her eyes felt heavy. She put out a hand to steady herself on the tree but was careful not to touch the witch.

  “Excuse me, but…are you okay?” Madelyn repeated. Her head felt weird and light, like she’d just got off that spinning ride at the carnival that went so fast you could climb up the walls without falling.

  When the witch still didn’t answer, Madelyn turned her head up and finally saw her face.

  At first she was scared, because the witch looked more dead than alive. She’d seen them on TV before, but they never looked quite like this.

  “Do you need help? Hello?” Madelyn asked, short of breath.

  The woman’s skin was whiter than white, and her lips looked more blue than pink. Her hair was as inky as a black cat, with eyes much too large for her head.

  Madelyn began to feel warm inside, and a euphoric feeling washed over her. Her body continued to heat like a bathtub filling with warm water, and she wiped her damp forehead with the back of her coat sleeve. If you’d asked Madelyn Lamprey how long she gazed at the witch, she would have told you she didn’t know. And that was the truth.

  What she did know was that she was hot. Too hot. She felt it building, and her skin began to ooze with sweat. She marveled at the witch a moment longer and smiled, then calmly began back to the trail. Only instead of going back to the house, she started back down the path.

  She hummed to herself and wondered if the dragon had started the fire in the woods, or the witch, but she didn’t care either way.

  She reached the end of the stone path and tilted her head down at the river. The water was peaceful, and she wondered why she’d never tried to swim before. The weather was a lot warmer than she would have thought for winter. She pulled off her shoes and socks and unzipped her coat, letting it fall to the wet dirt, oblivious to the plumes of frigid air coming from her lungs.

  Madelyn reached up and tucked the loose strands of hair behind her ear. She took one last look at the river, then stepped forward, letting the water gently lull her in.

  And just before her head was fully submerged, she almost thought she heard her parents screaming her name.

  Then, she drowned.

  chapter 1

  SHERIFF STERLING MARSH ran. She ran faster and harder than she’d ever run before. She didn’t know where she was running to, only what she was running from, but that was enough.

  Her body was dowsed with sweat, muscles burning, chest on fire as she slammed a fist down on the button and disengaged the treadmill. The pain in her knee was back, but it was manageable.

  It was precisely 8:45p.m., a mere hour and fifteen minutes before her shift was scheduled to start. Sterling, a thirty-six-year-old woman born to an English mother and an East Indian father, gracefully swung off the treadmill with a thump and toweled off her face. With eyelids etched as dark as an Egyptian pharaoh, her almond-shaped eyes were stark upon first glance. Cracked, plum-colored lips and skin that glistened with an olive sheen left most strangers believing her of Middle-Eastern decent, but she never cared enough to correct them. She knew who she was, and that was all that mattered.

  While her parents hailed from London, she’d been welcomed into the world kicking and screaming not long after their arrival in the United States during one of the worst storms of the century. They’d revealed this fact on her fifteenth birthday, and she wondered if it meant anything to be born on a night when the world was so angry.

  Her father, Ovi, worked odd jobs and long hours, but he’d always come home at the end of the day with a flower in his hand to tuck behind her ear just as the tired red sun was slipping behind the mountains. Perennials. Blue Stars. Daisies. It didn’t matter; they were all the same as far as she was concerned. All Sterling cared about was watching him pull up in the driveway in his beat-up Mercedes with the mismatched fender and the missing driver’s side mirror. Her mother, Anna, would be waiting on the porch with her arms folded and a frown on her face, forgotten like a ghost. But Ovi…well, Ovi could do no wrong as far as his little girl was concerned. She adored him as much as she adored sun flowers and snow angels and her pink bicycle with the wicker basket on the front. She loved his thick English accent and the neatly-trimmed mustache under his bulbous nose. She loved the old striped tie he’d wear everyday that she’d picked out for him at a t
hrift store in Maine when he’d went up for business. But most of all, she loved the way he’d laugh music and his eyes would close like he was so happy he couldn’t take it.

  Ovi, fascinated with their new home, shuffled them about the East Coast while her mother tended to Sterling as the years passed. Aside from her looks, Sterling couldn’t have been more different than Ovi and Anna. While her parents loved to eat and indulge in the finer things in life, Sterling instead felt an urgency inside trying to escape. An instinct that told her to get away. To run.

  So that’s exactly what she did.

  A bit of a late bloomer, she’d always been an awkward child, cursed with two left feet and cheeks rounder than tennis balls. But she’d always enjoyed moving, and treasured the feeling of letting her short legs carry her in a whirlwind up and down their property through the swaying Silver Feather Grass while she waited for her father’s Mercedes to round the bend putt-putting up the cracked driveway, dodging fallen trees and bushes like spot fires. And as the years rolled by and she entered high school, she took her love for running to new places, embracing her competitiveness and desire to push herself by joining her school’s Track and Field team. Before long, Ovi and Anna had watched as Sterling’s puffy cheeks chiseled away into stone, revealing the face she knew really belonged to her.

  But that was a long time ago.

  Ovi was gone now.

  And she was a shadow of the woman she once was.

  Sterling took a few swallows from a Hydro Flask before easing onto a yoga mat on the side of her bed. Her stomach had gone soft, and her jawline wasn’t quite as sharp as it had once been, but she still felt that side of her hidden away inside, dormant. She spent the next ten minutes stretching every aching tendon and limb, controlling her breathing like her life depended on it.

  She hadn’t slept. She never did. Even back when she could sleep regularly, she didn’t. But now that the choice had been ripped out of her control, she wished that she could. She craved the control and desperately wanted to be back behind the wheel. She loathed the powerlessness she felt at not having that choice anymore.