Latest / Shallow Nights: Scary Bedtime Stories / Unraveling the Salt Witch Myth: A Tale of Desperation, Friendship and Magic Beyond Folklore

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Unraveling the Salt Witch Myth: A Tale of Desperation, Friendship and Magic Beyond Folklore · Shallow Nights: Scary Bedtime Stories

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I was born in a small coastal town, the sort of place that
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never quite caught up at the times and where fear and
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superstition had much more weight than logic or science.
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Growing up, I'd always thought the place was dull, with little
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to do and way too much gossip. That belief followed me even
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well into my 30s, though then, working as a fisherman and
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hearing tall tales on a daily basis, I'd at least learned to
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keep my opinions to myself. The Salt Witch was one of the
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local myths, a powerful being who made bargains with people.
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Depending on your wish, you could walk out richer than a
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king or lose life and limb before even blinking.
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You should not anger the Salt Witch.
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For most of the time, that was the town's version of the
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boogeyman, a story told to scare children into behaving.
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But it only took one too many bad fishing seasons or a
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particularly harsh winter for people to start getting really
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serious about the witch, to the point a raft will be sent to sea
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to appease her. I once watched that raft leave
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report for six years in a row, full of flower garlands and
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offerings we need to be better keeping and pushed into the
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ocean by sailors far too stubborn to admit it was
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pointless. A part of me always thought it
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was stupid until my mother got sick, then I understood.
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Sometimes you just need to believe in something.
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It was said anyone who seek the salt which out was either a fool
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or had nothing to lose. With not enough money to call a
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doctor and Mom's almost constant fever and strange fits, I was
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despaired enough to fit in the second category.
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I followed every story of her I could find, from the common
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fisherman tales to increasingly obscure rumors, wandering
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through the port and long past the town's outskirts.
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For a time, that's all I did. Anytime I was not nursing my
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mother, I'd roam around the coast on my little boat, only
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half working and barely sleeping.
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I did it for what felt like ages and was about to give up, until
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one day I finally saw something moving just across the Bay
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curve. The gaggle of children was the
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first thing I noticed once I made my way back to shore.
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There were over a dozen of them in varying ages, from infants to
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teenagers, picking shells and running and whatnot.
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Their laughter filled the air, fighting for space over the
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cries of the seagulls, and a particularly curious toddler
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even wobbled his way to inspect my pants.
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Don't run too fast now. Oh, sorry, Sir, they go where
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they please. Then, by the edge where the
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waves met the sand, stood a solid white figure.
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Lucy was a young woman of graceful features, with fair
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skin and hair cascading and waves down to her hips, pale as
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if made of the very sea foam that covered her feet.
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I'd never seen an albino before, rare as the condition is, and
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her light cotton dress in the early morning glow made her seem
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almost ghostly. I don't quite remember what I
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was thinking at the time, but I had barely slept in over a week
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and truth be told, I was barely keeping myself on my feet.
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No way I'd find it in me to watch out for any inhuman forces
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at play or test to deem me worthy.
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The first thing I did when I laid my eyes on her was mumble
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help and faint at her feet, almost flattening the toddler in
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the process. When I woke up, I was lying on a
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couch tucked under a thick blanket.
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The scent of flowers and food reached my nose and I felt warm
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and comfortable for a whopping 2 seconds until my mind registered
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I had no idea where I was. It seemed to be a very large
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house with its own orchard in a backyard visible through the
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windows, and a foundation of stone and brick rather than the
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woodsy style I was used to seeing around town.
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I walked around a bit and over to what I guessed to be the
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front door. The building rested at the very
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top of the reef, standing just far enough from the edge and at
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such an angle it and the trail that led up there couldn't be
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seen from below. But standing on the doorstep and
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looking through it, one could see the whole town stretching
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below our feet, it's distant noise and chatter reaching us
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like whispers in the wind. The bell tower was the only
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clear sound from there, ringing its loud call out to the
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heavens. It was 8 in the morning.
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A gust of wind and Vertigo hit me, and I quickly scooted back
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to my spot on the couch. There were children all around,
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eating breakfast or studying or going about their morning
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routine. None of them were reacting to my
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presence much though, either, as if I wasn't there or belonged
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there all along. And I'd started wondering
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whether or not I should get up the stairs and explore the floor
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of the house where the pale girl I'd seen on the bench came over
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carrying a tray of food, fruits and jam, yogurt and a fresh loaf
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of bread. I took it as my cue to remain
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sat down. She set the tray down in front
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of me and let me take a few bites before asking.
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What happened to you? My mother was kicked out of home
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in her late teens. I don't know whether I was the
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very reason she was kicked out or if my presence was the result
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of some less than fortunate encounter in the dark alley.
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Fact is, I was born and we only had each other.
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She raised me on her own until I grew old enough to start working
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too. It turned out it was a lot
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easier to find a job when you're a man, and I did well enough
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that she could retire without us starving.
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But with that considered, we barely got by.
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So when she got sick and the usual home remedies weren't
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working, there wasn't much we could do.
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We couldn't pay for a doctor, we could only wait for death or go
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meet the salt witch. So there I was.
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I'm not a witch, she sighed. But I'll see what I can do.
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Ideally, she said, if someone was sick, I should have brought
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the patient with me so she could give her a check up in person,
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but Mom was bedridden, so it couldn't be helped.
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She couldn't go down to the town with me either, since the
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townsfolk hated her. So instead, she asked me about
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my mother's symptoms. How bad were her fevers?
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Was there any obvious infection? Did she cough, and if so, were
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the coughs dry or wet, How well she slept and such?
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I described everything as well as I could, and then Lucy went
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into the kitchen. I could still see her sifting
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through bundles of herbs and empty bottles, clearing space on
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the counter before she remembered to close the door.
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I exhaled slowly, letting my shoulders relax while I waited.
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The Salt witch myth was already around before I was born, but if
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you assume Lucy's uncommon looks weren't the only occurrence
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throughout the generations, then it wasn't hard to think.
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The rumor started when someone up her family tree first moved
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in. I guessed maybe her grandmother
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or other old relative. And I just realized that up to
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that point, buried deep beneath the layers of skepticism and
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denial, I have been terrified. People told so many horror
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stories about her. Some said she was fickle and
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cruel, rising the tides and controlling the weather.
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Others that she was made of Stardust and cobwebs, older than
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death and just as cold, and if you crossed her wrong, she'd
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turn you to salt. I had searched for her with my
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prayers said and ready to die, waiting for the town's bell to
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ring and announce me gone in the morning.
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But she was just a woman who happened to look a little
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different from everyone in the place she lived at, and they
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chose her as a gossip target. I wanted to throttle them.
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She came back from the kitchen with a flask and held it out for
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me to take. How do I use this?
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A small drop every morning and no more.
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It's pretty strong. I turned the flask around and
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checked it up close. It was the size of those cough
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syrup bottles you'd see at the drugstore, but without a label.
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The liquid sloshed inside, tinting the clear glass walls
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with a coat of brownish black. The smell hit me instantly,
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sharp and almost metallic, with a faint note of charcoal in the
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background, and I had to reclose the lid as soon as I opened it
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and resume. The thing looked disgusting.
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Sorry, I can't fix the taste. She stated quietly, her eyes
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fixed on me as I inspected the medicine.
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But it can be taken with water or mixed with food.
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I nodded, still slightly disoriented by the smell.
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Her gaze bore into me until she noticed the toddler across the
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table was taking chunks off his breakfast bun and dumping them
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on the floor. Marcus.
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No, I don't like the little seeds.
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Then someone else can eat it. Don't waste food.
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I just sat there, trying to process reality while watching
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her circle the coffee table in a hurry.
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I'd expected something more ominous than that, like filling
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that vial with my blood and payment once it was empty.
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Give up my first born for the exchange or anything on that
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line. Not a three second stare and
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rushing off to steal a child's little hands.
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And what should I give you in exchange, I mean.
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She looked back at me and hummed and thought for a second.
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How about you come over and help me with my siblings until your
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mother feels better? Of all things, she wanted me to
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babysit. I was speechless for a while,
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then let out of breath I didn't know I'd been holding.
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Ah, can't believe people make so much stuff up.
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But even then, if everyone who met you died, you'd not have any
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more visitors, right? That would be bad, yes.
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She agreed, though judging by how her head tilted in
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confusion, my dark attempt at humor had flown over her head,
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likely for the best. That's how my routine came to
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be. When I woke up every day, I put
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a drop of medicine for my mom into the water by her night
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stand and left. My afternoons were spent fishing
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at sea, and I came home in the evenings, but my mornings were
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spent at the house over the reef with Lucy and her family.
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Time passed seamlessly, the week stretching into months.
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My mother's health improved, but even after she recovered, I
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still found myself following the same path towards that house,
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hiking the trail up the reef and rising along with the sun until
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the town's hustle and bustle was only faint background noise.
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Those mornings were my favorite part of the day, opening the
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curtains and tidying up the house, setting up the laundry,
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preparing breakfast together before finally waking up the
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kids. I'd never seen a saffron flower
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before. I'd never seen a saffron flower
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before. Well, now you have.
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The spice part is just these red pistols in the middle.
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Seems so little, right? We'd eat together and clean up,
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and then Lucy sat by the loom and taught the older girls to
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weave and make lace. Well, I'd work on the backyard
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garden with the boys and littlest ones.
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Sometimes we'd harvest things together instead, and she'd
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mentioned more little things she knew about each plant.
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Or we'd take all the kids and head down to the beach to let
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them play around the shore. That's when most of their
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contact with the townsfolk happened, from people looking
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for the salt witch. Most wanted medicine like what
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was given to me before. Others seeked advice or were
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content with little Lucky Charms that truly held nothing but
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sentimental value. Those things were exchanged for
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other things from the town, parcels of the butter and honey
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and fresh milk. Some people also bought the
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lace. And then there were less
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reasonable people, the ones who'd walk up demanding her to
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change the weather or make them rich, and the ones who didn't
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listen when we told them to stop sending offerings into the
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ocean. Some people are just stupid, I
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guess, but they ruined our whole day.
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In the times that happened, it wasn't hard to head up the reef
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the following morning and find Lucy bundled up in her room,
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sighing up a storm. I think it was one of those
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mornings when it first happened. One day I arrived to find the
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house quiet and her cocooned under her blankets.
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I didn't know what to do so I just sat with her, occasionally
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breaking the silence, trying to tell jokes and mostly failing
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until at some point I sneezed. Then she started giggling and
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couldn't stop for a while. It was contagious too, seeing as
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I also laughed until we were both leaning over and barely
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breathing. She leaned closer and kissed me,
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and we made love. I won't claim she was my first.
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Sometimes begging on the street isn't enough to put food on the
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table. And before the seafaring trade
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proved to be an alternative, I'd followed my mother in her own
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trade and found a surprisingly wide market for that sort of
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thing. Older men who like young boys.
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Older women who like young boys. Young women a lot more feisty
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than their parents knew, or less faithful than their husbands
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believed. But there was something so
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different in my time with Lucy, still laced together long after
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the act and letting time trickle until we were late to wake the
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kids. I loved her.
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That was fact, as simple as dawn breaking each day, even though I
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didn't notice until it was already too late to opt out.
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She was strange and beautiful and I loved her and I drank her
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presence and like those lost in the desert would drink water.
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The townsfolk gossiped, as they always did.
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They said the salt, which had me enchanted.
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That we've met in the darkest hours and did unholy rites.
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That's just how people are. Give them anything to blabber
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of. And in their minds, I'd soon be
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sailing to foreign land on a stolen ship, whispering sweet
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nothings in the ear of a goat. I didn't mind the rumors about
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Laci, and I didn't care about the whispers of the neighbors
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behind my back. They'd never cared about us, and
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why should I? I didn't think it should affect
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me. That was careless.
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Maybe you could say it wasn't my fault, that the events that
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followed couldn't be predicted or were outside of my control.
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And I suppose you'd be right. But I still wonder who left the
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door open. It might have been my mother
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leaving for a stroll or groceries and forgetting to
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close it on her way. Or it might have been me who
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didn't lock it when I left to work.
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Either way, it didn't change the fact when I got home that
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evening, my mother was sprawled on the floor, silent and still.
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She couldn't even cry for help. Her fingers were slick with
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blood as she tried to close the gash on her throat with her own
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hands. For a moment, I felt my heart
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freeze. There he is, the one consorting
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with the witch. I barely reacted at the
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trespassers in my home, other than glancing at the one who
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stepped on my mother's body as they surrounded me.
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Their voices were like white noise.
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My own breathing was too loud in my ears.
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What you looking at, creepy Wretch?
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I didn't respond. I wish I could tell you I cried.
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That I sobbed and screamed for help and tried my best to help
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my mother. I should have, but I took in the
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cold truth of her living body and half litted eyes and the
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sight just left me numb. She was gone.
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She wasn't the best mother in the world and I wasn't the best
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son either, but she had birthed and raised me the best she could
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and she was gone. And I only saved myself.
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When they surrounded me, I grabbed the first thing I could.
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When they surrounded me, I grabbed the first thing I could
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get a hold of and slammed it on the skull of the nearest person
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I could hit, making them stagger backwards and opening a path for
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me to flee. They lunged at me.
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Something stung my sides, but adrenaline kept me going enough
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to slip away. They came after me and I ran,
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but to where my legs made the decision before my mind even
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registered where I was going. That little voice of my
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conscience just told me to run, run or I was going to die.
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And I kept running, just trying to put more and more distance
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between me and the ones chasing. My mind was blank, barraged by
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so many thoughts they fused into nothing, and my memory is a blur
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between running the trail up the reef and the moment I was
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already crossing the front door, slamming it closed behind me.
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Something felt different in there.
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Dark, empty, like what lied beyond the house's threshold was
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not the place I'd been to every morning for the past couple
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years. I expected it somewhat from
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having walked in the middle of the night, but no one rose up
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with the commotion I made. There were no candle holders
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where I expected to find them light up.
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Most of the trinkets and furniture were gone.
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The Lacy curtains, the children's toys, the children,
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my Lucy, they were all gone too. I couldn't understand.
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Had the townsfolk got to them first?
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No, most people didn't even know how to get there, and it
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shouldn't be possible to hollow up the house and transport all
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the furnishings at that hour even less without making noise.
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My heart throbbed with pain and confusion, and so did my stomach
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as my insides tried to function despite the trail of blood still
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escaping the wound on my side. There was no one to help me.
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I was alone. No, no, it was a good thing.
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It was too late to regret it. But the truth is that if the
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townsfolk didn't lose track of me, then I had just LED an angry
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mob into the home of a single woman and over a dozen young
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children. It was good they weren't around.
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I stumbled into the backyard, my darkening sight finding no trace
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of the carefully tended orchard while I rested my back against
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the dried husk of what I remembered as a verdant tree.
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My strength was waning, that first rush of adrenaline was
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wearing off, and my eyes wandered to the open back door
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from where I thought I could hear the townsfolk approaching.
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I looked up at the sky and cried.
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It was only then I realized what I was still holding, the bottle
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with my mother's medicine still mostly full since she had
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stopped taking it soon. Somehow it hadn't been damaged
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by me smashing it on the man's head, the glass smooth and solid
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in my grip. I don't know how the idea came
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to me, it was almost instinctive.
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Or maybe it was the blood loss. Not letting me think straight, I
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held my breath and chucked the lid off, propped my back better
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against the tree and chugged down.
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It tasted burnt, sour and bitter and cold.
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And by all means it shouldn't help.
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Being sick with a bad fever and hallucinations and being stabbed
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in the belly were very different issues.
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But after the first to gulp, my pain lessened.
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After the second gulp, the burning feeling on my side
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ceased completely, exchanged for the feeling of torn fabric
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tickling my skin. After the 3rd gulp, I couldn't
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stop. How much was too much?
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No more than a drop. I drank the whole thing.
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Then relief became agony. It coated my insides like a
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layer of SAP clogging down my throat.
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I hatched and gasped for air but couldn't inhale any.
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It stung and my lungs and my stomach stinging, ice spreading
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and taking over and chilling, my veins frozen after searing
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through them. The bottle slid off my grasp and
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rolled onto the ground as I tried to focus on breathing.
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In the distance the bell tower rang, announcing midnight, and
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faintly I wondered if the noise I heard along with it, the rush
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of little steps approaching in childish whispers, were real, or
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just the fabrication of my dazed mind.
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I had the faint awareness of seeing a man stepping through
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the back porch, yelling, found him to someone behind, and a
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knife being raised. I lifted an arm to block it.
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How dare you? The words thundered above my
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head, spread in a wave of outrage, panic, and grief, then
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almost drowned out my own. My sight went white, but not
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from passing out. It was like a flash grenade
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exploded behind me and I could see nothing but white, white hot
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rings of light in the whispers. It was like a legion of voices
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fused into a single one. And yet it had something
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familiar. Most of my pursuers never
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reached the orchard. I could hear them through the
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half open door along with Lucy. What are you doing?
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Get off my way. Stop it.
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They were here. Everyone was here.
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No, no, no, no. I tried to get back up, rolling
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onto my stomach and dragging myself forward, but I could
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barely move. My fingers were numb from the
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cold. I couldn't breathe.
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My consciousness faded in and out, muddling everything
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together. The children in the backyard,
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the townsfolk, it's still inside.
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And Lucy's voice of begging for them to stop.
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Why are you in our house? Stop it, let go.
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You, you creepy little. You're not welcome here.
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Stop it. You're a damn monster.
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Stop it. Everything was white.
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My sight, the sounds, white light and white noise, fire and
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ice burning my bones. My consciousness faded, and then
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nothing. I woke up in the orchard, the
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early daylight fluttering week behind a cloudy sky.
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Rain poured from above and turned the earth to mud beneath
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me. Some water hit my face.
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It tasted strange, a little salty, almost bitter, though it
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might as well have been an after taste of the medicine getting
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annoying. It's the third trespassing
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already. I told you, the entryway isn't
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working as is. We need a better system, longer
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passages, something. I'm hungry.
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The voices of the children filling my ears was the first
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sign I was really awake again. Instead of having some weird
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dream. I sat up, expecting to hurt all
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over, but I felt no pain. No bruising, no scratches from
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when I fell, no trouble breathing.
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The ground felt strangely soft beneath my legs, with none of
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the semi sharp resistance that grass blades should have.
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My body was suddenly aware of every tendon and muscle it had
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and my eyes wandered to the garden plants, hatching hints of
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colours I'd never seen in every petal and leaf.
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Something was wrong with me, but I couldn't see any wounds.
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Even the gash on my side and arm had closed, leaving the bloody
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tearing in my clothing as the only indication had been there.
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No, there was something out on my arm.
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I turned it to check the spot I was hit with the knife from
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before, and a layer of my skin was flaking off like a bad
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sunburn. But instead of stinging red
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beneath it, my exposed flesh was an intact layer of light Gray,
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closer to clay than flesh and hue.
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I probably shouldn't pick at it, but Mormon curiosity took over.
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A stripe of skin peeled off between my fingers like old
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paint. A jolt of panic took over and I
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tried to slap it back in place, but it didn't stick and slipped
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from my hand and onto the ground.
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So instead I hurried to make a makeshift bandage out of my own
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sleeve and keep it hidden. Thinking back, there was no pain
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or blood from that either, though the fright didn't let me
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notice at first. It's like I really was coated
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with paint or glaze and had ripped off bits of it.
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Well, there was no point in wallowing on the ground for
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longer. I stood up and tried to reorient
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myself, squinting to see through the thick rain.
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The children were all over the backyard, dividing between their
24:34
usual morning routine and dealing with the weather.
24:37
Some ran back and forth, carrying the exposed firewood
24:41
somewhere it would stay drier. A few were fighting the
24:44
clothesline in the wind, hurrying to fetch the hung
24:47
clothes and sheets, and a couple others holding said clothesline
24:51
poles in place, a head shielded from the weather by the back
24:56
porch. There was a group butchering
24:58
what, from my previous sitting spot, seemed like a large pig.
25:02
Now that was a rare sight. It was uncommon to have meat
25:05
around the house, as far as I'd seen, since most of their food
25:09
came from their own backyard. But the methodic ease in which
25:12
they moved, breaking bone and cleaving flesh, indicated a good
25:16
amount of practice. It seemed odd.
25:20
I had walked half the way towards them before realizing
25:22
that the pig's feet didn't have two pointy toes each, but 5
25:27
rounded ones. There was a human body under the
25:30
butcher knives, naked, already headless, mostly bled out.
25:36
A dizzy spell assaulted me and I had to lean against the wall to
25:39
not fall down again. I almost fled again, if not for
25:43
a thought that had crossed my mind.
25:46
Did you save me? Turning my head to the side kept
25:51
most of the body outside my field of view.
25:54
However, that pile of folded clothing and other discarded
25:56
belongings that have been neatly placed to the side told me this
26:01
was what was made of my previous aggressor.
26:04
Well, he was being super rude. One of them replied, running in
26:09
uninvited and going stabby stabby.
26:11
No manners at all. Lucy got the others, though that
26:16
meant I wasn't necessarily in danger, at least not right then.
26:21
I inhaled and exhaled a couple times, then took a few tentative
26:25
steps towards them. My question had caught their
26:28
attention, and I could feel their eyes on me as I
26:31
approached, but it seemed they had no intention of stopping
26:34
their current task. The sky was crying up a storm,
26:39
and by the time I reached the back porch and took shelter
26:42
under its roof with them, I was already drenched to my very
26:45
bones. How are you even conscious?
26:49
They asked after a moment, giving me a bewildered look.
26:53
Maybe you had some of it in them to begin with.
26:55
Some of the oldies who came down here, I had kids, right?
26:58
It made Father angry, though. He was always angry, and it's
27:02
been a while, so if it trickled down the line, it's not like it
27:06
was going to be obvious. I have no idea what any of you
27:11
are saying. I sighed.
27:14
Another of them waved a familiar glass bottle in front of me.
27:17
Like, not explained anything. The flask was as muddy as my
27:20
head, but empty. You drank it all right?
27:25
There's still some staining your teeth.
27:27
You mean the medicine from your sister?
27:30
It's blood. Well, not human blood.
27:33
I guess you'd call it Icor. They looked at each other for
27:38
support, then shrugged. When you drink Icor, it becomes
27:41
part of you, imprints you with some of the old one it bled
27:44
from, So it's good for healing wounds and illness and such, but
27:48
you shouldn't have too much without time to adapt first.
27:51
Mainly not Icor from a high ranked source.
27:54
Why not? It hurt like hell and your mind
27:57
might break. Well, it certainly did hurt like
28:00
hell, no arguing with that. I thought it was going to die.
28:05
You're not surprised. But what, You thought we were
28:09
all human, right? I guess I do have some
28:12
questions. I admitted with a nervous
28:14
chuckle. The children had caught me off
28:17
guard, but I had a guess I'd come looking for their sister
28:21
while following an old myth after all.
28:24
It's just even if I knew that some things are hard to accept
28:28
until they hit you in the face. And I just lost the only blood
28:31
family I had last night. My stomach was tied into a semi
28:36
permanent knot, my heart both numb and stinging at the same
28:40
time while I tottered the line between denial and acceptance.
28:45
But she was always a little different.
28:48
Granted, she seemed more normal than the stories told.
28:52
Human enough to feel safe sitting at the same table,
28:54
sharing the same food, chatting and making plans while the kids
28:58
chittered in the background. And yet odd enough to not
29:02
question when she took trays from the oven with her bare
29:05
hands, or why it always seemed to rain when she looked sad or
29:08
tense. So I knew, even if I didn't want
29:12
to believe it. I knew it long before noticing
29:14
the buildings and landscapes seen beyond her windows didn't
29:18
exist in the town where I was born.
29:20
Or how for every appeasing raft of the people sent to see,
29:24
there'd be yet another waterlogged, crying bundle in
29:27
the house to take care of another little sibling, another
29:31
offering. I knew, and it didn't matter,
29:35
not to me. She said she wasn't a witch, and
29:37
I trusted her. What time is it?
29:41
It's morning, one said. It's always morning, another one
29:46
quipped. I don't think he knew that
29:48
either. First one again.
29:50
I had so many questions, but the kids were too distracted to
29:54
answer me, busying themselves with the butchering duty and I
29:57
left them to it. I couldn't see Lucy anywhere and
30:01
with the past hours accounted for, I needed to find her.
30:04
I needed to talk to her. Then I did find her in the
30:07
living room and couldn't manage to say a word.
30:12
She was standing in the middle of the room, staring at her own
30:15
hands like there was something filthy.
30:17
I couldn't see her face well from where I stood.
30:20
Her hair was in the way, but there was pain in the tone of
30:23
her voice and the rain pouring outside and the slight trembling
30:27
of her shoulders. Her lips barely moved, mumbling
30:31
the same thing over and over. It took me a while to understand
30:34
the actual words. I told you to stop.
30:38
Why didn't you stop? Why, why, why, why?
30:44
I briefly wondered why all the kids were in the backyard
30:47
instead of with her, but they probably didn't know what to do
30:50
other than give her space and make sure the daily chores would
30:53
be done. There was no one else insight,
30:56
only salt up the walls and salt spilling on the floor and salt
30:59
statues all around. Curiosity led me to inspect the
31:04
nearest ones. They were all pure white, except
31:08
when I eyed the faces up close. Faint wet marks remain trailing
31:12
down from their eyes. Red tears.
31:15
I raised a finger to touch the stains, though there was no
31:18
point in the gesture. No sign of life was left in
31:21
them, but the blood lining down their cheeks were ever frozen in
31:26
their prison assault. This wasn't witchcraft.
31:30
Witches are human with strange skills.
31:33
She said She wasn't a witch. I trusted her.
31:37
She couldn't be a witch if she's not human.
31:40
A glance at her from over my shoulder when I noticed I
31:43
couldn't hear her mumbling anymore.
31:45
She had turned slightly and was watching me, pale eyes locked
31:49
into mine. I flinched.
31:52
You're afraid of me. I'm not.
31:54
I lied. Yes, you are.
31:57
Her voice was a whisper, fighting the wind that howled
32:00
against the windows. The morning was cold, a gentle
32:05
coolness despite the weather, silvery sunlight seeping through
32:08
the glass panes and beneath my skin.
32:11
Another white lie. What wasn't a lie?
32:15
What was she? I'd sometimes thought the way
32:18
she looked at the kids and me bordered on weird, like she
32:21
expected us to shatter the slightest touch.
32:24
Maybe to her we would. How much did she have to
32:27
suppress and smother down just so she'd not turn us to dust
32:31
with a glance? No one else was there to tell me
32:35
otherwise, so I stepped closer. I'd dreamed of whisking her away
32:40
before going somewhere else, far, far from there.
32:44
Now I knew that wasn't possible. But I just couldn't leave her
32:47
like that, standing alone in that room, surrounded by empty
32:51
shells while an anguished storm howled outside.
32:56
She froze for a second when I reached out before slowly easing
32:59
into the embrace. I wonder what she thought I'd
33:02
do, though clearly a hug was not what she expected.
33:06
Of course, somewhere in my mind I knew my current course of
33:09
action was not what most would have done.
33:12
Maybe an idiot would have tried to fight her.
33:14
Feeling the bitter black that flowed in her veins was enough
33:17
to justify either killing her or die trying.
33:22
Most would see the fate of the last ones who did try.
33:25
And what a flood in horror. Yet I found the act of keeping
33:29
her close gave me comfort and helped me feel less alone.
33:33
And I hope the feeling was mutual, because when I looked at
33:37
her I could see nothing but the girl I fell in love with.
33:41
The girl who knew the names of every herb and weed but got
33:44
sarcasm as well as a child would get quantum physics.
33:48
Weird and quiet and sweet with an inherent gentleness in
33:52
everything she did. For the life of me I never
33:54
managed to match, she was still the same, even while surrounded
33:59
by bodies and with her own body pressed against mine, shivering
34:03
in my arms. Her head was tucked against my
34:07
shoulder and I hid my face in her hair.
34:10
It smelt of petriker ozone and earth and duon leaves, like the
34:15
ghost of a garden. It smelled of petricor ozone and
34:20
earth and duon leaves like the ghost of a garden.
34:24
I was afraid, yes, but I never felt unsafe near her.
34:29
You should go. That was my fear put into words.
34:33
A sense that if I walked away and crossed that front door like
34:36
so many times before, I'd never see her again.
34:40
But if I didn't leave now, I never would.
34:44
She seemed so frail. Not the fragility of a human, or
34:48
of life as I knew it, but of an ancient temple, eroded by time
34:53
and abandoned. I could feel the weight on her
34:55
shoulders and the cracks weathering down her back, Weary,
34:59
crumbling, and home. Leave.
35:03
If not, I'll keep you here. That's fine, as long as I keep
35:08
you too. We stood like that for a long
35:11
while, hearing the sounds of the children going back to the
35:15
routine around the house, the cries of the seagulls beyond the
35:18
front door and the distant noise of the town waking up at the
35:22
day. They say the salt witch would
35:25
demand a price for every wish. A pint of blood, Your heart,
35:29
your soul. She never asked for mine.
35:32
I had shared it all on my own free will.
35:36
Maybe it was naive, and maybe it was stupid, and maybe it was
35:40
because drinking all that Iker changed something in me, but I
35:44
didn't care. I was exactly where I should be.
35:48
The rain eased into a drizzle before stopping completely.
35:51
The bell tower rang 12 times, then silence fell as the world
35:55
outside shifted into noon, and I remained in the realm where
35:58
mourn endures. I've lost count of how many
36:04
years it has been since then. A hundred, a thousand, maybe
36:08
more. Long before the little town I'd
36:11
grown in became a city, and the city became ruins, and time
36:15
whisked away its last remains from the realm of the living.
36:19
I don't regret my choice. Humans are fragile, whimsical
36:23
and stupid, tripping all over life and repeating the same
36:26
mistakes over and over. But if you have anything in your
36:29
favor, it's that the innate ability to choose and change and
36:33
create. You're always making the most
36:35
amusing new things, like this iPhone thingy with the Internet.
36:40
You could make heaven on earth if you'd all stop fighting and
36:43
killing each other over crap for 15 minutes.
36:46
Until then, we'll remain as we are, waiting and watching.
36:51
Our domain filters through yours for the most part, unnoticed,
36:56
nested in spaces in between. In the corners the light bends a
36:59
little wonky and unused rooms and abandoned buildings in the
37:03
hollow of old trees. The rules to find us evolve with
37:07
you, revolving around your faith in the tails you pass on, but
37:12
our truth doesn't change. My name is Raheel, the
37:16
Pathfinder spouse to the Morning Star.
37:20
I maintain the doorways between our realm and yours.
37:23
If you find one, feel free to pay a visit, sit down, have a
37:27
drink, and share a story. But make sure to mind your
37:30
manners and don't wear out your welcome.
37:32
Don't be rude. I hold no care for your safety
37:35
if you are rude. My family has a lot of mouths to
37:38
feed after all, and we don't waste food.