Father says the Witch who lives next door is frightening, and a little bit beautiful. Mother says the Witch who lives next door is beautiful, and a little bit frightening.
The Witch who lives next door has huge, black, curly hair, a crooked nose, and soft eyes. She’s very tall. She always wears black, and a great big hat, and she smiles at people when they pass. Even if they don’t smile back.
People tell all sorts of stories about the Witch who lives next door. They say she used to work for the King, until he died. They say that the last village she lived in doesn’t exist anymore. They say that when people make her angry, she turns them into pumpkins, and that’s why hers are so big. But as soon as a flock of sheep wander off or a child falls down the well, she’s the first person they call.
The Witch who lives next door spoke to me today. I was watering vegetables in the front garden when she walked by. Her dress covered everything but her face and her fingers.
“Aren’t you hot?” I asked.
“Witches don’t get hot,” she said. “Want to see a trick?”
The water in my watering can floated out. She snapped her fingers, just like that, and covered the vegetable patch in a fine drizzle of water.
I wish I never got hot. I wish I could finish my chores, just like that.
The Witch who lives next door has the best vegetable garden in the village. The rows are straight and even, and there are always new sprouts budding at the edges, even in winter. Her carrots and pumpkins and zucchini are bigger than anyone else’s, but she never competes in the fair. One night, I thought I heard her singing to the plants, but I’m not sure.
The Witch who lives next door answered the door when I knocked. She didn’t seem surprised.
“I want you to teach me,” I said. “I want to be a Witch like you.”
She smiled and told me to come in. She poured tea into a blue china cup.
“People don’t like Witches,” she told me. “It is not an easy life.”
“People don’t like Witches,” I agreed, “but they do need them. They don’t meet your eyes at market, but they come to your house for potions and good luck charms, for spells to make babies come or go away. I don’t care about being liked. I want to be needed.”
The Witch who lives next door’s house is full of things. Crystals and bottles and books and papers. Bunches of leaves and candles and charcoal and tins. Amulets and branches and feathers with beads on them and bits of metal and wood. Boxes and tins and jars with faded labels. Sometimes, the things are alive. A powder-box bit me once. I don’t touch things without express permission now.
The Witch who lives next door has a name. I don’t like it. It sounds too ordinary. I think I’ll keep calling her the Witch who lives next door.
The Witch who lives next door has a familiar–a red fish named Horatio. She carries him around in a bubble of water. When she does spells, he helps her. I don’t understand how, really, but it works. She thinks I should get a familiar, but my parents don’t like pets. Not even fish.
The Witch who lives next door and I went to the fair today. I bought a marzipan apple from Henry. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. The Witch who lives next door put her hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be,” I told her. “I knew what this meant when I started.”
But when I got home, I cried.
The Witch who lives next door has been trying to teach me to make spoons float. Today, I finally did it. I had never been happier, until the Witch who lives next door kissed me on the head and told me she was proud of me.
The Witch who lives next door looks much younger with her hair pulled back. I forget, sometimes, that she’s only seven years older than me.
The Witch who lives next door lets me make easy potions for her customers. I can make warts go away and rekindle passion, but only for people who already love each other.
It’s totally normal to have a crush on your teacher.
The Witch who lives next door taught me how to make a wand. I cut a green branch from a birch tree in the back garden, and gave it water as thanks. I cleaned off the bark and carved runes into the handle–one for protection, one for kindness, one for power. I wrapped a hair from my head around it and rubbed it with rosewater. Tonight, I will leave it outside, in moonlight and rain. The Witch who lives next door told me how to do all this, but she can’t touch it until it’s done. Otherwise, it won’t really be mine.
My parents think I spend too much time at the Witch who lives next door’s house. Mother said she’s glad I’ve found an apprenticeship, but I should take time to be young while I’m young. Father says that magic’s too hard to find a job in, and I should learn carpentry from him. I understand why they’re worried, but I don’t want to stop being a Witch.
The Witch who lives next door is so beautiful when she’s working. Her lips are parted just a bit, and sometimes her hair falls in her face, but she doesn’t notice.
I wish my parents would let me get a fish.
The Witch who lives next door got mad at a boy from the village today. He asked her for a love potion. She said she didn’t make them, but she could give him something that would make her notice him, and he could win her from there. He refused. He wanted this girl to be his alone, but she loved someone else.
The Witch who lives next door’s eyes turned black. The shadows on the walls darkened and pulled away and stretched towards the boy. Her feet left the floor and wind blew, which rattled the jars and lifted the papers on the table. The boy screamed and ran back towards the village.
I don’t ever want the Witch who lives next door to get mad at me.
As soon as I finish learning how to fly, I’m leaving. I don’t think I can be here much longer. I can’t have a fish at home.
The Witch who lives next door and I flew out to Beech Mountain today. When we got back, I told her I was leaving. She didn’t seem surprised. She hugged me for a long time.
My new house has a large garden and a gabled roof. It hasn’t taken me long to fill it with things. The people in the village seem afraid of me, but it hasn’t hurt my business. My garden is getting along nicely, and the child who lives next door peeks over the fence at me whenever I go to market.
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Zoe Kaplan (she/her) has been making up stories for as long as she can remember. She has a bachelor’s in creative writing from Appalachian State University and no less than four different swords. Her work has appeared in Tree and Stone Magazine, Hidden Realms, and the Horror Library anthology series, among many others, and her story “The Test” was nominated for the 2022 Brave New Weird award. You can find her on twitter @the_z_part or on her website, zoekaplanwrites.com. |
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