The Witch

This story is by Nicole Rebentisch and was part of our 2024 Spring Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

When Starr first meets Matthew, he’s inspecting a fairy house Starr placed in a hollow log in the woods. A snapped twig alerts him to her presence; she watches his gaze roam over her wild hair, flowing flower-patterned dress, and thick-framed glasses. She, in turn, notes his flushed full cheeks, streaked with tears, and trembling rosebud mouth. She holds a bottle cap filled with a few drops of milk and a crumb of honey cake.

“Hello. Would you like to help me feed the fairies?”

He scrambles to his feet.

“For real?”

Starr moves slowly toward the log. He scuttles to her side. She gently places the bottle cap near the house. He takes the honey cake she offers and sets it gingerly beside the milk.

“Do fairies live in this?”

“I hope so. I made it for them.”

“You made it,” he repeats in awe. “How?”

She laughs.

“It’s not so hard, actually. Just takes some patience. What’s your name?”

“Matthew.”

“Nice to meet you, Matthew. I’m Starr. What are you doing in the forest, alone?”

He juts out his chin.

“I’m going to live here.”

“Oh? What do your parents think of that?”

He ducks his head and kicks at some moss growing on a rock.

“My mom died when I was little. I live with Hector and Marie. I never met my dad.”

“How old are you, Matthew?”

“Six.”

“You must miss your mother.”

Tears well up in his eyes. He nods. A sob hitches in his throat. 

“Oh, Matthew.” 

Starr pulls him gently into her arms and he collapses into her, sobbing. 

She strokes his hair and murmurs, “Would you like to have honey cakes at home with me?”

He hiccups and pulls away to meet her eyes.

“Yes, please.”

***

Matthew walks slowly through Starr’s house, smiling at ceramic gnomes, caressing the leaves of dozens of hanging and potted plants, peering at collections of crystals, and examining tapestries. The sun casts a halo of golden light around his copper hair.

Starr watches him for a moment, smiling, then busies herself with the cakes. He perches on the edge of her sofa, balancing the plate of cake she hands him on his lap. 

“Why do you have all these crystals and plants and things?” He asks, mouth full of cake.

“I’m a witch.”

His eyes widen.

“A witch?” he squeaks. 

He coughs and some crumbs fall to his shirt. Starr laughs.

“Do you consort with the devil?” he whispers.

“I’d have to believe in the devil first, don’t you think?” 

“I dunno. What does ‘consort’ mean?”

“I guess it means to make plans, or do things together. But considering I don’t think the devil is real to begin with, I don’t see how I could make plans with an imaginary being.”

“Marie says the devil is real. And she calls witches…” he scrunches his nose, “oon-dokey, or new-monkey, or…” he sighs, “I don’t remember the word. But she really hates witches. Her cousin got kicked out of his house for being a witch.”

“Who’s Marie again?”

“My stepmother.”

“Where’s she from?”

“The Congo. She met Hector and me at mass. She makes me say my prayers every night. And she’s super scared of witches.”

“Well, I’d better get you home, then. I don’t want you to be accused of consorting with witches,” she winks at him and chuckles, but his smile is uneasy.

“Can I stay here with you? I don’t care if you’re a witch. You’re a lot nicer than Hector and Marie.”

“I’m afraid not, Matthew. I’ll come with you. I’m sure you’ll work things out together.”

***

Matthew leads Starr to a house that’s only a few blocks away from the woods. Hector opens the door, his face tense.

“Matthew! Where have you been?”

Matthew tightens his grip on Starr’s hand and hides behind her skirt.

“Who are you?” Marie demands, peeping around Hector’s shoulder. Her mouth is pulled down into a scowl.

Starr kneels next to Matthew, positioning him near her side. He whimpers and burrows his face into her shoulder.

“I’m Starr Luna. I live in the neighborhood. I found Matthew in the woods.”

Marie’s eyes widen and she glances sharply at Hector. Neither of them introduces themself.

“Yes, well, thank you, Ms. Luna,” Hector says, and Marie darts around him to grab Matthew’s arm, dragging him into the house.

“No!” he screams. 

He clings to Starr. Marie wraps her other arm around his middle and lifts him up. Starr freezes. Hector unclasps Matthew’s fingers from the fabric of her dress. With his wife, he carries the boy, screaming and crying, into the house. The door slams behind them. Starr remains frozen, the image of Matthew’s pink face, terrified eyes, and contorted open mouth burned into her retinas.

***

“Don’t do it,” Dawn says that evening while chopping carrots. Starr is washing her hands and makes a face at Dawn over her shoulder. 

“Do what?” she asks innocently. 

“Don’t get involved,” Dawn reprimands. “It’s none of our business. You barely know that boy. One weird encounter with his parents-” 

“Step-parents,” Starr interjects. 

Dawn ignores her, “-is no reason to interfere.”

Starr drys her hands and turns around. “You weren’t there, Dawn. You didn’t see the way they treated him, or how scared he was. He’s so young, so helpless…” 

Dawn sets down her knife and puts her arms around Starr.

“I’m sorry. I know it was upsetting. Maybe just take some time to think about what you want to do, okay?” 

Starr nods against Dawn’s neck.

That night, Starr dreams about Matthew. In her dream, a pale, willowy woman holds him in her arms. Her long, coppery hair curtains them as she rocks and whispers against his cheek. Starr is overwhelmed by sorrow.

***

In the morning, Starr does some research about the Democratic Republic of the Congo and witches. 

“Dawn, listen to this. It says on this website that people from the Congo have been known to hurt children suspected of witchcraft.”

“Seriously?”

“Dawn, what if Matthew tells Marie about me? Would Marie hurt Matthew?”

Dawn sits next to Starr on the sofa and puts her arm around her.

“I don’t know.”

***

After lunch, Starr takes out her tarot cards. Dawn is putting away the dishes when she sees Starr placing them in a crossroads spread.

“Consulting the cards, huh?”

“I can’t get him out of my mind. I can’t shake this feeling that he could be in danger. But am I overreacting? Should I mind my own business?”

Dawn encircles Starr’s shoulders in her arms. She kisses her hair.

“You’ll figure it out.”

After pulling the cards, Starr removes her glasses and closes her eyes to reflect in silence. Dawn looks over her shoulder to examine the cards arranged in a cross on the coffee table. 

“What do you think?” Dawn asks.

 “This tells me to take a risk,” Starr gestures to the Fool, then taps the Death card, “and this means a significant change is imminent.” 

Her hand moves over the Devil, “I can’t trust my first instinct, which is to let it alone, and…” she taps the Justice card, “I need to do what’s right.”

“And,” she points to the Hierophant card, “this is the source of the problem. Tradition. ” 

Dawn moves around the sofa to face Starr. “So the cards are telling you to act. That Matthew is in danger. Should we call the police?”

“And say what, exactly? My tarot cards told me his stepmother’s going to hurt him?”

“Starr. If it’s nothing, it’s nothing. But if it’s something…”

“Then he might need help.”

Starr groans and Dawn sits next to her on the sofa.

“Do you believe what the cards are telling you, Starr?”

Starr leans her head on Dawn’s shoulder.

“Yes.”

“Then go.”

***

Starr hesitates at Matthew’s door. As she wavers, a noise beckons her to a window at the side of the house. A woman is shouting. A crack is followed by a thump and a wail. Starr’s heart stutters. She rushes to the door and knocks loudly. The shouting stops, but nobody answers the door. Starr pounds the wall with a flat palm. Inside, a door slams, and steps hurry toward Starr.

Then Marie is scowling in the doorway. 

“You,“ she spits out. “Ndoki. Witch.”

Starr stares, speechless. She swallows and closes her eyes for a second, as Marie continues to rail at her. She hears “cleansing” and “kindoki,” and then she opens her eyes. She squares her shoulders and, barely believing herself, pushes past the irate woman into the house. She recalls where the sound came from, and turns down a hall. Ignoring the loud woman pulling and pushing at her, she reaches a closed door.

Inside, Matthew lies curled on the floor, whimpering. There is blood on his face. Starr kneels. Marie spits at her but otherwise doesn’t interfere. Starr lifts him into her arms. 

“I’m here. You’re safe.”

“Go away, ndoki,” Marie says.

Starr stands up, holding the boy.

“We will.”