You Never Know

1638 words

Rated PG: violence, blood, fear

Prompt: Write a story in which a window is broken or found broken

I can hear her speaking. Her voice won’t stop bouncing around my mind. It’s annoying. She spoke to me hours ago, and I can still hear her jolly laugh and feel her hand on my shoulder. I can see her shimmering dark eyes, filled with evil, but. . .that’s not all. I can see ambition. I can see life. I can see something I’m not sure I understand. 

That was this afternoon. Now, the moon is bouncing off my cloak and trying to catch my heels. The hills I’m running through are also touched by the silver light. My boots are splashing through shallow puddles as I approach the witch’s cottage. He’s probably already asleep--or whatever he does at night.

She put a foot on the cushion I was sitting on, leaning in until her perfume made me cough right in her smug face. 

“You’ll regret not listening to me. I’m serious.”

A prickle shot down my spine and made me shake. It took a lot of effort not to wipe my sweaty hand on my dress.

“I c. . .I can’t.” 

I sounded like a small child who just broke a vase, and was trying to hide it. It didn’t seem to matter to her. Her smile became just a little bit weaker.

“I’m going to ask you again, freak.”

She grabbed my collar and threw me backward. I fell off the chair, hitting my neck--and then head--on the carpeted floor. Her eyes widened a bit when she heard the crack of my skull hitting the ground. She quickly turned it into a smirk.

There it is. A small thing, only looking to be about as big as a room from the outside. It’s made of bricks, with a wooden roof. I can see a yellow door at the front, and two windows on either side of it. There are flowers--though I can’t see what kind--in front of the windows, about as tall as my knee. The witch is watering them well.

She’s just sitting, cross-legged, waiting for me to get my bearings and recover from being tossed like a piece of cloth. Her blue dress is sliding over her legs as she shifts. The fabric is half-covering a long, thin scar that seems to start at her ankle. Her shoes are mules, with floral embroidery and gems sewn into them.

“Are you ready to rethink my offer?”

“Huh?” I was distracted by her outfit.

“Will you do it?”

“No.” 

I struggle to sit up. 

She grabs my shoulder. She pulls me in. Her lips are touching my left ear.

“Fine, then. Get ready to lose everyone you love.”

I’m standing at the door, which is, obviously, locked tightly. I could try to kick it open, but I just don’t have the strength. It would only add an injury to the list. I could always take a rock and try to break the door handle. 

That would be loud. That would wake up the witch. Then he would grab me and pull me inside and slice my throat and drink my blood. He would bake my innards into a pie and gobble up my heart. He would lick his lips and wipe his chin and would never even know my name.

I shudder. Perhaps that was a bit of an exaggeration.

She shoves me out her office door. It slams. I cringe and cover my ears. I’ve had enough loud noises for the moment. I sigh and gulp, so I don’t start crying. If I’m going to defend myself against this smart, beautiful, cheerful monster, I’m going to need help.

I walk down the hall, staring at the crests hung on the bright blue walls. It represents her family. She told me about it when we first met. She reminded me as she guided me to her office half an hour ago. 

When she talks about her family, she seems human. She has pride and enthusiasm and a sparkle in her irises and a bounce in her step. It’s as if she has let her disguise fall. Not that it ever lasts long. 

I think it was a mistake to confide in her. She’s going to use it for personal gain. I may have felt free when doing it, but she’s not a good person. She’s going to leave me in suspicion until she strikes.

Maybe not. Maybe she’ll come running out and take my hand. She might just wrap her arm around my waist and pull me close. I know it won’t happen. No matter how many times I dream of it, it will never happen. I need to get a grip on reality. If she puts her hand on my waist it will be to push me off a cliff.

She’ll kill me. I know she will. I have no one else I care about enough to make a list. No one she’d be willing to end. 

In a moment of desperation about her coming closer, I take the stone and launch it through the window. It crashes, and the breaking sound sounds like a screech. The witch might still be asleep, with wax in his ears. He might even be dead and leave all of his possessions to me. I’ll become the new witch, and then she can’t hurt me. Then who would make the potions and heal her dueling injuries?

The hole isn’t big enough. I can barely fit my arm through it. I’m going to need something bigger. There isn’t anything, though. There’s only me. 

I shield my eyes as I crash through. I don’t feel a thing as I break the glass, I only hear the cry as it cracks. What I do feel is the ripping on my dress, as it catches on the jagged edges of the window. It stops my momentum. Instead of landing on my feet or knees, my covered face hits the ground first.

That’s when I feel the pain. The shards from when the rock came through lodge themselves in my arms. I bite my sleeve to stop myself from crying out. The witch might still be unconscious. The tears come immediately. They are warm and big and they drip onto my arm, mixing with the blood.

I sit up, but I don’t stop sobbing. I pull my knees to my face and keep crying. It might be the cuts on my arms and the small pieces of glass that aren’t coming out any time soon. It might just be the pain of the impact, which knocked the wind out of me and is making me cough as I sit there, blubbering.

No.

It’s her.

I can’t deny it any longer. She’s not going to show me any mercy. She’s not going to dance with me. She’s going to take her sword and drive it right through my heart. She’ll just toss me in the sea and forget about me.

Speak of the devil and they doth appear.

“You can’t run any longer.” Her voice is outside, but it’s coming closer.

“Go away,” I shout, like a toddler throwing a fit.

She chuckles. With a kick, the door is open. I don’t see her--because I’m currently occupied with having a breakdown--but I hear her footsteps as they get closer to me. When they stop, I start crying harder. She’ll literally stab me in the back.

“What did you do?”

The shock in her voice fades as she walks over to the window. She evens steps on some glass. It makes its telltale screech. When she does it, though, it sounds closer to a chime.

“You idiot.”

“Leave me alone.”

She’s in front of me now, taking my head in her hands. She jerks it up, making me face her. She’s wearing a black cloak, its hood obscuring her forehead. I move my eyes downward. She was in the same outfit a few hours ago. The only difference is now there’s a scabbard with a sword hilt poking out of it. 

“You’re going to get yourself killed before I can do it.”

She wipes a tear off my chin, shaking her head. Then she sees my arms.

“Oh, God. You have no survival instinct.”

She reaches for my arm. I pull it away, slapping her in the face.

I stumble to my feet, reminding myself why she followed me from the castle, walking for hours. She probably imagined how she was going to do it. Or she started to question her decision and decided to only come here to tell me I’m pardoned.

She takes my hand.

It’s gentle. It’s so warm and not aggressive and I think I might be trapped in a daydream.

“If you move, I’ll kill you.”

I’m not dreaming after all. Maybe that’s a good thing.

“I won’t.” For the first time, I’ve lied to her.

I turn to her and walk towards her. She smirks, thinking I might be succumbing to her. She’s right, though not in the way she thinks. My heart is thumping. I can hear it. I hope she can’t. I can smell her perfume again. 

Our arms are touching. Her smug face is slowly disappearing with each step I take. It’s gone when I'm close enough to blow in her face.

I kiss her.

She stopped gripping me. Her hand falls violently. She’s shaking. It makes me feel powerful. Is this what it’s like for her when she touches me? If so, I can see why she does it. I can even understand why she’s addicted to it.

I break off from her, wasting no time to turn around and run out the door. It helped me escape, but I had to do it sooner or later. She’ll catch up to me eventually. I can only go so far. But what happens after that is entirely up to her.