Witch justice, her justice

Her phone, buried under her duvet and a dozen dead-eyed animals, vibrated. Alessia tried to focus on the maths problem in front of her or her music, gently plucked harps designed to calm nerves.

A small purple and white dog slipped of the bed and rested at Alessia’s feet. She picked it up, mindlessly squeezing it to her chest as the phone continued to ring. The clock on her desk read 8.20pm. For seventeen minutes now.

The door clicked shut as Alessia made her way downstairs, still squeezing her plushie, trying to think about anything else.

The lights downstairs were off as she walked into the kitchen. A pale blue light illuminated a disembodied skull, sockets black in shadow. Alessia sighed and switched on the light. A frizzy-haired woman squinted and blinked at the sudden rush of light as she looked up from her laptop.

‘Sweetie, still hungry? There might be something in the fridge,’ she said.

The whiff of tomato still lingered as Alessia sat opposite, drawing up her knees to her chest. Alessia’s mum worked at the local council and often worked from home. Behind that laptop screen was probably someone vulnerable and alone that needed help. Far more than she did.

From snatches of phone conversations and unguarded screens, Alessia pieced together the stories behind the people her mum helped. Children neglected by parents lost to addiction, or wifes beaten by partners who they refused to leave. The world was full of horrible people.

Alessia’s mum, closed her laptop. ‘You look worried. Is it about what happened at school today? It is shocking. Those poor girls.’

‘I’m fine,’ Alessia said as she fidgeted with her plushie's ears.

‘It’s been across the news all evening. They’ve all been taken to Verona for expert care. If you don’t feel like you can go in tomorrow, you can stay home.’

‘S’ok.’ Alessia replied.

‘Such a freak accident,’ her mum carried on. ‘All four of them being injured like that. I pray to God they will be OK.’

Warm arms gently embraced Alessia. ‘If you need to talk. I’m here.’

Alessia nodded and let herself feel safe for a few moments before getting up to go back upstairs.

‘Sweetie, before you go, your hair? Have you done something different? It's looking lighter, redder.’

‘No, it’s nothing!’ Alessia shouted. She immediately felt embarrassed and buried her chin into her chest. ‘Must be from the sun.’ She then scurried away towards to stairs.

*

The room was silent as she entered. She shivered but not from the cold. Dark shadows lay scattered across the floor, and her contorted duvet had been thrown over the footboard. On the bed, alone and uncovered, lay her phone.

As she stood in the doorway, the screen flickered on. She didn’t look. She didn’t need to. It was the same image as every time before, the one she saw in the back of her mind or when she slept. The crude mouth, ochre coloured, spoke.

‘Alessia,’ it said, breathy and deep. ‘Are you ignoring me?’

She pretended she couldn’t hear it, but the tears on her cheek betrayed her. She bit down hard on her bottom lip and dropped on to her knees.

‘Alessia, I am lonely. It’s so dark here. Please speak to me.’ said the voice.

‘I have nothing to say. Leave me alone,’ she said as she crawled outside the room and rested against the wall.

‘Why do you treat me this way? Why are you so cold? It hurts me. It’s unjust.’

Alessia jumped up. ‘Unjust? After what you did.’ she half whispered, half shouted as she re-entered the room. ‘They will be in hospital for weeks. They may lose their hands permanently.’

‘As they deserve. I thought we were of one mind. I thought we acted as one. You did not complain about the boy and his car.’

‘That wasn’t the same,’ she insisted as she fell into her chair.

‘No? He was loud, inconsiderate. The revving engine. The bass of his music. Late at night when good people slept. He also deserved punishment.’

‘A radio forced to play nursey rhymes isn’t the same thing as having you hand cut off.’

‘Or the line of children waiting outside the classroom. They disrespected the equipment supplied for their education.’

'Being forced to chew on ancient chewing gum is disgusting. It isn’t the same as permanent disfigurement.'

‘You are a kind soul, but the punishment fit the crime.’

‘No. For a slap to the face. You’re wrong.’ Alessia said, but less sure.

‘If you would like, I could return their hands, but they will not learn or regret. They will upset you again.’

Pictures of hair pulling, bruised legs and tears flicked on the screen. Sounds of name-calling, and cruel laughter played out of the speaker. Alessia dashed to the bed and switched the screen off.

‘I do want them to regret it,’ Alessia finally said as she lay on the bed facing the ceiling. ‘I want them to understand how much they hurt me. I want them to feel the same, but there must be another way.'

‘Pain and disfigurement are good teachers.’ the voice said, the screen switching back on, revealing a shadowy figure tied and bound.

‘Maybe so but do they even know why? If they don’t make the connection, how can they understand? And if they do make a connection, they will blame me, they will tell on me. I’ll be labelled as bad. It’s me that everyone will hate and avoid.’

‘No one would dare if I were with you. If we are together, then all will show you respect.’ Images of chains and manacles flashed on the screen intermingled with bloodied faces and broken fingers.

‘I want to be respected. I want them to feel fear. Not me,’ Alessia said. ‘But not like today. A better way.’

The screen turned off and the voice, far off and fading, said, ‘I will find your better way.’

*

Sleep was difficult that night. When she closed her eyes, Alessia could hear the rumble of the lawnmower’s engine along with screams and sobbing. She could smell the freshly cut grass mingled with that metallic tang, green and red.

A freak accident, that’s what people called it. The blade just happened to come loose at that moment, and the girls just happened to be stacking their hands together. They were lucky it wasn’t worse, people said. Luck had nothing to do with it. Alessia knew that.

While she thought about white PE shirts, dyed red, a noise caught her attention. Voices outside her door. There was more than one, and they sounded young, carefree and familiar.

She climbed out of bed and walked out into what should have been their landing. What she saw was a long narrow hallway. She knew it well, having walked it almost every day, but with one main difference. Where normally there would be dozens of children busily walking, now it was quiet and empty. Almost empty.

At the far end, four girls leaned against the wall, chatting and laughing amongst themselves. Alessia knew she had to walk pass them.

Their faces looked down on her as she got closer, their lips curled up in cruel smiles, as before. They stopped talking and stifled giggles as they shot glances at each other, as before. They stood up tall, narrowing the space Alessia had to walk through. Everything was as she remembered, except their eyes.

Instead of cruel laughing eyes, they were wide open in shock and fear, all whites.

Alessia wanted to gag, run away or scream. Instead, she ducked her head and tried squeezing through. She stepped over their feet, carefully avoiding stepping on them. With each step she heard a hollow clap and her cheeks burned.

They laughed and taunted her, calling her names. ‘Look at her greasy hair and that nose.’ ‘Little witch girl.’ ‘Are you going to curse us, witch girl.’ With each insult, a hand flicked out.

Alessia wanted to grab those hands, dig her nails into them, scratch them, bite them, curse them. She did nothing, just as before.

Except this time, rather than scurrying off as soon as she was through, she turned. The four girls were watching her, smiling with those terrified eyes when, with a wailing scream, each one fell to her knees, wincing in pain.

The hands that had slapped Alessia dissolved, flaking into tiny particles of black soot. The bones underneath shone a bright orange and red, before fading and crumbling away. It stank of charred meat. The girls wailed in pain, clasping the blackened stumps or rolling on the floor.

And then the pain stopped. Their hands were whole. Their fingers moved again.

A voice that sounded like Alessia spoke. ‘Through this girl’s mercy, your hands have been returned to you.’

Tears fell down cheeks. Words of thank you and compliments were spoken. Alessia listened to their praises, unmoving, no longer knowing if she was her or the voice inside.

One of the other girls looked worried. She blinked repeatedly, squinting hard then waved her hand in front of one of her eyes. ‘There’s something here,’ she said. ‘It’s faint, but I see it.’

‘That,’ Alessia’s voice said. ‘That is your old hand. It’s weak now. If you want to keep your eye, make sure it stays that way.’

‘Keep our eyes! What do you mean?’ ‘Could we lose them?’ The girls shouted other the top of each other.

‘Every act of cruelty, every act of pain you cause, every act of selfishness, and that hand will grow. Its fingers will become more solid and less blurred. One day that hand could burst from your eye and eat your new hand. Then you will be a feared, scarred thing, a hand blackened and crooked, shaped like a talon with sharpened claws.’

‘I’ll be good!’ ‘So will I!’ ‘And me, I’ll do whatever you want.’ ‘Me too!’ The girls made many promises as they held Alessia’s hand or begged at her feet.

The voice faded leaving Alessia alone with her former tormenters, but her smile remained. This feeling, the warmth in her chest and the lightness of her body, this was justice, and Alessia wanted more of it.

*

It was late when Alessia finally came down for breakfast. Her mum tapped her fingers against her forearm.

‘What time do you call this? You’ll be late for school.’ She didn’t wait for a response, shoving a packed lunch in Alessia’s hands.

‘I thought you said I didn’t have to go to school today?’ Alessia asked, confused.

‘Why would I say that? Hurry up. You can eat something on the way.’

Her mum started gently pushing Alessia in the back and towards the door. She stopped, humming and hawing, before saying.

‘Alessia, your hair, in the daylight it’s looking even more...’ her voice faded as she remembered Alessia’s tetchiness about her hair.

‘I know. It must be a genetic thing, but I’m starting to like it now.’ Alessia picked up an apple and headed out the door.

The school looked much the same as she walked towards the entrance. She’d expected to see reporters camped outside or maybe worried parents, not a group of first years giggling amongst themselves, scrolling phones and eating sweets.

A bigger surprise waited at the gates. Four girls stood there, fidgeting with their hair or kicking the dirt. When they saw Alessia, they ran towards her wishing her a good morning. Alessia wasn’t sure if she was more surprised by their friendliness or their healthy and whole hands. So, it wasn’t a dream, she thought.

‘Here, for you,’ one of them said while offering up a tin box.

Alessia instinctively backed off, but looking closer, she saw a small batch of slightly burnt biscuits. They smelt warm with the hint of spice. She took a nibble.

‘Very gingery, thank you,’ Alessia said. ‘Erm, how are your hands?’

‘We will be good!’ One girl yelled. ‘That’s right, we won’t forget,’ another added.

‘We have to go now,’ the girl with the biscuits said. ‘But I will bring more tomorrow.’

‘That’s not fair. Tomorrow I’ll bring something.’ ‘You can’t cook! It’s my turn tomorrow.’ They continued to argue as they walked away, occasionally turning around to wave or awkwardly bow to Alessia.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket and the voice spoke, ‘Is this your justice, Alessia?’

‘I think it is,’ Alessia whispered back. ‘I think we are starting to see things the same way.’

‘Then come to the woods again. Come see me. Set me free. Join with me and always know this justice.’

Alessia said no more as she headed off to her classroom.

*

After school finished, Alessia made her way to the outskirts of town. As she rode the bus, she tried to make herself look inconspicuous, keeping her head down and clutching her school bag in her arms. Even so, it seemed the other passengers kept glancing at her. Every whisper was a suspicion or accusation. She was relieved when her stop came into view.

She made her way up a wild country path that led to the hills. No one was around at this time during the week. She couldn’t decide if that made her feel better or worse.

At one point where the path split in two directions, Alessia took the route that climbed steeply, zigzagging up a steep face of bleach-bone rock. Soon the ground levelled out again as she reached a set of forested hills.

After about twenty minutes, Alessia stopped in front of one deep gully. On both sides beech trees clung desperately to the shallow soil and bare rock of the cliff faces. Here and there, they failed, their rotten trunks covered in moss and mushrooms.

Alessia rubbed her hands and buried her face into the soft fibres of her scarf. Occasionally, a droplet of water fell to the ground with a muted thud. The air stunk of earth, wet things and decay.

She gathered her nerves and moved forwards, clinging to the cliff edge as she climbed over loose rubble and slippery leaves.

All other sounds died as she crossed the threshold, except the rustling of leaf litter under foot. The forest carried on up the hill side, yet somehow the place felt enclosed, claustrophobic even. The trees were old and wide, their thick canopy blocking all direct light.

Directly ahead, a group of seventeen ancient trees encircled a small open space. Alessia walked towards it, digging her fingernails into her palms and half-heartedly making signs of the cross.

in the centre of the space, she saw the pedestal. Carved snakes wrapped around its column, their four mouths open at each corner of the cap, and resting on top, a black box.

Alessia reached out to touch it with faltering hands as though it could sear her skin. The box was pierced by thick iron nails, seventeen of them, the same number she counted last time. All along the black surface, simple pictures had been scratched into it, forming words she couldn’t read or shapes of people. She couldn’t make out all the forms, but one image of a mangled and contorted arm looked uncomfortably familiar.

As before, she lifted that lid, revealing the clay statue inside. It was gagged and blindfolded. The arms were bound behind its back, and it sat on bound heels. A long thin pin impelled the figure through the chest and strands of thin hair wrapped around it or connected it to the box, like the strings of a limp puppet.

She pulled out a pair of scissors and started cutting. The old hairs gave way easily. Her fingers closed round the clay figurine and pulled it out. It didn’t feel as rough as she had expected, and its eerie warmth made her tremble. Like touching skin.

She raised her arm, and with a quick thrust downwards, smashed the figurine against the cap of the pedestal. with a clean and loud crack, it shattered into dozens of pieces. They fizzled and sputtered before turning to dust. The fumes stank, rancid and earthy, as if she had been sniffing the dirt.

Alessia head spun left to right, her eyes scanning the tree canopy, but nothing more happened. Clutching the strap of her bag, she left the clearing.

As she walked, her back straightened, and her furtive eyes stopped their darting. Her tight, pinched-shut mouth opened up in a gentle smile. Her thin, black hair lengthened and formed gentle waves, its colour turning to a dark copper red, the same colour as the leaves on the trees.

*

As the sun sank, the trees faded away to be replaced by the city streets. In one dark abandoned corner, two hooded boys hunched over in front of a building wall covered in scribbles. One of the boys pulled out a canister. It hissed and spat as he squeezed the nozzle.

‘What are you doing?’ Alessia asked, leaning over them.

Both boys jumped up and tried to hide the canister and bag behind their back. ‘What?’ one of them said, his face covered in spots and grease.

‘Is that building yours?’ she grinned. ‘Are you being naughty boys?’

Before they could answer, the bag and canister exploded, burning their hands. Sparks caught on their hoodies which burst into flames. The boys pulled them off and threw them away before falling to the ground, faces contorted in pain.

Their torsos bubbled and hissed, the red and blistered lines curved across their backs and chests, forming letters.

‘You can only write your name on things that belong to you,’ Alessia chuckled.

‘P-please.’ ‘Stop.’ the boys gasped.

Alessia squatted down with her hands resting on her thighs. She poked one of the boys on the nose. ‘I can,’ she said. 'But first, what can you do for me?’