Witches by Kathryn Meyer Griffith Page B

vengeful townspeople did catch up with her—and killed her at Black Pond.
    “When the apparition of a woman first appeared at the pond, and evil things began to happen there, people put two and two together and believed the ghost was Rachel. No one knows the real story, except Rachel, and those who killed her, perhaps. If they did.”
    Amanda glanced over her shoulder, pretending the story hadn’t affected her. It had.
    Through the ages, people had unjustly tormented and persecuted witches for crimes they’d never committed. So much evil done against them: the Inquisitions, the torturings, and the mass burnings. All the atrocities perpetrated on those poor helpless wretches in the name of religion always made Amanda sad and angry. It wasn’t in the name of justice or for God that witches were condemned, but for man’s lust for power or his fear. God was a gentle, loving being. It was man who could be the heartless bloodthirsty beast. It was easier for man to mask his bestiality under the convenient guise of doing what he thought God would want him to do.
    It made Amanda sick to dwell on it. She was a witch, too.
    “Do you believe Rachel haunts Black Pond?” Amanda asked Mabel.
    “Black Pond’s a place of darkness. I don’t know about the rest.” Mabel studied her. “I’d stay away from there if I was you. You seem especially susceptible to such things.”
    “Perhaps I am,” Amanda replied softly.
    Amanda’s sixth sense was squirming. An uneasiness nibbled at her. There was more to this.
    “Mabel, that’s an intriguing story, but I’d best be going home now. It’s getting dark outside. And I wanted to sketch some designs tonight for the new pots I’m making tomorrow.”
    “Well, it’s about time you got back to work.” Mabel gave her a guarded glance, seemingly glad to have dropped the subject of the witch, with night coming on.
    Fetching Amanda’s empty basket, her hat, and her shawl, she didn’t utter another thing about Rachel as she said her good-byes.
    “Thanks for the company and the delicious food, Amanda. Come by again real soon.”
    Amanda gave the old woman a strong hug, gazing down at her. She’d left the remnants of their feast for Mabel.
    She’s so frail and tiny, can’t weigh more than a sack of potatoes, all pale skin and brittle bones. She’s so old. What will I do when she goes, too? Amanda brooded. I’ll truly be alone out here, then. Just Amadeus and me, and my memories.
    When Mabel walked her to the door, Amanda noticed that she was no longer wincing in pain, or limping. Just very tired. Good.
    She left, stepping out into the lengthening shadows of an autumn twilight. The air was heavy with the promise of coming frost. Jake and she used to bundle up warmly and take long walks on such evenings.
    For a moment, she stood at the edge of the forest and looked back at the trailer. She took the time to weave a spell over it and the old woman. If there were any devil’s disciples around, Amanda wanted to protect Mabel and make sure she’d be safe.
    On her way home, she strode briskly through the woods, warm in her shawl, her eyes on the ground as the light turned an iridescent mauve and then to dark amethyst shadows. It was cold and still.
    For some unnamable reason, she went a different way home than she’d come. Nowhere near the pond—or so she thought.
    She halted on a large slab of rock halfway home to take some pebbles out of her shoe. After she’d tossed the rocks into the tall grass, she was straightening to leave when she blinked...and found herself standing beneath a huge willow tree on the edge of a dark body of water.
    The pond. The same place she’d been earlier when she’d seen the ghost.
    Startled, she gazed around. The sun was a dim crescent on the horizon, the night ready to take over, and the wind was suddenly icy.
    “How did I get here?” she demanded aloud to no one, backing away from the willow tree.
    There was a dangerous presence around her. The air