The Witch in the Field
Ever since I was a little boy, I had a frequently recurring dream where I would be approaching a witch standing on the edge of a field. Her back was always turned away from me, but the best way to describe her would be as a traditional Halloween witch. Pointy hat and all. A cauldron by her side.
Each time I had a dream, I would get one step closer to her. And each time, she would slowly begin to turn around, but I would wake up before I saw her face. Drenched in sweat and with a feeling of nausea I couldn’t share for the remainder of the day.
Each time I had the dream, I knew that I would get even closer to her. And that eventually, I would finally see her face – there mere thought of which filled me with a level of dread I had never quite felt before – in both waking life…and dream life.
The fact that I would dream of a witch shouldn’t have come as too much of a surprise. Ever since I first saw Wizard of Oz at the age of four, I had a phobia of witches. This fear was compounded by seeing a life stage version of Snow White. I was so afraid of the witch, my grandma had no choice but to leave the play before intermission. The only thing more frightening to me was clowns ever since I was placed into the hands of one at the age of two at a Memorial Day parade.
Having a nightmare about a witch made sense, as I was scarred the first time I saw Wizard of Oz, along with a live stage version of Snow White, in which the witch was so frightening, my grandma had no choice but to leave the play before intermission.
The field itself featured in my dream was a real location I knew all too well – a campground my parents would take us to every year until we were too old to appreciate what we had.
The field from my dream was situated next to a bathroom on the edge of the camp. I dreaded going to that bathroom, but it was the closest one to our campsite. Every time I approached it, I would try not to look toward the field, as I truly believe I would actually see the witch. This fear didn’t subside even as I reached my teenage years.
Fortunately, I had a more positive association with that field in reality to at least help assuage my fears. Every year,, we would gather to watch a parade of dozens of hot air balloon soar past just beyond the field. It was a spectacular sight, but yet, I still couldn’t shake the threat of the witch. Just sitting in that field made me nauseous. In fact, one year, I threw up from stress. Or, was it something more sinister?
As I got older, the dreams have become less frequent, but the witch still visits me on occasion. And each time, I still get just as sick as I did back when I was a kid. It is one of the few things from my childhood that still remain.
I still get sick if I so much think about it.
The camp has been long-since abandoned. However, a headline caught my attention a few years back that knocked me off of my feet. The body of a missing child was found in that field, strangled to death. No arrests were ever made. In fact, there wasn’t even a single suspect.
Recently, following a rough year both personally and professionally, I decided to go on a nostalgic journey back to my roots, re-tracing my steps back to stomping grounds that used to make me happy.
On a crisp, grey autumn day, I headed back to the site of campground. Hardly anything remained. It was mostly just empty land, peppered with the occasional rusty piece of playground equipment. I realized coming here was only making me more depressed. Not quite sure what I even expected to accomplish by coming back here.
Though I tried to avoiding it, I found myself drawn to that field. Though most of the landmarks surrounding it were gone, I knew the route like the back of my hand. All that remained of the bathroom was its footprint. The moment I saw the fi I could feel the same sense of dread I felt as a kid.
As I drew closer to the field, I could feel the same sense of dread I felt as a kid. It chilled me to the bone. And then I noticed something on the horizon. A small, red dot. As it drew closer, I noticed it was a hot air balloon. Then another one appeared. Followed by an another.
Then I saw it – the witch. Her back was turned to me as usual. I wanted to turn away, but it was though I was being drawn to her like a magnet. Against all will, I found myself mere inches from it. It smelled of rotting flesh.
And then it began to slowly turn around.
I finally saw its face.
And then there was black.
