The Bewitching

by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

and her drawings. Minerva stepped out into the summer morning to await the arrival of the taxi that would take her to the Willows, only to discover that someone had painted two long black lines on the front door of the house.

the door as the vehicle began to move. The black upon the white door was like a cavity in a tooth: the announcement of decay upon a pristine landscape.

Later on, some said Ginny ran away with him. Later on, others theorized that he’d killed her, but this in the lowest of voices.

She even danced three dances with Edgar Yates, and her outrageous flirting raised an eyebrow from Benjamin while David looked at Carolyn with sorrow.

Was it Santiago? Was it someone else? Did a stranger wrap his hands around lovely Ginny’s throat and squeeze the life out of her, then drag her body into a grave?

“I went to look for Betty, but then I saw you walking ahead, Edgar, and I followed you. At least, I thought it was you,” she said. “It seemed like you from behind, but when I called out you didn’t turn toward me and you kept walking. I thought maybe you were playing a game.”

“I turned around thinking it was that guest from the party who I’d confused with you, but there was no one there. I kept walking and soon I had that same feeling that I was being watched and followed. Again I turned, and again there was no one.

“I finally saw the lights of the house. I felt someone, something, a few inches behind me, breathing down my neck with a terrible, hot breath and moving like an animal, not like a man, though it must have been as tall as a man because its breath was next to my face. But there was nothing, Edgar! I could see nothing, yet it was there!”

I think we were all terrified children attempting to shield ourselves from true horror, and that we recognized the indications of a great evil, a terrible darkness, stretching out like a gnarled, clawed hand that scratched the back of our necks.

“They say it was witchcraft. That some evil person from Los Pinos put a spell on Tadeo and killed him.”

“Perhaps. But I fear he may be bewitched.”

“Pitch-black luck following someone. First your father died, then Tadeo disappears and there is blood in his room and his horse left behind. It’s strange and I fear it’ll grow stranger still. Unless—”

“The hueseros heal sprained legs and the yerberos cure coughs. And when it comes to matters of another sort, yes, there are those who’ll cleanse you of evil influences. At Los Pinos you will find many who can do the cleansing.”

“What a foolish boy that is,” Arturo said. “What silly stories was he sharing with you, Alba?” “Nothing much. He fears that Tadeo might be bewitched,” she said. “Ridiculous. Next he’ll claim he was eaten by el coco.”

She remembered her father’s stories of monsters and witches and how they had amused her and Tadeo when they were little. These were nothing but folklore, and yet Alba herself believed in portents.

She recalled the tales of witches that sucked the blood of their victims, and how they flew through the air on stormy nights, bent on mischief. And other stories of those who stripped off their skins and became animals when the moon was high in the sky.

Arturo’s eyes were bright too, though not with tears. A mysterious light illuminated them, fueled by a strong emotion that she could not pinpoint.

Yet it was not an owl of any type, not a dog, not a person, but perhaps all three. It was a whine and a growl and a yelp, thick and rough.

Collective unconscious, like Hideo had said. Well, perhaps, and there was no doubt that stories migrated and were shared by different groups of people. Stories of werewolves in Canada had been imported by French colonists and mixed with local folklore, creating the rougarou. Such connections were logical.

Yet there was a feeling of déjà vu that almost made her skin itch, uncomfortable.

“I didn’t see her. I went skating early that day. When I came back everyone was looking for Virginia. What an awful day that was. We were all so worried. Betty could hardly stop trembling. She was pale, like she’d seen a ghost. Such an awful, awful day.”

She met a monster and survived, she thought.

“Monsters don’t age. They live forever.”

My grandfather and Betty spent whole evenings sharing ghost stories and local legends. I learned a lot about headless horsemen and demonic black cats by overhearing their conversations.”

chahuistle.

warning any nahuales and evil sorcerers to leave their fields alone.

There was a foulness. Ever since that day when Tadeo went missing, something felt askew inside the house, as though the walls in each room were crooked.

teyolloquani

“Sometimes there’s no real reason for wickedness. But the people at Los Pinos might have remedies against such magic, I’ll have to see about that.”

“I know. Alba, one more thing, and I do not mean to frighten you with this, but in every story I’ve heard about these creatures, once they drink the blood of their victim, the situation becomes dire. The more blood they drink, the more powerful they grow, and the deeper their victim falls under their spell. I advise you to protect your room with the scissors, but also look for your brother’s pistol and keep it by your pillow.”

Carolyn could greatly assist me after graduation. But only if we remained on good terms. She knew it, I knew it. And there were moments like this when that knowledge stung.

“I’m still not quite sure. Most spirits are kind and gentle. I can’t explain what happened. The spirit, it was agitated. Something frightened it….”

“My father says I embarrass him. I wear the wrong clothes and I make a mess of things. That’s why he’s happy I’m here, far from him.”

She speaks of black magic and curses. She’s not receiving letters from a secret lover.

“He said I stole things from him or moved them around. Then he had this insane idea that I was staring at him at night.” “Staring at him?” “And following him. Our last blowup was because he said I followed him down a path but that I erased my tracks. I mentioned this to you, it’s in one of your reports.”

“He was a freak. And he should have been written up, not just me. He lit candles in his room, you know? Talked to himself. Weird shit.

Witches burn, she thought. At least in the stories, in cheap horror films. Not in real life. In real life they had been hanged at the rocky outcrop called Proctor’s Ledge in nearby Salem.

Behind the membrane of normality of this summer evening lurked a foulness that she could not pinpoint, yet she sensed. “Witches,” she said.

They said that the witches at Los Pinos turned into balls of fire when the fog came, luring unwary travelers to their doom.

they’d started sporting a pair of charms against the evil eye and wore them on their wrists. He considered this both pagan and silly and railed at them.

“There’s a shadow upon you,” the woman said. “A teyolloquani haunts your family.”

“You dream and you glimpse things that will be, and sometimes you see things that have happened,” Jovita said. “It’s a gift.”

“Good. It means it hasn’t fed from you. Once a witch drinks the blood of its victim, their room can’t be warded, and the more it drinks, the stronger the witch becomes and the deeper the victim falls under its spell. But we can chase it off, with the proper charms.”

“Blood has power. It’s why they drink it. The blood of someone who is gifted like you is even more powerful, better than that of others. There’s magic in it. Prick your finger.”

“Then another remedy must be procured, but I tell you, it is no simple matter, not even for a girl who has portents.”

“My father spoke of evil witches. He said they eat the hearts of people because that is where they get their power. And to kill a witch you must cut off their head or carve out their heart.” “Your father was right.”

“Hummingbirds are the best, but doves will do.”

“Then she’s a good and decent witch who happened to accost my brother before he disappeared?”

“Lights in the trees. Hovering there,”

“Witchcraft. I am now sure of it.”