The Bewitching

by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

Carolyn shook her head and extended an arm. The ceremonial knife jumped into her hand. The sharp, ugly blade glinted as she stepped forward, ready to plunge it into Minerva’s chest. “Help me!” Minerva said, and this time the words were clear; the command echoed around the room. The shadow-thing seemed to acquire a solidness for a moment and sent the can full of nails flying. The rusty bits of metal hit Carolyn, embedding themselves in her face and neck. She shrieked, spinning around, her fingers madly trying to rip out the projectiles. You simply live through it. Minerva remembered the words and her fingers tightened around the handle of the axe. Her vision was a throbbing burst of red and her body threatened to sink into unconsciousness, but she bit her tongue viciously. The stinging pain, the blood on her tongue, awoke every nerve in her body. Minerva grabbed the weapon and rushed forward. She swung and stared into Carolyn’s startled eyes as the blade sliced her head off.