Witch Way Out

I befriended a witch who detests mankind.

‘Men are rarely kind,’ Joy says often, and when she does, I resist the urge to tell her that mankind is just another word for human beings. She loathes corrections, and I don’t want to feel her wrath again.

‘The human race is racing through time, so I’ve been told, but I think we’re wasting it on men instead, especially those who aren’t deserving of our attention.’

She was referring to her last relationship, which ended in tears, mostly hers, broken dishes, her frightened ex locked inside a bathroom, and her loud voice filling the silence in his house as she yelled about his infidelity. He wasn’t just unfaithful but also reluctant to spend any money on her. Most of the bills were split halfway, festivities dampened by his refusal to dip into his money, and his budget gradually grew tighter. But he had no issues treating the other woman to fancy dinners and lavish trips.

If you can’t tell already, she hates two things the most: men and stinginess. Stinginess stings, she always says. So, I shower her with generosity, and she does the same with me. Gifts for every occasion, not just birthdays, and I’m generous with my compliments too. I like your dress, I would say. However, it usually looks ill-fitted and unflattering on her. When I discovered she was a witch, I recall wishing she was a witch hazel instead, for her to be anything than an actual witch.

*

I remember the day I stumbled across her secret.

It occurred during a sleepover, and that night, on my way to the restroom, I walked past her door but stopped when I heard a low humming sound, fingers clicking, and a loud cackle that startled me. Initially, I was hesitant to open her door, but I did so slowly, only a little, and peered through the space. There stood Joy in a circle of candles, wearing a black maxi dress, eyes shut, with a purple glow radiating from her hands.

She cursed her cheating ex and let out a scream so powerful it made me jump.

I closed the door quietly before sprinting off in the opposite direction, heart racing and panting heavily. She must’ve heard me run because she stopped me at the front door and asked for me to keep her secret. She offered me three wishes in exchange for my silence, and I accepted her offer. It was either that or a horrible curse. There is only one more wish left, and that last one will be used on my mum.

*

It’s been a while since I’ve said my mum’s name out loud.

Every morning, I wake up to the sound of my alarm instead of her raspy voice. I’m reminded of her whenever I go shopping and notice something in her size or days when I pass the bakery she loves. Her favorite show is on most afternoons, and her empty seat is another reminder of her absence. Even the music she adores amplifies the ache in my heart every time it plays on the radio.

It feels strange to say she’s in a vegetative state, lying on a hospital bed, spread across the mattress, unable to speak but able to breathe. My last visit there took from me whatever strength I had left. I held her hand in mine, squeezed it tight, and prayed she would regain consciousness. Most days, I long for her to be here and guide me through my tribulations.

There is a lie circulating about me driving recklessly, which led to a car crash. I wasn’t alone in the vehicle. She sat in the front seat, seatbelt across her chest, buckled in securely, but the snow made driving difficult, and a truck spiraled out of control, pushed us off the road, and within seconds, our car was up in the air before it landed in a forest. The vehicle flipped and turned on its side.

The wreckage didn’t compare to how wrecked we were.

We were covered in snow, bleeding, and breathing in cold air that iced the warmth in our lungs. It wasn’t long until we heard sirens, and an ambulance arrived to lift our bodies onto a stretcher, then carried us into a van. Luck was on my side as I survived my injuries, but my mum, on the other hand, is still hanging on for dear life.

The thing is, people blame me for her coma. They gawk and judge whenever I walk by; their snide remarks sharper than any knife, and I shrink even further than I already have each time. Now, I’m alone, with no one by my side except this uncle whose idea of affection is one text a week. His weekly “how are you” messages do nothing to console me, but I know what will. Joy granting me my last wish will restore the happiness I’ve been sorely missing.

*

We meet at my house, and Joy wastes no time in starting.

‘There are no side effects, are there?’ I ask before she began. I always did, just in case.

‘No, there aren’t. Unless you want there to be.’

‘Of course not. I want my mum to return in one piece with everything intact.’

‘So be it,’ she says and proceeds to cast a spell.

A warm glow surrounds her, and the fire in the candles flicker with every word she utters. Though the windows are closed, and the curtains were drawn, a light breeze brushes my neck and ruffles her hair. The candlelight goes out by the end of the chant, and her eyes flip open afterward.

‘Can I go see her now?’ I ask. ‘Or should I wait for some time for the spell to work?’

‘No, you can see her now,’ she replies. ‘Don’t forget I’m moving today, so I won’t be here if you need me.’

‘I don’t think I will need you. Unless something goes wrong with the spell.’

‘It won’t,’ she assures me, and I call the hospital to check if my mum is awake.

*

‘There’s nothing wrong with her?’ I ask. ‘Nothing looks off?’

‘No, she’s in great health.’

When the call ends, I head straight to the hospital, stopping to purchase some flowers. I get to her room, and she is sitting up straight with her legs crossed. Her head turns slowly to look at me.

‘Mum!’ I yell and rush to hug her, face resting on her shoulder.

‘Darling,’ she says, but her voice isn’t hers. She sounds like Joy. I cover my mouth with one hand to suppress a gasp itching to escape, and she stares at me worryingly.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asks. ‘Are you ok?’

‘So, you don’t notice anything different with your voice?’

She touches her throat and looks down. ‘My voice? What’s wrong with it?’

‘Oh my God! You sound like Joy,’ I say, and she shakes her head.

‘Like Joy? In what world?’

My phone screen lights up, and my uncle’s number flashes across the screen. I answer it and put it on speakerphone. ‘Does mum sound the same to you?’

‘Yes, she does,’ he replies. ‘Is she supposed to sound any differently?’

It then hits me. She sounds like Joy to me, but the same to everyone else. Surprise! The spell has a side effect. And I doubt Joy will correct it because I’m pretty sure she made this “mistake” on purpose. That was her way of telling me to piss off.

Although she’s moving miles away to a different state, her voice is still here with me, audible to me only and no one else.

 

 

 

 
Photo by Dmitry Vechorko on Unsplash