'Witches fever?' Impossible. The universe can't be calling me back to that.
Witches fever is a sickness that affects witches only, when they have stayed away from the craft for too long. They can only get better when they return to practising.
I'm in shock, I can't even think straight, my mind keeps swirling back to all the things I have done to ditch the craft.
...
I'm walking towards the main road, my clothes blackened by the soot I had sat in for so long. I'm clutching my pink teddy bear to my chest trying to find solace from it. It's the only thing I have left to remind me of my family.
The rain started to trickle down and my lack of shelter was further highlighted, stranded, tears trickle down my cheeks in tune with the rain, mingling with it. In a few moments, I was drenched, my tiny sundress sticking to my body.
I hear a truck engine roar from down the road, relief washes over me at the thought of potential shelter. I hail it down frantically as it approaches, it's headlights blinding me. It screeches to a stop right beside me, leaving tyre mark trails.
The windows roll down to reveal a slim old man,with a beard which was the main feature on his plain face. He looks at me with warm kind eyes and says, " Where are you headed child?" I try to reply but I'm shivering too much to speak, my teeth shattering.
"Come on in, maybe a little warmth is all you need." He says in invitation, which I heed and round the truck. I tuck my small frame in the oversized seat and the warmth is a welcome change away from the rain.
We drive in silence for several miles until we reach a small red brick cottage.
He holds an umbrella over my head, wasn't much needed because I was already drenched but it was a gesture I appreciated. He leads me inside and I'm met by a robust bleach haired lady by the lounge door.
"Oow my, come in. You must be cold." She says, the moment she lays eyes on me. "You'll need a change of clothes." She continues, leading me out of the small lounge into an adjoining room. She hands me a pair of cotton pyjamas, a wool hat, jersey and socks. The clothes are a perfect fit.
I make myself comfortable in a couch close to the hearth and appreciatingly take in the warmth. The lady brings me a bowl of soup and only when she is settled down does she ask, "What's your name dear?" I look up at her from my bowl and reply, "Kirst." I'm glad I could get that out, wouldn't want to seem rude to such kind people. "I'm Tracey and he is Steve". She says with a full smile on. "Feel at home."
That's all they ask and say until I go to bed and wake up the next morning.
I'm feeling much better and so I wake up with a determination to tell them everything, which I do over breakfast. I tell them the fate which befell my family and how I ended up on the road where Steve found me.
They welcome me into their family, saying I could stay for as long as I wanted to since their children were all grown up and had moved to the city.
It takes a while for me to adjust– a really long while– but with time I fit in to the roles they gave to me. I took care of a few hens in the coup, cleaning it, picking eggs and feeding them. Sometimes I would help in the little backyard garden.
A few months went by, uneventful until one morning. I woke up and went about my usual routine then headed for breakfast. When I got to the lounge, I was met with two pairs of bulged eyes. Their reaction to my entrance shocked and confused me as well until Tracey said, "What did you do to your hair darling."My hair," I wonder, my hand instinctively flying to my head. "I didn't do anything ma." I reply, still confused.
Tracey takes my hand and leads me to the bathing room and positions me in front of the mirror. I almost scream out of my skin when I see my reflection staring back at me, with a head full of red hair.
I run my hand through my hair wondering how this could be possible. I went to bed with blonde hair last night, how then did I wake up with a red head. Tracey puts her hand on my shoulder comfortingly when tears start pooling in my eyes. "It's ok darling, it's going to be."
'No it's not ok.' I almost shout, but I manage to restrain myself. She takes my hand and leads me to breakfast, which we have as usual, as if nothing about this crazy red head has happened.
The day went by as usual until dinner. I'm sitting in my favorite couch, the one I sat in the first day I got here. Tracey and Steve were in the study with the door closed, an unusual occurance.
I stay a long while, watching the flames flicker and dance in tune with the wind which was blowing in through the small window. The voices from the study become harsh but hushed. It seemed they were having a heated argument but didn't want me to hear it. "She is a witch." Steve says budging out of the study into the living room.
His demeanor changes when he spots me looking at him, puzzled. He looks torn but ends up rushing out the door. Stacey comes in and sits next to me. She doesn't say anything though, she just sits there staring into space.
That night I had nightmares about my nails growing disgustingly long and drawing blood from cute bunnies. I woke up with a strong resentment towards the craft. It took my birth family away and now it's breaking my foster one apart.
Steve comes home the next day and the matter was never spoken of ever again.
It's thirteen years later when Steve receives a guest he takes straight to the study. They talk a long while. Tracey calls me in to take them tea and ginger biscuits which I do.
I'm about to knock at the door when I hear, "Mr Xhao killed the girl's parents." It was the guest's voice. Steve replies, "She should never find out, I don't want her doing something she would regret." Tears threaten to flow out, stinging on my eyes.
I take a deep breath to calm myself, and blink back the tears. I wait a few minutes before knocking, serving them the refreshments and storming out.
I rush to my room and shut myself in. The tears I'd held back flood through. I cuddle my pink teddy bear and cry uncontrollably. These tears are going to my parents, my sister and my quiet life back at the plantation.
When I finally manage to calm down, the grief is replaced by a strong need for revenge. The worst and best part is that I know Mr Xhao. It's the worst because he pretended to be my dad's friend and ended up being the one to kill him. It's also the best part because I know where to find him, now that I think about it, the man was too selfish to ever leave that place.
He is one of the people who know about my family's craft and the only one who is enough of a threat if ever he finds me. I need to find him before he finds me.
"Take care of the house dear." Tracey calls, waving from the truck. I wave back smiling, happy that they have left me to complete my mission. They are headed to the city and I'm left all alone at home.
When night falls, I secure all the livestock and bolt every door before shouldering my gear and heading out.
I head down to Pineville, a place I was certain I would find Mr Xhao. I walk for most part of the night until I reach a double story cottage. I watch the house for a while trying to establish a way in. The man has always hated dogs, one advantage added to my list.
In the dead silence of the night, I put my hood over my head to cover my hair, the most prominent feature on me and head in. I jump over the backyard low fence and land onto their perfectly manicured lawn.
I take three stealthy rounds around the house and on my way out, I flip open my lucifer and flick it behind me. A brilliant flame rages behind me consuming the whole house as I walk out through their front gate.
After putting a bit of distance between me and the house, I perch on a small rock. Screams filter into the air and I revel in them. I know they won't find a way out because two of my rounds around their house were to make sure that neither of the doors or windows would let out.
When the top floor collapses inwards, I carry my back pack and head home triumphantly. Mr Xhao burning in that house means he has burnt along with his threatening knowledge about me. I don't feel a pang of guilt as I find my way around trees back home because I've told myself that my parents died in the same way and he deserved it...
'At eighteen, I committed murder , jus to whin myself from the craft. Why does it want me back now?' I almost scream at the doctor, but I know what's best for me and so I just melt in my grief.