the Sans Monte Curse

An account by the hand of the healer to Midrean

One would think I’d have the good sense to seek a place to hide.

Alas, I fear I can no longer bear the narrowed stares or the harsh whispers that follow me along the village roads. The healing work I once offered has long since been terminated by the very elders who now condemn me. Midrean has become a den of vipers, spreading its venom through cruel words, casting false witness against the innocent.

There is no redemption in the judgments of those who have set themselves above the lowly. The Lord God, who once ruled the hearts of men, no longer holds sway over the Christians who claim to be His vessels.

My life is in His hands, and unto Him, I bequeath my soul.

The sharp edge of death presses against my door, demanding payment for a fate unjustly laid at my feet. I am not to blame. And yet, how can I convince those who seek my blood that I would never harm the ones I vowed to help?

I mourn the loss of the vicar’s wife and her unborn daughter. They were the first in a long chain of sorrowful, unexplainable deaths, each one twisted into proof of guilt.

And now the roar of judgment approaches. I hear it in the distance, a cry rising like thunder through the trees: “Blood for blood, ye witch of Midrean!”

Outside, a procession of torches floods the forest path like a thousand fireflies set loose in the heat of summer.

The cry for my blood draws nearer.

I will not plead for mercy where none will be given, where words fall on hearts hardened by fear and pride. With a heavy heart, I stand at the door, awaiting what must come. The pain of loss has stripped the fight out of me. My heart is no longer in it.

My weary soul longs only for peace. And with peace, I will accept my fate, not with bitterness, but with quiet resolve.

Still, I hold on to one final hope: that one day my words will be found. That they will be read, and the truth set free.

And when that day comes, all shall be made right.

— Guinevere Sans MonteAmanda

Curses don’t always arrive with thunder or flashing lights.

Sometimes they live quietly in families, passed from one generation to the next in silence. I used to believe curses were just a way to describe bad luck when nothing else made sense. My family’s streak of misfortune has lasted for over three hundred years.

The Sans Monte Curse.

And if the stories are true, I should already be dead.

A chill ran through me despite the room’s warmth. There was that strange ripple again—the quickening in the air—and for a moment a figure leaned against an old light pole, his face blurred. But I could tell by his posture that he was judging me. His blurred face didn’t hide his contemptuous sneer.

Visions of him always came in the cracks between consciousness and dreams, beckoning me toward the destiny I was trying to escape. His expression promised my attempts would be fruitless.

And then he came for me, and my pulse stumbled.

“Miss Sans Monte.” Mr. Burns’s voice sliced through the haze, dragging my mind back to the classroom.

I blinked, struggling to hold back a yawn. “Sorry,” I muttered. “I didn’t sleep well.”

Mr. Burns sighed and turned away, shaking his head.

But the feeling didn’t leave.

Centuries of superstition surround my family curse, dictating that the first daughter born to the first son of the Sans Monte bloodline loses her mind and dies young.

This is my family tree.

I live in Midrean. At seventeen, I’m a senior at Midrean High and already older than any daughter in my bloodline has ever lived to be. I’m still here. Still breathing. Still pretending. Praying that the curse forgot me.

But it didn’t forget the others. It didn’t forget my dad’s sister.

The air shifted, colder. Then a ripple.

“Amanda,” the man said, his voice a low, husky growl.

I saw the classroom, but I also saw him. The figure was still there, ghostly, standing two desks away. A man and woman dressed from another time strolled past him, but he ignored them. His fingers moved in a way that drew my gaze as he turned a tiny wooden horse between them. He walked up and placed the horse on my desk.

The fine hairs on my arms lifted. When I looked up at him, he wavered as though he might disappear at any minute. An unease chilled my blood, leaving me lightheaded. He was close, close enough to raise the heat along my neck, close enough to steal the air before I could breathe it in.

I gripped the edge of the desk to hold on to reality.

The ruler cracked against my desk, and I jumped. The whisper of dread fled, leaving me blinking under the bright, cool lights of the classroom.

“Miss Sans Monte,” Mr. Burns called loud enough for the entire class to hear, “if you wish to sleep, I suggest you do it elsewhere and not in the middle of my class. My time is valuable, and I’ll not have it wasted. Next time, there’ll be no hesitation in assigning extra homework for the entire class. I’d hate for you to lose points in the hierarchy of popularity.”

Laughter rippled across the room, and warmth crept up my cheeks as a deep blush spread across my face. “Sorry, Mr. Burns,” I muttered. I glanced sideways at my best friend, Beth Darby, who arched her brows in a silent question, her expression alight with intrigue at my lapse in attentiveness. Then my attention shifted to my desk, and I frowned.

The tiny horse wasn’t there.

Mr. Burns resumed his lecture, leaving me to shake off my embarrassment and refocus on the lesson.

The bell rang twenty minutes later. I grabbed my books and sprang from my chair, pushing through the crowd of students, eager to escape.

“Hey,” Beth said, grabbing my arm to halt my hurried departure. “What’s up with nap time? Watching online videos all night will eat your brain,” she teased.

The eye roll I gave her was unavoidable. “I couldn’t sleep last night,” I said, my admission followed by a deep yawn.

Beth and I have been best friends since we shared Mr. Banning’s class in third grade. I used to be taller than her, but one day she shot up past me, and a few years later, that still hasn’t changed. She’s now a full four inches taller, with blonde hair cut into a long, stylish bob. We’re opposites in both looks and style. Where Beth is blonde, my hair is light brown and falls in long waves down my back. But we share the same sense of humor and taste in almost everything, which is why we’ve stayed inseparable all these years.

“Bravo, Amanda. Seriously impressive. Falling asleep in class is very unlike you.” Regina stepped before me, her presence as commanding as a queen. “Mr. Burns should follow through with his threat; except he shouldn’t punish the rest of us.” She gripped the strap of her backpack with one hand, the other casually resting on her hip. She tilted her head, giving me a quick once-over, her nose crinkling in clear disdain.

“It would be good for you to lose points with the popular group. But tell me, should I be worried? Will something happen to me if I’m the last one you’ve seen?”

“What are you talking about, Regina?” I asked.

Regina smirked. “Two names. Josie and Tara. You were the last one seen with them. Then…” She let the accusation hang in silence; her lips pressed into a smug grin. She spun on her toes and glided down the hall, her jet-black hair cascading off her shoulders like silk.

“I hate her sometimes. What if it had been you or one of the others? They weren’t part of our friend group, but they were my friends. And it’s all a coincidence, anyway.”

“Don’t give her another thought. Hey, Josie’s okay,” Beth said, her voice uplifting with forced positivity.

“She doesn’t talk to me. She just looks past me when I try to say anything to her.”

“You can’t help what happened to them. They were freakish accidents. Don’t let Regina get under your skin. The girl’s jealous,” Beth said, snorting in distaste at Regina’s behavior.

“Jealous of what?” I asked. “She’s in the same so-called popular crowd as us, and she’s dating Tim.”

“Tim’s infatuated with Regina,” Beth said. “But that doesn’t mean she’s forgotten his crush on you two years ago. Even if you didn’t like him back, she doesn’t care. And it doesn’t help that you and Ryan have been best friends since you were toddlers. You two have an unbreakable thing, and she’s jealous that she and Tim don’t have it. Hey, forget about her and let’s get out of here. Meet me at my car,” Beth ordered, twirling back toward the history room and missing the glare I sent her.

“Ryan Dupree and I don’t have a thing,” I grumbled. I continued down the hall to my locker while Beth returned to hers across from Mr. Burns’s class.

Beth has always looked out for me. My birthday is July 12th, so at seventeen, in our senior year, I’m the youngest in our group. But having a group of friends doesn’t mean you can’t be friends with others. Josie and Tara were a year below me, but we were friends, maybe because we lived in the same neighborhood. We rode the bus to school together. Played outside until dark.

When Josie had her accident, I didn’t give it much thought. But then Tara. Two accidents within weeks of each other? Josie survived. Tara didn’t.

Everything was normal until I turned sixteen. I had almost forgotten the curse, shoving it so far back in my mind that it became a non-thought. But darkness never stays buried for long. Soon after my sixteenth birthday, everything changed. The dreams started first, then later the visions. They were vague and inconsistent at first, unable to warn of the danger that threatened. So, I didn’t see it coming, as the saying goes.

But in the weeks following Tara and Josie’s accidents, the dreams and visions intensified. Some fixated on them, becoming darker and distorted, suggesting murder rather than an accident. Others centered on the blurred figure, hinting at clues that should make sense. But they don’t.

My dreams worry me. They shouldn’t. Everyone has them. But does everyone wake up in a cold sweat? Do they see the same faces, the same horrors, the same shadows that hide just enough to keep the truth out of reach?

They’re filled with images that don’t make sense, and yet somehow, they’re all the same. What if it’s the Sans Monte curse coming to claim me?

The Sans Monte curse also has a place in Midrean’s history. But does it exist? Or is it more folktale than fact? For my family, it’s one of those quiet secrets we don’t discuss.

I wish I could say it just worried me.

The curse has always targeted the daughters of the Sans Monte line, on or after their fifteenth birthday. If no daughter is born, the family breathes a temporary sigh of relief, a brief reprieve from the curse’s shadow, until the next generation produces a daughter to inherit the dark legacy.

This grim reality gives pause to anyone considering marriage into the Sans Monte family. The idea of a daughter’s inevitable descent into madness is a heavy burden to bear. People regard the birth of a son as a blessing. My parents didn’t receive that blessing. They had me.

Even a son wouldn’t have spared them. The curse would just bide its time, slipping through to touch the next child. Sons live to carry it forward, while daughters have their lives stolen, cut short before they turn seventeen. Curse or no curse, I can’t explain the madness and ultimate death that every daughter faces. None have survived.

Dad lost his sister, Lindsay, when she was sixteen. There were whispers of her talking to herself before she died. One day, he found her hanging in the garage. He said my grandparents were never the same after, and I don’t think he was either.

My parents had me late in life. They’re both in their early sixties now. They didn’t plan for me. I don’t know if it was their intent to end the curse by not having children. But here I am.

When I was thirteen, my mom found out she had Alzheimer’s. Over the last two years, it’s gotten worse. She’s the one who suffers most, but it affects all of us. Dad tries to stay strong, though I can see it wears him down.

My mother’s mind is stuck, and the doctors say her progression has increased. On her best days, I might see my mom. But on her worst days, she is gone. It began with small things: forgetting names, misplacing objects, or losing track of time or place.

Dad went from full of life, standing tall and laughing, to hunched over, eyes dimmed with the strain of trying to take care of Mom and her fading memories. He was out of his depth, and so was I. I see my mother daily, but it’s rare to see my mom.

Before my mother fell ill, I remember standing outside my parents’ bedroom door as a little girl, overhearing them speak in hushed tones. I shouldn’t have listened, but like any curious child, I pressed my ear against the door, trying to catch every word without being caught eavesdropping.

Dad’s voice trembled, and the sorrow behind it seeped through the door. “I swore we would never bring a child into this, Lisa. I don’t want to be the one responsible for adding more madness to our bloodline. At least Amanda is safe.”

I’d laugh if it weren’t so absurd. My friends joke about the curse, calling it ridiculous to believe in curses in this day and age.

“Amanda.”

I heard my name called and glanced up to find my second-best friend grinning down at me. Or was he my first?

Ryan Dupree is, well, Ryan. Confident, athletic, and Midrean High’s golden boy. At six-foot-two, with dark blond hair cut short at the sides and left just long enough on top to fall into place, and eyes like a stormy sea, he’s the guy who catches everyone’s attention without even trying.

He’s the son of a wealthy family, and it shows. He drives a sleek, black Audi R8 Coupe and lives in one of those homes with too many windows and a driveway that costs more than my parents’ car and our house put together. But he’s grounded. Somehow, he is all of that and still kind and loyal.

“Ryan,” I replied, a smile tugging at my lips. I shut my locker and walked down the hall with him toward the door leading to Beth’s car.

Ryan took my arm, matching my pace. “Are you headed for Beth’s car? Of course, you are. How about I tag along? Tacos, my treat.”

“You’re in a good mood,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “Who am I to turn down free tacos?”

“Who indeed?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be heading to the locker room for the game?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.

“Later. There’s plenty of time,” Ryan said. “I’ve got grandson duties. Dad asked me to stop by and pick up Gramps. He refuses to let anyone help him, so I’m forcing my way in. Mister ‘I’m ninety going on thirty-four’ is conveniently hard of hearing when it suits him. He’s decided he should drive himself to the senior center at four, which is not happening. We already took his keys away. He claims he has a meeting.” Ryan winked. “A meeting with Bingo and Mrs. Wagner.”

“Do you have enough time to eat, do all that, and make it back in time for the game?”

“I have plenty of time for tacos,” he said with a shrug. “Then I’ll grab Gramps and drop him off so he can flirt with the ladies. Uncle Jeff will pick him up and get him home in time for bed. It’s a perfect plan.”

His smile was contagious. We pushed through the school’s double doors. The parking lot was emptying fast, with groups of friends gathered around cars, while others were already driving off. Fridays were always early release days.

“Hey, Beth,” Ryan’s voice echoed across the parking lot. “It’s taco time, and you’re driving.”

Leaning against her cherry-red 1965 Volkswagen Beetle, Beth waved back. Beth’s dad is a mechanic. He restored the car and gave it to her for her sixteenth birthday. It has a robust roar that turns heads when she drives through town, and if you don’t slug someone when she drives past, you’re either alone or deaf.

Beth’s expression lit with playful affection as she swung open the driver’s side door. “Car out of commission, Dupree? When are you going to ditch that heap and have your dad get you a real lady-magnet?”

Ryan winked, his mouth curling into a grin. “Ah, Beth, you know I love my car. She’s got character. Besides, impressing the right lady takes more than a flashy car.”

Beth’s smirk deepened. “You might think so, but you can’t deny the advantages of a classic like mine.”

“Always,” Ryan said, opening the passenger-side door with a flourish, and I climbed in. Beth drove past his car as we left the school lot.

Ryan’s gleaming black Audi sparkled in the sunlight as if it had just rolled off the set of a high-end car commercial. The sleek lines and polished exterior reflected his pride and joy, a passion he defended whenever Beth teased him about it. Their banter was a charming spectacle. To an outsider, it might seem implausible that such a meticulously maintained vehicle could be the subject of any jest. Yet the humor lay in the contrast between Beth’s playful jabs and Ryan’s unwavering devotion to his car.

“You always make fun of my car, Beth. She’s a beauty. You are insensitive to the fact that she only has room for two.”

Beth snorted and rolled her eyes. “Boohoo, my two-seater Audi is lonely.”

Ryan lifted his arms and flexed his biceps, angling himself so Amanda and Beth both got a full view. “Not bad, right? These machines are unstoppable on the football field. Speaking of,” he said, turning to Beth and pointing at her, “you are coming to the game to watch me, right?”

“I can’t,” Beth said, grimacing. “I have to work at Maib’s.”

Maib’s was the local, home-cooked-style restaurant started by Maib Cox when she was twenty-five and trying to raise two girls. At sixty-six, Maib ran a packed restaurant, and she was Beth’s grandma.

Ryan frowned, then twisted in his seat to face me. “I don’t want excuses from you. I’m picking you up at five-thirty. Be ready and don’t make me late.”

I scrunched up my face at him. “Fine, I’ll be there to cheer the beefcake to victory,” I replied, my voice dripping with playful sarcasm. “You never know; I might even bring pom-poms and a banner,” I added with a grin, embracing the absurdity.

“Good girl,” he said, redirecting his gaze to the front. “Hop on it, Beth. Drive us to the nearest taco joint. I’m ordering at least ten. No, make that fifteen; I’m starving.”

I sat in the back while Ryan grumbled about the lack of legroom up front, and Beth retorted he was an inconsiderate freeloader. We rolled down the windows, and the wind whipped my hair into my face. I had no complaints. Being with my two favorite people made me happy, and when Ryan looked back at me with a beaming smile, I couldn’t help but smile too.

“Let’s eat inside,” Ryan said when Beth pulled into the parking lot. “Grab as many sauce packets as you can.”

We walked inside, and Ryan waved to the group in the corner.

“Regina’s here. Over in the corner, surrounded by her loyal followers,” Beth muttered.

“She’s not bad,” Ryan said with a shrug.

“You only say that because you want to get into her pants,” Beth scoffed.

“You are vulgar, Beth Darby. Besides, Amanda Sans Monte is the only one for me.” He drew me closer. “And don’t think I’m kidding. I’m not.”

Five minutes later, the three of us grabbed our food and sat at the table beside Regina and her entourage, who were also our friends.

“I heard you dozed off in front of Mr. Burns, Amanda,” Jaime Jones teased. His infectious laughter transformed the moment into one of shared amusement among the group.

“Regina told us Mr. Burns threatened extra homework,” his twin sister, Jenny, added.

“Wow,” Melissa Roche said. “Would he? That must’ve been embarrassing.”

“A-Plus honor student. What got into you, Miss Amanda Sans Monte?” Keith Edwards teased, leaning over to give me a gentle shove.

“Tired,” I replied, shaking my head as if it were nothing. “Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.” I couldn’t hold back another yawn.

“It’s so good to see the loyal support we all have for Amanda,” Regina said with sarcastic sweetness.

“Grow a happy heart,” Tim Landers warned. “There’s no reason to be snide.”

Regina’s gaze locked onto mine, a knowing smirk on her lips. “I overheard what Mr. Burns is planning for his end-of-semester essay.”

A cold knot of dread twisted in my stomach. Regina wore the smug expression of a satisfied cat, which told me our essay had something to do with me.

“Regina,” Beth warned, her voice trembling with suppressed anger. “That is not nice. Don’t even think about it.”

Regina gave me a pointed look. “I can’t help it if it isn’t nice. It’s true. You were there with me. We both overheard Mr. Burns and Mrs. Carter discussing his class project. He wants his students to research the history of Midrean. And since your family has a history with the town, you have the upper hand.”

“Someone must have written a book or two about your family’s history,” Keith said. “People like to write about weird stuff all the time. The weirder it is, the more it sells.”

“I’ll bet your dad even has copies if there are any,” Jenny added.

“By the way,” Regina said, dipping her head to take a drink of her soda, “how soon before the crazy overtakes you and you die?”

“Regina!” Jenny gasped, her mouth hanging open in shock.

“We’re out of here.” Tim grabbed Regina’s arm and pulled her from the booth. “If you can’t be nice to our friends, you don’t need to be around them. Sorry, Amanda. See you guys at the game.”

“Don’t bring Regina,” Beth shouted over her shoulder.

No one said goodbye to them.

“Has anyone else noticed how spiteful she has become?” Melissa asked, her voice tinged with bewilderment.

“You mean more than usual?” Keith replied around a mouthful of burrito.

“What does he see in her?” Jaime asked. “She’s nothing but a mean harpy.”

“What do you think?” Jenny said, giving him a playful punch on the arm.

“I don’t care,” Jaime said. “I wouldn’t touch the most beautiful girl in the world if she had a viperous tongue like hers.”

“Not even the most beautiful girl in the world? Dude, that is unbelievable,” Ryan laughed, shaking his head.

“Nope, not worth it.” Jaime leaned back and defiantly folded his arms behind his head.

Beth leaned in close to me. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.”

I sat there, mulling over Regina’s revelation. In a way, it was no surprise. Last year, Mr. Burns had hinted at his fascination with the Sans Monte tragedy. He’d called it a mystery worth unraveling, especially the deaths. He’d even mentioned knowing my father’s sister. It wouldn’t surprise me if he wanted to conduct a séance.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much of a mystery to solve. The curse always followed the same pattern. Every daughter lost their mind, and then they died.

But I’d lived with the idea of it for so long it almost seemed normal, like a skeleton in the closet you pretend won’t come back to haunt you. Some days, I could shrug it off, tell myself it was a stupid family legend, and that time had exaggerated whatever truth it held. Other days, it felt too real, like something waiting in the dark, patient enough to outlast me. The worst part was that bits of the curse were already creeping into my life, and I felt threatened.

Friends have a knack for lifting you out of any gloom you’ve sunk into. I glanced at Beth, waving a napkin in one hand to cool her mouth as she half-coughed, half-choked, gesturing at Keith with the other and mumbling through a mouthful of food that she’d get her revenge.

My eyes went wide, my mouth forming a surprised O. “What did he do? I missed it!” I turned to Ryan, half-laughing, half-confused.

He leaned in, laughter in his voice. “He snuck Spankin’ Sauce into her burrito.”

“He didn’t! That’s so mean.” My voice dropped an octave.

“He did,” he said, chuckling.

The table was loud with laughter. Everyone talked at once. I took it all in, smiling at the animated conversation.

“What’s our next food challenge?” Jamie hollered above the noise.

“Not chicken nuggets,” Keith said, shaking his head.

“Yeah, that was hilarious,” Ryan said, laughing.

“You weren’t the one who threw it up after,” Keith shot back.

“No, and that’s why it was hilarious,” Ryan said.

He pushed back his chair and gathered our trays. “Does anyone else have anything for me to throw away?”

“Yeah, here,” Keith said, handing over his tray.

“Lazy,” Ryan said.

“You don’t even know,” Keith replied with a laugh as he stood to leave.

Ryan dumped the trays and returned to the table.

“Madam,” Ryan said, holding out his hand.

I tilted my face up, my smile growing wider.

“Off to yon chariot. It awaits.”

He raised his eyebrows at Beth. “Oh, I don’t suppose we can persuade you to rein the horse?” he asked with exaggerated innocence.

Beth shook her head as she stood and collected her trash. “You spend way too much time in drama,” she said, puckering her lips. “I’ll give you a ride back to your poor car.”

He threw his arms over her shoulders and kissed her cheek.

“You are rotten to the deepest pit, Ryan Dupree,” she said, grinning as she pushed him away.

He shrugged, undeterred, and pulled me toward the door. “I know. But you still love me,” he hollered over his shoulder.

An hour later, I sat on the floor in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection. Who was she? What did others see in her? Especially Ryan? He knew about the curse. They all did.

I pressed my face into my hands, then lifted my head, dragging the skin beneath my eyes downward with my fingers as I studied my reflection. The girl in the mirror looked tired, maybe even a little pale. It’s easy to dip into melancholy when you get away from your friends.

Something moved behind my reflection. A figure stood several feet back in the room.

She wore a pale dress that skimmed the floor, her dark hair falling loosely around her shoulders, framing a face bent toward the empty fireplace. For a moment, she stood still, staring into the dark, vacant hollow.

The faint scent of smoke hung in the air, but the fireplace was cold.

She knelt. Her hands slid along the stones at the base of the fireplace, searching the mortar lines one by one. Then she pressed against the loose stone. Her head lifted. In the mirror, she froze, surprise and alarm clear on her face as she glanced around. Then her gaze lifted and locked on me.

I spun around. I breathed in a shaky, heavy breath and let it out. No one was there.

I couldn’t keep lying to myself anymore. I had seen her before, one of those strange things I’d inherited when I turned sixteen, something I’d been trying hard to ignore. But if things kept going like this, I’d lose my mind, and the thought of an early grave almost felt like a relief.

I whipped around toward the mirror, and my reflection stared back. Maybe I was just tired.

I’m seventeen now, well past sixteen, the cursed age when most Sans Monte women succumb to madness. I wasn’t tired; it was the curse bearing down to claim me.

It has claimed many before me.

Everyone in Midrean is familiar with the tale of my great-great-grandfather’s sister, Mollie. At sixteen, the authorities declared she had gone mad and taken her own life. Yet many believed someone murdered Mollie, suspecting that something far more sinister hid behind her tragic end.

For two days, fear and wild speculation swept through the town while Mollie was missing. The unease only deepened when her broken body appeared on the jagged rocks of Taylor’s Creek, at the bend beyond Midrean Falls.

Despite the investigation and swirling rumors, there was no clear evidence of what happened to her. Ever since, everyone has called the place Mollie’s Rapids. There’s a wooden bridge there now. People stop as they cross over, tossing coins into the water and murmuring their wishes. It’s said the water remembers.

My phone rang, jolting me from my thoughts. “H-hello?” I answered, dazed as if I’d been asleep.

“Are you ready to go?” the voice asked.

“Who is this?” I demanded, irritation creeping into my voice.

“It’s Ryan, you crazy girl. Don’t you look at your screen before you answer? You should at least recognize my voice. It’s five-thirty. We have to go.”

“Oh, sorry. I got distracted. And I’m not crazy. Yet. Give me a few more minutes and I’ll be right down,” I said, flustered. “The door’s unlocked.”

“I know; I already let myself in. I didn’t want to yell up the stairs. Hurry, I’ve got to get to the field.”

“Right.”

I hung up the call and tossed my phone onto the bed. Pushing myself up from the floor, I stepped in front of the mirror and studied my reflection.

Dressed for the warm August evening, I wore a red and black T-shirt featuring the school’s wolf mascot and denim shorts that hit mid-thigh. The shorts had a casual, worn-in look, with slight fraying along the hems and a few deliberate rips.

I brushed my hair, then smiled at my reflection. The girl staring back at me smiled in return. For a moment, everything seemed normal again.

I tugged on my white tennis shoes, grabbed my favorite necklace, and slipped it over my head before picking up my phone. With one last glance in the mirror and a small nod; everything was in place.

Then a sound drifted through the room. A distant murmur. I frowned and glanced toward the door. The sound was faint, almost like voices carried through the trees outside. The whisper grew louder.

“Witch.”

My gaze snapped to the mirror. A warm orange glow flickered behind a ghostly figure hovering there, her attention fixed on the window. She glanced over her shoulder at the fireplace before returning to the scene outside.

The voices swelled, rough and angry, rising like a distant storm.

“Blood for blood, ye witch of Midrean!”

Fear is such a strange feeling. It sweeps over you, leaving your breath shallow and your body trembling. That’s exactly how it struck me when I turned to face her, only to see an empty room and hear nothing but silence. I looked back at the mirror, hoping it was all in my head. Relief settled in when all that stared back was my own reflection.

“I’m not ready to lose myself,” I muttered.

My mom poked her head through the door. “You look beautiful, dear. Are you going somewhere?”

“Yeah, Mom. It’s the first football game of the season. Ryan is waiting for me downstairs.”

My mother nodded, then frowned, and I knew the lucid moment had passed. I walked up to the frail woman and kissed her cheek. “I’ll be safe and hurry right home. Mrs. Pettiford is here. She will take care of you.”

Mrs. Pettiford was an older woman my father had hired to help my mother during the day and most weekends.

My mother’s smile was faint. She lifted a hand to my cheek, her gaze full of love before clouding with confusion. “You were a beautiful little girl. You were never afraid, even when you first saw us. Your father and I couldn’t have children, not with the risk they might… well.” She frowned. “But you were an angel placed at our feet. How could we not take you in?” She kissed my cheek and turned to leave.

“Mom?” I said, frowning in confusion.

“Yes, dear?” Her expression was one of innocence.

“What do you mean, take me in?” I asked.

“Whatever do you mean, dear? Have fun at the game.”

I watched her head back to her room, with Mrs. Pettiford standing nearby, ready to assist. She smiled at me and took Mom’s hand, but Mom didn’t notice.

I must have worn that confused look that most people did when they met my mother at her worst.

“Go on, dear; I’ll take care of her. Pay no attention to what she said. She isn’t all in order up here,” Mrs. Pettiford said, tapping her temple.

She was right. Mom, at her worst, could say the strangest things, things that made no sense. I paused at Mom’s door, watching as Mrs. Pettiford helped her to the chair by the window.

“Go on, child,” she said, waving me away. “There’s nothing you can do for her now. She’s already slipped away. Enjoy yourself with that young man and tell him I wish him luck with his game.”

I wiped a tear from my eye. “Thanks, Mrs. Pettiford,” I said before heading downstairs to meet Ryan.