That Witch Bitch

1994 Flashback

All the memories came flooding back. It was like a mini slide show of your life as a child, back in...

1994

It was a cold summer's morning and you were barely a year old.

Somehow, you remembered everything in what seemed like 4K Ultra HD, being a witch really had its perks.

Your mother strapped you into a pushchair and readied you for her morning jog around your housing estate.

The sun beat down on your face and yet your toes still felt the icy chill.

It was a messed up day for messed up people.

Suddenly, your mother slowed down and stopped her jog outside the Murder House momentarily to tie her laces.

Your pram rolled slightly till it was directly inline with the house's front gates.

Staring at the building before you, you could tell that the house wasn't good.

It was probably the opposite.

You kicked and tried to get out from the harness that attached you to the buggy.

You didn't like having to stare at the house.

That was when you heard a door slam.

Your mother looked up from her laces to see and hear two people having a fight.

Or at least one was.

An old woman witch a strange fashion sense yelled at her son, 'Tate', to come back.

She flailed her arms in the air in protest to her boy's actions.

Tate, however, looked completely dead inside.

He didn't even take one look back at his hysterical mother, he just kept walking.

For a split moment, Tate locked eye contact with you; the small helpless baby stuck in a pushchair kicking their way away from Murder House.

Tate walked over to the pushchair.

When your mother realised this she tried to push him back with her mind.

She was a witch.

Sadly, the murder house was too darker of a place to allow her 'light' magic to be accepted.

She couldn't protect me from this strange person.

"Back away from her. Now!" Your mum yells at Tate.

Tate moves his stare from you and looks up at your mother.

Less than a split second ago, he was completely emotionless, now, he was smirking whilst raising his hands mockingly and slowly backing away.

A single tear escaped his right eye, dripped across his cheek and fell to the floor.

You couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

"I was just going to say hi to the baby." He says, choking tears back and chuckling maniacally at the same time.

Tate's mother still hung on the house's porch, staring at her son as he turned his gaze from you and your mother, two completely ordinary citizens who were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and began to stride away from the house, his boots creating a dull echo along the pavement as he walked.

You felt a surge of sympathy for the boy.

He must have a hard life.

You stop kicking and screaming about the Murder House as you intently watch the boy's silhouette become smaller and smaller until you couldn't see him at all.

The boy vanished onto the horizon and you were snapped back into reality.

A reality where you were stood, with a ghost, in a haunted house.

Great.