I felt her following me with her eyes; indeed they seemed to bore a hot hole between my shoulder blades. I did not look back. Don’t run, I told myself. But at the first bend of the creek, when I knew she couldn’t see me, I ran. After a while I stopped, feeling a little foolish. Such a helpless-looking little old woman couldn’t be Minggay, couldn’t be the witch. I remembered her kind voice and the woodfragrance. She could be my own grandmother.
As I walked the string of shrimps kept brushing against the side of my leg. I detached it from my belt and looked at the shrimps. Except for the three small ones, all of them belonged to the old woman. Her coconut shreds had coaxed them as by magic out of their hiding. The protruding eyes of the biggest, which was still alive,seemed to glare at me---and then they became the eyes of the witch. Angrily, I hurled the shrimps back into the creek
