The End of the Witch Hunt
Interesting responses, to say the least. Too bad you weren’t with me in the seconds I had to size up the situation. I decided to be honest and not risk this well-dressed, can-carrying, witchy woman also possessing clairvoyance. Or crystal meth.
“I know who you’re talking about. And, yeah, she lives somewhere over there,” I said, sounding helpful while simultaneously pointing carelessly toward a long line of woods-bordered houses behind her. “Can’t help you any further. Sorry.”
This seemed to satisfy her. She smiled, thanked me and turned toward the homes. I continued on, contemplating what might happen next. Should I call 911 for police? 411 for the nearest covenant? What if she started randomly knocking on doors, saying this lone woman runner sent her? Neighbors would narrow it to exactly two people on my street, and one always brings along her greyhounds.
On and on I ran, wrestling with my overactive imagination and racking my memory for wisdom from a ‘working witch’ we’d met during a trip to Salem, Mass., years ago. I saw car lights approach and instantly found myself on a busy road. By my watch, almost 30 minutes had lapsed; I’d only planned 10 minutes at most, much closer to home. I jogged back, feeling thoroughly spooked.
It sounds stupid, I know, but I gotta say it. For a moment it felt like I’d been in some kind of trance. You know, like a spell. Even weirder, a day later, mere yards from where I finally “came to,” a guy drove his car off a cliff, creating plumes of black smoke. Coincidence, I’m sure. Creepy too.
“I know who you’re talking about. And, yeah, she lives somewhere over there,” I said, sounding helpful while simultaneously pointing carelessly toward a long line of woods-bordered houses behind her. “Can’t help you any further. Sorry.”
This seemed to satisfy her. She smiled, thanked me and turned toward the homes. I continued on, contemplating what might happen next. Should I call 911 for police? 411 for the nearest covenant? What if she started randomly knocking on doors, saying this lone woman runner sent her? Neighbors would narrow it to exactly two people on my street, and one always brings along her greyhounds.
On and on I ran, wrestling with my overactive imagination and racking my memory for wisdom from a ‘working witch’ we’d met during a trip to Salem, Mass., years ago. I saw car lights approach and instantly found myself on a busy road. By my watch, almost 30 minutes had lapsed; I’d only planned 10 minutes at most, much closer to home. I jogged back, feeling thoroughly spooked.
It sounds stupid, I know, but I gotta say it. For a moment it felt like I’d been in some kind of trance. You know, like a spell. Even weirder, a day later, mere yards from where I finally “came to,” a guy drove his car off a cliff, creating plumes of black smoke. Coincidence, I’m sure. Creepy too.
