Page 31 of The Witch

It is that same man with the wild hair who spoke to me after I left the market. The mysterious stranger who spooked Lucky.

“Who is that?” I ask.

Deputy Strickland ignores my query, pushing past me to greet the sheriff before he reaches the jail. They are still close enough that I can hear every word they say.

“Caught him in the act,” Sheriff Bixby tells the deputy. “But…’twas too late for the girl. Such a shame.”

The crowd behind us erupts into a burst of outrage. My Lord. This man is the Night Reaper. I thought I was overreacting when he spooked Lucky, but I was right to fear him. This knave has claimed four souls. Four tender maidens, lost beneath his wicked grasp. How could they call Hitty a witch when this man roams about?

Strickland grimaces and spits at the man. The glob of saliva lands squarely on his tattered shirt, but the man does not react. His expression is disturbingly blank, as if he is merely a bystander, rather than a prisoner who will likely never see the light of day again before his final hour.

“What be his name?” Strickland asks Bixby.

“Jonas Reeve.” Bixby shoves him, and the man—Reeve—obediently marches forward. “He would not reveal it, but the mother of the girl—she knew who he was. She was with the search party when we came upon him.”

Everyone in the courtyard is chattering about this man, and I can scarcely hear my own thoughts over the din. Woodhaven has lived in fear’s shadow for a year, but now it is over. If there truly is a devil, it is this man. Certainly, they must see that Hitty has no consortium with this stranger—she feared the Reaper as much as any of us did.

But I have no chance of speaking with the deputy or the sheriff now. They are far too busy with Reeve, and now the rest of the townspeople are gathering close to the jail perchance to catch a glimpse of the Night Reaper.

And then, out of nowhere, an apple flies through the air, hitting Reeve squarely in his right shoulder. “You deserve to be drawn and quartered!” a man shouts at him from within the crowd.

This opens the floodgates. Soon, everyone is hurling fruit at the man in shackles, shouting that no torment is too cruel for him. All the while, Jonas Reeve wordlessly walks forward, his head bent. I recall that day I saw him at the periphery of the forest, there was a twinge of menace in his eyes. But none of that is there now. He seems almost…

Melancholy.

Well, he ought to be melancholy. He has been captured and will spend the rest of his brief, wretched days confined to a jail cell. Hitty does not warrant such a fate, but this man surely does. I might not be hurling shouts or casting fruit, but my desires align with the rest of the townsfolk—to see him dangle from a noose.

And then, just before he vanishes into the jailhouse, Jonas Reeve raises his eyes to look into mine. They are the same obsidian eyes from the other day, the ones that vexed Lucky. There is nothing sad in those eyes—only evil. A shiver goes down my spine as I step aside to avoid his trajectory into the building.

Verily, this man is pure evil—a tool of the devil if not the devil himself. The world will be a better place without him in it.

Jonas Reeve disappears into the jailhouse with the sheriff and his deputy. The pelt of fruit and screaming of obscenities continues, long after the metal-reinforced door to the jailhouse slams shut.

23

PRESENT DAY

JULIA

The next morning, I run into Ethel on my way to the bathroom just after I wake up.

Ethel is already dressed in a shirt and slacks, and her hair is pulled into that neat bun. She looks like she’s been awake for hours. She gives me a withering look when she notices I’m still in my pajamas.

“Good of you to eventually get out of bed, Julia,” she comments.

I bite my tongue to keep from commenting that I might not have slept so late if I hadn’t been woken up at three in the morning by a woman crying.

“Hey,” I say. “Do you have a key to the attic?”

She narrows her eyes at me. “Why?”

After a moment of deliberation, I decide to tell a half-truth. “I heard some noises up there. I want to make sure there aren’t any rats.”

“Rats?” Ethel snorts. “Please. It’s just the house settling. It’s an old house, Julia.”

“I’d feel better if I took a look. We could buy traps if I see any.”

“There’s nothing to see in the attic except for a bunch of boxes. You’re more likely to get hurt managing those stairs than find a rat.”