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A lone breeze blows through the trees and they can hear the soft rustle of leaves in the distance. The whisper moves closer as it passes through the forest and morphs into a rush of static noise plowing its way straight toward them. Just over this sound, they can almost hear a cackle cutting through the night. They know he has come back for them.
His post-mortem attack reaches them in a crash of thunder that shakes the ground beneath them. Rain pours from the sky and hail beats the rooftop and windows. The old farmhouse creaks and cracks in the onslaught. Pounding knocks at the door threaten to bring it down. They can hear his voice.
“I’m back, bitches,” he bellows through the house, “and I ain’t going until I make every one of you mine.”
The women press themselves against the door, praying to anything and everything that might possibly exist in the universe that he won’t get in. They press their bodies together and say a silent vow to one another that they will absolutely go down together and they will take him with them. No one left behind.
The furious storm goes on for what feels like an eternity, but eventually, the frantic knocks on the door fade away. The rain begins to slow. The windows begin to glow with soft sunshine again. The women glance around the small entry, expecting to see devastation on par with the tornado that swept Dorothy away, but nothing. The place is in pristine condition aside from the puddles that have dripped off of their own bodies. They glance at each other and see they are all intact as well. Slowly, they loosen their grips on one another and step away from the sturdiest door known to man.
Emily runs her hand over the carved wood reverently, “How did he not get in? He’s the freaking living dead! He could have gotten in here when he was just alive.”
Willow shares a smile with her sister, “Our mom has this whole place covered in all kinds of charms and protective elements. She wants to always be prepared for… whatever.”
Sam looks around appreciatively, “You’re mom is good.”
Leaning against a chest she knows is full of even more natural cure-alls, Raven smiles, “Yes, she is.”
Looking around the room at all the occult paraphernalia here, there, and everywhere, Callie’s brow furrows, “So, she is prepared for this kind of thing in the way that she knows things like vengeful spirits come back to murder us all can actually happen?”
The witchy sisters share a glance and realize their mother still has much to teach them.
Sam, raising her eyebrows, chimes in again, “Huh… Maybe next time we check in with her first. You know, should we ever decide to murder someone and dump their body again.”
They all nod.
Willow gives a sheepish smile, “Noted.”
Nessa Kearney comes from a long line of magical women. She knows the power of intention and how to make a natural remedy for about any problem you could ever present her with. Being a witch is simple. Being a mom is a far greater challenge.
Her daughters are a gift and they are gifted too, each in their own very different way. Willow can use spells and charms better than most witches twice her age. Raven has a more supernatural gift that Nessa doesn’t yet fully understand, but she knows it is beyond compare.
One day, they will both make a formidable team but they have to learn how to harness their powers first. For now, they are still babies when it comes to their craft, stumbling through what will someday be second nature for them. She knows this to be true already, but never more so than the moment she walks in just past midnight to see both of her daughters, their two best friends, and a yet unidentified teenage girl asleep in a circle of salt in the middle of the kitchen floor.
Shaking her head with a gentle laugh, she places her bags of newly acquired supplies loudly on the counter while speaking, “What’s up, ladies?”
Willow shoots up to a sitting position, looking like she’s just been caught red handed, “Mama! Hi.”
The other girls all rouse, slowly rubbing sleep from their eyes.
Nessa tries to hide her amusement at their looks of terror at seeing a grown-up enter whatever situation they’ve gotten themselves into, “Hi,” she says with a broad smile on her face, “What’s going on?”
Willow glances at Raven frantically chewing her fingernails and then back to her mother, avoiding all eye contact, “Oh, you know… Just normal, run-of-the-mill teenage girl stuff.”
Nessa uses every ounce of strength she has to contain her eye roll, “Uh-huh. What’s with the circle of salt?”
“Oh, no big deal really. Can never be too safe,” Willow says, voice shaking, “We do have a question though.”
Nessa raises her eyebrows in mock surprise, “Sure, ask away.”
The five girls glance around at one another, each one looking to Willow to lead the charge.
Willow swallows hard, “T-totally hypothetical of course, but what… um… what perhaps might happen if some, completely innocent of course, young girls might have accidentally… uh… killed someone, who definitely deserved it, and, hypothetically, they ditch the body in the woods somewhere.”
Trying to hide her shock so as not to scare them into secrecy, Nessa maintains her poker face, “Hypothetically?”
Willow goes on, wringing her hands, “Yes, all hypothetically. And then… um… uh… say after this happened they might have been chased from the woods by what felt like a supernatural storm?”
“Well, hypothetically, of course, that would be bad.” Nessa suddenly has a migraine no amount of peppermint could ever resolve.
