Morg was slinking her way out of the house again. She thought she was being sneaky, but Xisa knew of Morg’s late night escapades. As always, the ruddy-cheeked child sunk her feet into her boots, shrugged her arms into a fluffy coat, and slung the pack containing her harp over her shoulder. Xisa watched through half-lidded eyes as Morg lowered herself out the window and disappeared into the night.
Xisa rolled over to lay on her back, staring up at the exposed beams above her. After a brief moment of stillness, she flipped her covers over and swung her legs out of bed. Sinking her feet into her own set of boots and dawning her own heavy coat, Xisa slunk out the window after her.
She had never followed Morg outside before, tending to mind her own business when it came to her green-eyed companion. But tonight, somehow, her curiosity had gotten the better of her. Just where did Morg keep sneaking off to? What was she doing?
Creeping past Maisha’s garden and into the shadowy woods, Xisa gazed through the darkness, trying to make out which way Morg had gone. Only the thin sliver of moon hanging low in the sky offered any sort of light, softly illuminating the dainty snow flurries that drifted to the ground, melting as soon as they landed. Xisa breathed hot air onto her fingers, trying to warm them. She hated snowy days.
A twig snapped up ahead of her and Xisa thought she caught a glimpse of Morg’s golden-brown coat. She snuck along in what she hoped to be Morg’s direction, careful to avoid brittle twigs and crunchy leaves, slinking around tree trunks and thorny bushes while she tried to stay as far away from Morg as possible while still keeping an eye on her.
After a while of this, Xisa finally lost sight of Morg completely. She paused in the dark woods, peering through the shadows in every direction searching for her friend. An owl hooted from one of the tree branches above her, low and eerie, making her heart stutter. White snow dusted her pitch black hair and tickled her nose. Xisa turned on her heel, having decided to return back to the house when she realized- she had absolutely no idea where she was.
A twig snapped above her and Xisa whipped her head up just in time to catch a pair of gleaming eyes disappear into the branches higher up in the tree she stood beneath. Xisa scampered a little ways away, cursing herself internally. She regretted following Morg at such a far distance. She regretted even hiding from Morg- her exuberant friend would probably have let her join in whatever she was doing. Xisa sank into a crouch, hugging her knees in the darkness. She regretted leaving her bed at all!
Fighting the urge to push all her fear into that abyss in her mind, Xisa stood back up, picked a direction on gut instinct alone, and started walking. She hadn’t walked but two steps, however, when a soft note reverberated through the air. Then another. And another. Until, note after note, a melody arose, alluring and mysterious. Xisa froze. The haunting music cut through the stillness of the wintery night like a knife, each note dancing through the snow like a fairy.
Xisa began walking in the direction of the music, creeping along as silently as she could. As the music grew louder, she thought she might want to run away from it, run as far as possible in the complete opposite direction. But she kept walking towards it, as if her feet had a mind of their own. Realizing she was holding her breath, Xisa let out the stale air in her lungs and gulped down the frigid night air. The music grew faster, sonorous notes perfectly in sync with each other, not a single sound off key or out of place. An ominous feeling began blooming in Xisa’s chest. She wanted to leave. She wanted to stop her legs from moving. But after a moment of concentration, she could only manage to slow her pace, as if her body had been placed under some spell. The music steadily grew louder the closer she got, the tempo switching seamlessly between rapid and lulling.
The song was beautiful, mirthful, enticing. Yet somehow repulsing. Xisa tried again to stave her steps, her heart thumping in her chest almost as loudly as the music around her. Finally, her feet stopped directly in front of a clearing. In the clearing sat a ramshackle cottage with its roof caved in and a lopsided scarecrow guarding a garden plot. And sitting just beneath the scarecrow, surrounded by flickering candles whose flames sizzled with the snow flurries, was Morg. With a calm smile tugging at her lips, the young girl strummed her harp, her eyes closed as if in a trance.
But Xisa wasn’t looking at Morg. Instead, the snow-dusted girl stared at the scarecrow looming over her friend. Stared intently- because she thought it had moved. Xisa couldn’t take her eyes off the thing, its torso bent and its arms hanging loosely down as if reaching towards her friend, reaching closer, closer. Xisa stared, eyes wide, swallowing as much light as they could from the dim moonlight- could she have seen it wrong?
Just as she began to question herself, a black gloved hand appeared from the flannel sleeve of the scarecrow’s shirt, the elbow bending almost unnaturally, the arm reaching out incredibly slowly towards the back of Morg’s neck. Xisa’s eyes bulged in their sockets.
“M-mm-m-m-m…” Xisa muttered, her voice stuck in her throat, hoarse from underuse. She hardly knew any English, but there was one word she had come to know by heart. “M-m-m-m-m-m…” she tried again, her voice swept away by the gentle breeze as the scarecrow’s crooked fingers inched closer. “M-MORG!!” she finally screamed out, her voice cracking and trembling. The scarecrow snapped its head around to face Xisa, its gloved fingertips just barely caressing the stray strands of Morg’s hair. Xisa felt her heart drop to her stomach at the scarecrow’s empty gaze and she involuntarily took a step back.
“Xisa…?” Morg called out, the last notes of the harp still lingering in the air like an echo. Morg set down her harp and began walking towards Xisa, but the dark-haired girl still had her gaze locked with that of the scarecrow. She took another step back. Then another. And before Morg could reach her, Xisa turned on her heel and ran off into the night.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
*
“We would never choose to do this,” Xisa’s mother rasped as she gripped the hilt of her knife so tightly her knuckles turned white. She held a timid and malnourished child by the wrist in her other hand. The girl was younger than Xisa- maybe 3 or 4? And although Xisa didn’t know her, her large round eyes and grubby hands reminded Xisa of her little brother.
“Then don’t,” Xisa begged, her eyes flickering between the knife and the frightened face of the child.
“She’ll die soon anyways…”
“What are you doing, reasoning with this curse,” came the authoritative voice of her father, still booming and frightening even in his sickly state. He turned to Xisa, spittle flying out of his mouth. “Shut up, girl. You’re lucky. It should have been you that we traded.” The small child in her mother’s arms began squirming weakly, but to no avail. “Now give me that,” her father said, snatching the knife out of her mother’s hand. Without hesitation, her father plunged the knife towards the girl's stomach.
Xisa’s eyes snapped open, a coldness overcoming her body that seeped straight into her bones. A layer of sweat made the sheets stick uncomfortably to her skin, but the chill in the air convinced her not to throw them off. She stared up at the lavender hanging above her bed, its flowers having long since dried and turned a greenish-purplish-tan. Yuzan sat on the wall, just above her head. Xisa’s pounding heart calmed at the sight of him. Sitting up, she scooped up her companion and placed him gently on her shoulder.
Not wanting to sleep again just yet, Xisa very quietly struck a match and lit a candle. Grabbing the book on her bedside table, she leaned against the bedframe and began reading, shimmying as close to the candle as she could get.
The Art of Shadow Manipulation; A guide to controlling the darkness with demonic energy.
Chapter 3: Creating and Shaping Shadows…
*
“Happy Solstice!” Maisha cried jovially as she set down the last of the piping hot dishes and took her seat at the table. Morg and Songbai did not hesitate to begin piling food onto their plates. Fragrant lamb and wild mushroom stew, garnished with pale green sprouts; roasted acorn squash stuffed with dried cranberries and fluffy quinoa; buttered sourdough bread with apple butter and pomegranate preserves, both stashed in little jars to the side; sweet potato pie infused with the spicy and woody flavor of cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg; and a still-steaming pot of mulled apple cider all sat crammed upon the little table where the four witches gathered.
Outside, lazy snowflakes drifted down, blanketing the world in a frozen silence. Although the occasional frigid draft penetrated the walls of the house, the crackling fireplace kept the hut cozy. It was the evening of December 22nd- the first day of winter and the shortest day of the year. Another month had passed in the blink of an eye.
“What’s wrong? Don’t like the food?” Maisha asked Xisa when she noticed the usually insatiable girl hadn’t touched a thing. Xīsà continued to stare at her empty bowl, not moving an inch, not even sparing Maisha a glance. Maisha reached out and touched her shoulder, causing the young girl to start. Maisha laughed.
“You sure are jumpy today! Something wrong?”
Xīsà just stared at her, then pushed herself away from the table and took a seat in front of the fire by the curled up Baigu.
Morg slowed her chewing, looking on at the situation with concern. Ever since Xisa had caught her playing her harp, Morg had been worried her scrawny friend would rat her out- even if she never spoke, she could still write! Morg swallowed the bite of pie in her mouth with difficulty.
And anyways, Xisa did speak! That night in the woods when she caught Morg playing the harp! The next day when Xisa had returned to her usual mute demeanor, Morg had thought she’d dreamt the whole thing, but several nights later when Morg tried to sneak out again, Xisa had stopped her! And ever since, every time Morg tried to sneak out to play her harp, Xisa would stand in her way, shaking her head emphatically.
Of course Morg could easily overpower her scrawny friend, but the concern shown so clearly on her friend’s usually stoic face had kept Morg from leaving every time. Plus Xisa still hadn’t said anything to the adults- Morg couldn’t betray that show of good faith!
But maybe Xisa had finally succumbed to her sense of guilt. And how could they not feel guilty about disobeying and lying to Maisha when they had been rescued and sheltered by her?! If not for Maisha, Morg’s parents would still be frogs! And if not for Maisha, Xisa would be… well…
Morg shoved a bite of the warm and steamy acorn squash into her mouth thoughtfully. Where would Xisa be? Why was she here? Merely because she and Morg were twin souls? Or… was there some other reason? Maisha had said offhandedly to Suk that she had picked Morg and Xisa both up around the same time. Rescued both of them. But rescued Xisa… from what? Or was that just an excuse Maisha made up? Morg gulped down some of her stew, savoring the tender chunk of lamb in her mouth as she refocused her attention on the girl in front of the fireplace.
Maisha had joined her there.
“Something’s wrong, huh,” Maiaha murmured gently to the young girl, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “You can always tell me anything,” Maisha reminded the girl in a reassuring voice. “Anything. I’m here to listen. Whenever you’re ready.”
Xisa’s lower lip quivered. She had been trying her best to hold onto all her sadness and anger and frustration. To not push them down into that dark abyss. But they had been building up for weeks, preying on her thoughts, seeping into her dreams. And she kept letting them because what if Maisha was right? What if every time she pushed away her emotions, she pushed away her magic, too? What if every time she pushed away her emotions… she pushed them all… onto Morg?
Xisa rubbed her eyes with her sleeves and watched the heavy snow fall outside the window. She hated snowy days.