Free Creepers by Joanne Dahme Page A

approached.
    The woman was not dressed for a steamy August day.
She was wearing a long black skirt and blouse with long sleeves. A black cloak flapped erratically with her steps. Her long black hair was loose and fell below her shoulders. I thought of Christian’s journal and of the witch whose hair was black as a crow’s wing.
    â€œMargaret,” I squeaked. I couldn’t seem to raise my voice.
    â€œCourtney, what is it?” Margaret replied. Her voice sounded far away.
    The woman seemed to hear me. She stopped, turned, and looked at me or at the house. She seemed unafraid. As a matter of fact, she raised her chin in the air just as Margaret does when she feels challenged. Even from my post at the window, I could see that the woman was young, with incredibly pale skin, like Margaret’s, and the same piercing green eyes. She was beautiful.
    She nodded and was gone.
    â€œMargaret!” I screamed. My volume was back. “Did you see her? She’s running into the woods!” I wasn’t thinking. I just grabbed the doorknob, flung open the front door, and sprinted to the end of the dirt path. I swear I saw the flap of a cape.
    â€œCourtney!” Margaret yelled from the door.“Please don’t chase her. Please come back!” I did not realize it then.There was fear in Margaret’s voice, but I was unable stop myself.

    It was much darker in the woods, I realized, as I felt the sting of the pebbles kicked up in my wake. My heart was beating so hard that I could have been running the hundred-yard dash. Strips of sunlight would momentarily blind me as I squinted down the length of the path to find her. I ignored the overgrown weeds that slapped against my legs and face.
    â€œCourtney.” I heard Margaret’s cry far behind me as I stopped to get my breath and bearings. The path forked. Both dirt paths looked identical. I could not find any sign of the woman.
    Then I heard a horse’s whinny toward the left.
    â€œWait!” I yelled as I charged the path. “Wait?” I berated myself. Like someone running away from me was going to stop because I yelled at them?
    This path had a globe of light at its end, as if it led to a clearing or meadow. I reached it in seconds and staggered against the blinding sun. I used both hands to shield my eyes and I searched for her. I heard another whinny to my right, on the fringe of the meadow. I looked just in time to see her effortlessly mount a large black horse. She flicked its reins and galloped toward a path that was invisible to me. She rode toward the east—toward the cemetery and my house.

I WAS UNABLE TO FALL ASLEEP LAST NIGHT. I COULD NOT get the witch out of my mind. She had to be Christian Geyer’s witch. I was sure of it. Who or what else could she possibly be?
    I felt bad I ran yesterday, without so much as a good-bye to Margaret, but after seeing the witch ride off on her black horse toward the cemetery I had to get home. It was almost as if she were leading me there. She had looked right at me and sort of cocked her head the way I had seen dog owners pose after they tossed a stick.
    Margaret had looked upset when I passed their house. She was still standing in the doorway, where I had left her, when I ran off to pursue the witch. Her eyes were wide as she held one hand to her mouth. She did not say anything or try to stop me, but I swore I could still hear her voice cut through me as if she were yelling my name. I hit the drainage swale alongside the road without looking back.

    Of course, when I burst through our front door, my mom was full of questions. She was still in that state of nervous excitement that possesses her when she conducts an interview. Her yellow interview tablet was still in her hand, as if I was to be her next subject. She was standing near the kitchen table where she and Mr. Geyer had talked over iced tea. I thought of the look on his face, when I nearly knocked him into the dirt as I