Free Water Witch by Deborah LeBlanc

goin’ out with Leon and
Mark to hunt for them kids,” Sook said.
    “Already been and come back.” He stuck a hand
in the right front pocket of his pants, pulled out a few dollars,
and dropped them on the table.
    “Any luck?” Angelle asked, releasing my
arm.
    Cherokee shook his head, then the Stetson
slowly turned in my direction. In that moment, Poochie saved me
from further scrutiny.
    “ G-53 !”
    We all turned in time to see Poochie’s
scooter bop over the backdoor threshold like it was a speed
bump.
    “Where the hell you goin’, Pooch?” Vern
called after her.
    “To de pier!” she yelled back.
    “Whoa, hold up!” Sook took off after the old
woman, the bun on her head bobbling as she went, her shorts
flapping around spider-veined legs. “That old pier’s on its last
leg. You’re gonna wind up in the water if you’re not careful!”
    Everyone hurried after Sook, Pork Chop taking
the lead.
    “Jesus,” Angelle said, darting past me. “Does
that woman ever stop?”
    By the time we all made it outside, Sook was
standing near the edge of a dilapidated porch, hanging onto the
rear wheel lip of the scooter, trying to keep Poochie from going
down the rickety-looking pier that butted up against the porch.
“Would you stop already?”
    Poochie waved a hand, motioning towards the
end of the pier. “Go then! Go look. I seen it from out de window in
de storeroom.”
    Without a word, Vern headed down the pier.
Porkchop followed him, as did Mr. Stetson, whose angular face,
black eyes, and high cheekbones were finally revealed in the
sunlight. The rest of us took up the rear.
    When Vern and Pork Chop reached the end of
the pier, Pork Chop let out a low whistle. “Holy shit-eaten
crackers.”
    “What is it?” Angelle asked.
    “Looks like Woodard’s cow,” Vern said. He
glanced back at us. “Stuck ‘tween them pilin’s. The head’s cut
clean off, and it’s gutted like a fish.”
    “How do you know it’s his?” Sook asked.
    “The W brand on the rump.”
    At the end of the onlooker train was Poochie,
and she slapped her hands together. “You see, I tol’ y’all dat man
was cuckoo.”
    I was about to ask Angelle what a preacher
was doing with a cow, when a sharp pain shot through my extra
finger. I bit my bottom lip to hold back a gasp and clutched my
left hand with my right. The finger pushed against my palm as if it
meant to force its way out of the glove and fold over backwards.
I’d never felt such pain from it before. It made me sick to my
stomach. It had pinched when I hunted for water, but this was way
beyond pinching. Not even close. The pain was so excruciating I
could barely draw a breath. I felt sweat trickle down the sides of
my face. Then Angelle’s face entered my line of sight, her eyes
filled with concern. I wanted to say, get me out of here, get me
somewhere else, now. Now! But I was afraid if I opened my mouth, a
scream would fall out.
    “Hey, where’s everybody at?” someone called
from inside the bar.
    “Out here, Beeno,” Sook shouted over her
shoulder.
    A short stocky man dressed in a police
uniform appeared in the doorway. “What’s going on?”
    “Dat tock-uh-lock preacher done cut off his
own cow’s head, dat’s what.” Poochie said.
    Sook admonished her with a tsk. “We don’t
know that Preacher Woodard did this, Pooch.” She looked over at the
cop. “Just a dead cow, Beeno. Vern says it’s carryin’ the Woodard
brand.”
    Pursing his lips, the cop stepped onto the
pier. He acknowledged me with a nod, and I returned it, working
hard to keep a grimace and whimper in check. It felt like someone
was trying to saw my extra finger off with a dull knife. As he drew
closer, the cop asked,“Who’re you?”
    Before I could answer, Sook said, “Look at me
bein’ rude again and not introducin’ a one of y’all.” She waved a
hand in front of her face as though fanning away a fart, then
pointed to me. “That there’s Angelle’s sister, Dunny. She came all
the