Free The Witch by Mary Ann Mitchell

eyes adjusted to the dimness quickly. The wooden stairs were painted white and the banister matched. Before descending the staircase she pushed the door open as wide as it would go.
    The stairs creaked a bit but not as badly as her parents’ basement steps, which were old and half-rotted away. When she reached the bottom, she paused to look back up the stairs and to listen in case Stephen should call. A slight background noise buzzed in her ears, but she couldn’t tell where it came from.
    As soon as she passed the furnace she saw the table with the box Stephen had talked about. Candle wax surrounded the box and the multiple colors brightened the scene. She walked over to the table and touched the hardened wax. A rush of voices echoed in her ears, but no one appeared to be in the room. The voices sounded like a maddened mob calling for an execution, only the words were not easy to understand. The garbled words rang out in the room but from no particular direction.
    Molly spun around, attempting to catch sight of a television or radio that might have been left on. Nothing but the cacophony of reflected panic.
    “Stephen?” she called. Could he be playing a joke on her? she wondered. “Stephen!” Her voice rose into a yell.
    A hiss quieted Molly as she zeroed in on the wooden box. The images on the box flowed, wavelike. A savage dance ringed the box with unattractive beings.
    “The uglies,” she said remembering what Stephen had told her.
    “You’re not supposed to be here,” a muffled voice said.
    She turned and saw the shadow of an animal moving down the stairs. When she caught up with the real being she realized it was Stephen dressed in his costume with the mask fitted tightly over his face.
    “You scared me, Stephen.” Her nervous laugh seemed too high-pitched.
    “Dad said no one should come down here.”
    “I didn’t know that.”
    “Yes you did ‘cause I told you.”
    “I’d forgotten. I came down to see the box you told me about.”
    “If you remembered the box, then you should have remembered the warning.”
    Molly realized the voices had stopped, but she didn’t know whether it had been before or after Stephen entered the basement.
    “Stephen, do you ever hear voices down here?”
    “Go upstairs, Molly. I don’t want to have to tell Dad that I caught you down here.”
    “You’re down here too.” She turned her back on Stephen and lifted the box. “I could have sworn the images were circling the box a few minutes ago.”
    “They’re bound to the box.”
    “By a spell?” she asked, holding the box up to the dim naked bulb that hung from the ceiling.
    “That’s my mother’s box. Put it down.”
    “Your mother doesn’t own anything in this world anymore.” She turned and faced Stephen with the box still in her hands. “Did you inherit the box? Are you supposed to continue your mother’s witchcraft? Did she leave you a book of spells?”
    “Please don’t take the box, Molly. It belonged to my mother.”
    “I’m not a thief, Stephen. I’m simply curious as to what use you could put this box to.”
    Stephen pulled off his mask and walked closer to Molly. When she handed him the box he took a step backward.
    “You’re afraid of the box. Why, Stephen? What kind of power does this box have?”
    “Dad is talking about replacing you with a new babysitter. I like you and don’t want him to do that, but if you don’t put the box down I’m going to report you to Dad.”
    “I bet your father doesn’t even know about this box. He’d be upset if he knew you came down here and played with the box.”
    “I never touch the box, Molly, and you shouldn’t either. Momma knew how to control the uglies; you don’t.”
    Molly squatted down to Stephen’s level.
    “Show me how to use the box, Stephen.”
    He shook his head.
    “The uglies don’t like people.”
    “Did they like your mother?”
    “They did what she told them to do.”
    “And what was that?”
    Stephen shrugged.
    “Did