He didn’t stop until he reached his front door, his mind racing. The pieces were starting to fall into place. There was no way the old woman was just some quirky neighbor. Witches don’t exist—he kept telling himself that, but the strange hair, the ritualistic items, the curses… James was no longer so sure of his beliefs.
Despite everything in him telling him to drop it, James couldn’t escape the feeling that the old woman really was a witch. He tried to reason with himself—witches weren’t real, right? But each strange thing he’d seen, each whispered tale from the other kids, chipped away at his skepticism. What if they were right?