For two years, since the divorce, he’d grown used to his mom’s steady presence, the stability she brought. But the weekend visits with his dad always felt different—he missed the adventures, the moments together. Tonight, however, the sadness was muffled by the oddity of the shed.
“James, you okay?” his mom asked, her voice laced with concern. She placed a hand on his, but he barely noticed. After a moment, he sighed and looked up, his words tumbling out in a rush. “Mom, there’s this woman… she lives in a shed down the street. I think she might be a witch. The kids say she does all these weird things…”