She continued, explaining that she had once lived in one of the houses on the street with her husband. “But when he died, my children took everything—the house, the money—and left me here,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with sadness. “This shed is all I have now.”
James listened in silence as she explained the reasons behind the odd things he had witnessed. The sigils he had seen on the ground were just chalk marks to keep ants away. The hair she collected was for keeping raccoons out of her yard. With each explanation, James’s fear faded, replaced by empathy. The woman wasn’t a witch; she was just a lonely, poor old woman trying to make do in a world that had turned its back on her.