The Seaside Witch

part one

Once Upon A Time

The Seaside Witch sits on the decrepit porch swing roasting marshmallows over a fire. Neither her nor the porch swing are where they’re intended. The wooden swing no longer welcomes the town at the facade of the house. Instead it stands- on it’s last legs- by the weathered shack that was once a garage addition. 

The swing’s hinges creak in the overgrown backyard. Hidden in an alleyway. So hidden that no human can quite find it. The alleyway leads to more alleyways. A labyrinth of weeds, gravel, and stucco walls. 

The Seaside Witch is nowhere near the sea. 

She has a penchant for solitude and marshmallows. A talent for skewering the soft cylinders. Impaling them with a force somehow both delicate and blunt. Subjecting them to the merciless heat. The orbs of sugar encompassing her, but unable to penetrate the bitterness within. 

The marshmallow root is a water herb, meant to soothe and form a protective layer. But she is desperate to dissipate the overpowering scent of the sea that creeps up on her during the night. So she burns one after the other, chuckling to herself- knowing that patience was never her strong suit.

Her legs, like a ballet dancer from tip-toeing around her collapsing residence, don’t dangle freely. The swing practically touches the ground. It is barely visible from the alleyway. A large green tree, with spots of bare branches that hang like claws, covers where she sits. She is safest roasting here. 

An old stone outdoor fireplace is built into the wall that separates the alleyway. A cage atop the hearth was designed to prevent hazards and intrusions. However, the cage is oxidized and the wall is short, so The Seaside Witch creates her fire without the help of the foundation. Her instincts tell her not to trust it. 

They tell her to avoid the pathway from the swing to the broken garden gate. The edges sharp due to chains without links. Similar to The Seaside Witch, with a pervasive feeling of disconnectedness. It’s gaping hole another flaw in the barrier. She only goes near the wall when her unknown need arises.

Her unknown need to enter the shed…

Tonight she will go to the shed early. The marshmallow supply is running low so she must ration. They were once easy to conjure- especially in the months after stumbling upon the back house that cast long shadows. She found solace in the darkness, practicing her magic with an ease she rarely experienced. Becoming more ethereal and enigmatic- a true witch. 

But as time passed, her magic waned. Her flowing white dress tattered; catching on the deteriorating floorboards of her new home- and darkened; muddied by the yard sinking deeper into the earth. She was once again the witch lacking grace and confidence. 

So only a small bucket of goo to char, then to the shed, then inside to the piano where she will play until she grows tired. The Seaside Witch drowns out the sound of the waves, the echos of her failures, in order to sleep.

Recently, the waves seemed closer and more abrupt. Thus, her eerie lullaby played louder. Frantic. A tune that would make her Siren cousins cringe.

Yet, like her distance relatives, her tune did lure a human to the island amongst the alleyways. 

…

The Human had been searching for The Seaside Witch. Ever since smoke began drifting past their window each night from an unknown source. The vague smell eventually so distinct, that a memory of making s'mores over a campfire washed over The Human.

Tales of The Witches were often told around campfires in their town. The town that was once a short way to the ocean, but now much longer with highways and traffic. The Human was fond of going to the shoreline to view it at a distance. Never close enough to get wet. 

They were even more fond of The Witch rumors. Their desire to see a Witch for themselves became an obsession. An obsession that intensified when the sound of a piano started to accompany the scent of campfire. The Human wandered the alleyways at night- tracking the smoke and the melody. 

Tonight, The Human notices a yard they’ve unknowingly passed thousands of times. The world stops  spinning and the light from the full moon reveals a short concrete wall. An outdoor fireplace, with mysterious red marks on the stones, makes the Human’s heart race.

A fractured gate appears, through which they can see rusted poles. The Human’s gaze follows chains connected to these poles. Linked to a swaying swing with no one upon it. 

…

The Seaside Witch hunches in the shed. A breeze drifts in from the gaps in the roof- two slabs of splintered birch that concave. The breeze is warm, not the cool chill of the autumn night. It is breath. Breath of a human.

The swing she just left stops creaking and the fire’s crackle dwindles to a dull simmer. She hears footsteps in the alleyway gravel.

When she senses the prying eyes peering into the shed, she reacts on emotion- a habit that has previously led her to trouble. But she’d rather face The Human than expose the most vulnerable facet of her hidden realm. She’s a capable pretender. 

The Seaside Witch exits the shed and marches through the scattered debris, her stare fixed straight ahead. The Human mirrors her steps, walking in parallel, as if they’re strolling side by side.

The Human halts at the broken garden gate, catching The Seaside Witch off guard. She had anticipated meeting them at the barnyard entrance, the red doorway she presumes the previous owners had utilized, near the flourishing lemon and lime tree. Not amidst the lifeless stalks bent over in deformity.

A faint murmur of dripping water as moisture saturates the dry air.

The two different entities face one another, between the narrow gap in the barrier.

Big eyes, The Seaside Witch observes. So big, they appear capable of recognition. It’s no wonder she felt naked in the shed when they arrived. Studying The Human, evidence of another presence, brings an energy to The Seaside Witch. Little forces of charged particles…

A soft thud.

She stiffens. As if the backpack that was just hurled over the wall contains the weight of her social anxieties. The Seaside Witch detects a metaphorical burden the Human carries, as well. Her sorcery allowing her to taste their turmoil as she moves closer to the bag.

It’s snatched up before she can touch. She’s impressed that The Human squeezed through the gate without a scratch. Shocked that they seem impressed by her and her habitat. Even charmed, when they remove a bag of marshmallows from their backpack. 

The Seaside Witch and The Human smile slightly past one another. Time and the world remain paused. No shift in the moon nor the shadows. A stillness blanketing them.

The Seaside Witch motions for the Human to join her at the porch swing. It groans under her light pressure, even though a porch swing is meant for two.

“It’s can’t hold us both.”

The voice so confident, she wonders if The Human can read her mind.

“A porch swing is meant for-”

“This isn’t a porch swing.” The Human traces the poles with their durable hands. 
“A porch swing doesn’t come with poles because it hangs from the roof of the porch.”

A pang of sadness strikes The Seaside Witch, alone in her misplacement.

“And it does not come with single swing beside it. Seems a swing set.”

The Human pushes a singular swing, with its own set of chains next to the bench swing. A shiver runs down the spine of the Seaside Witch. She had never seen the child-sized seat before; it’s squeak now roaring in her ears.

A break in the chain.
She begins to fall face first toward the ashes of her fire.

The Human catches her, guiding her away from the area. 
“Why don’t we use the outdoor fireplace?”

She cannot mask her trepidation from the Human, who pulls out a contraption from their hiking backpack. How far had they traveled to find her?

She watches the Human intently as they fold out a chair.
“No one will detect the smoke. It’s all paused.”

The Seaside Witch looks to the moon to check that the universe, indeed, is still on hold. The Human sets the chair by the fireplace and opens the bag of marshmallows. She doesn’t know the last time she sat on a chair that appeared so comfortable. Or smelled marshmallows so sugary. 

So she sits, at the request of The Human, who glides a marshmallow on a skewer with tact. 

“Did you bring a chair for yourself?”

“I’m fine here.”

The Human rests on a pile of dried leaves. They let out an “ah” in relief. But The Seaside Witch notes their discomfort- while she is able to hide her own, swallowed by the unfamiliar chair.

“It was your piano-playing.” The Human speaks gently, as they rotate their skewer. 
“That led me to you. You play beautifully. Ethereal.”

The Seaside Witch blushes, unintentionally mimicking The Human with the slow rotation of her skewer.

“You’re exactly what I pictured.”
The Human eyes The Seaside Witch, who’s dress appears whiter and less worn. 

When the Human retrieves their marshmallow, so does The Witch. Golden. A perfect taste as it melts in her mouth. The smoke around them sweet, with no acrid undertones.

Sixteen marshmallows later, and it’s as if the beach is across the alleyway. Salty air, a chill that could only come from an ocean, and a bit of sand between her toes. The Human inhales.

“You smell it too?”

“Of course.” 

The Seaside Witch knows the Human lies- her magic now easier to access. She rises from the chair- this is not where she belongs. But memories of the past that come with the sea keep her from forward motion. Pressure in her chest surges to her throat.

The Human stands.
“I can help you get to the sea.”

“What makes you think I need to go there?”

“Is that not where your family resides?”

“Not the family you’re thinking of.” 

The Seaside Witch stares into the big eyes with such force, that The Human questions the very belief they’ve held for years.
“I know you think me a witch.”

The Human shakes their head but The Seaside Witch does not let them speak.

“But I am merely a runaway. No one seems to look my way. I’ve seen you pass this house, but why take notice of something so ugly? My piano playing is not ethereal, it is out of tune. And I know that the swing once stood on the porch because this house has been passed down through generations of my family.”

This last fabrication she says with a conviction that she did not expect.

The Human’s familiar with the choppy piano-playing. And that they have passed this house before. Had their obsession skewed their reality? If this was all for nothing…

Their warm hand grabs the Seaside Witches’. The Human holds it with a firmness that releases the tension. The moon moves, the world spins. 
“Let me help you find your family. I have everything we need.” 

…

With the moon drifting behind clouds, in the murkiness of alleyways, only the silhouette of The Seaside Witch and The Human is visible. The Witch’s long dark hair tangled, the heavy wind covering her face.

The Human leads them through the maze with diligence. While the Seaside Witch trudges, The Human scarcely makes a noise with each movement. 

A bat swoops an inch above their heads.
A screech from The Seaside Witch, then The Human hand over her mouth. 

It's as if The Human possesses hyper-awareness of every potential threat, instilling a sense of safety in The Seaside Witch. She had completely lost her composure (that which she had left) when they departed from her temporary residence. 

She had gone into the back house and packed a bag to maintain her runaway narrative. Her hands stick to the handle of the leather suitcase. The Human’s marshmallows cemented on her, and resting uneasily in the pit of her stomach.

The Seaside Witch regards the clean fingers of The Human, which trace their worn map. They set down their backpack, as they reach a fork in the alleyways.

In attempts to assuage her feeling of uselessness, The Seaside Witch lifts the backpack. Only for her skinny arms to drop it.

A hard thud that sends vibrations through the ground.

A scowl from The Human as they quickly grab their bag then choose a direction. The right direction because the crashing waves become more prominent.

Trembling with panic, The Seaside Witch pauses as The Human continues. She stares at the hiking bag, and remembers the fold-out chair still in front of the fireplace when she came out of the back house with her suitcase. The Human, already packed, had immediately helped her over the short wall.

The Seaside Witch takes a deep breath of the sea, letting in her element. Her teeth clench, she pushes her hair out of her face, and her eyes-turning to the color of the water at dusk- narrow. 

The Human is skilled at tracking for a reason. And they had gone into her shed. 

to be continued…

preview:

Once Upon a Time Before This Time

Their arrival existed without a known departure. The Seaside Witch, like the rest of her tribe, was unaware of how they came to be. She was the second youngest and the smallest. The one who felt she was still on a boat to her destination- perhaps never meant to anchor here.