The Seaside Witch

part two

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. 

The tribe often danced across the rocks in the middle of the sea, fluid like the flow of the water. But the second youngest Seaside Witch, with flat feet, uneven legs, and impatience-  practically stomped along the rocks.

She didn’t blend with the sea, instead reacting like fire. Her magic came in brief, potent bursts that dazzled the others. The petite Seaside Witch was predicted to emerge as a leader. Her acute awareness of her surroundings benefitted the tribe that wished to stay hidden. 

However, fire can spread far- burning wildly. The Seaside Witch harbored emotions as vast and uncharted as the ocean floor. A bit of anger could cause her magic to go haywire. And while water never stops moving, fire extinguishes. 

When The Seaside Witch was under stress, she froze- as though her magic extinguished. As if all of her hard work and talent escaped. As if she was human. 

“Curious as a human,” they would say of The Seaside Witch who asked too many questions. Her keen senses no longer useful, as it led her in multiple directions without focus. Unable to bathe under the moon in a silent night without wondering how the moon came to be.

Then she began to wonder how she came to be. The Eldest of the tribe wouldn’t answer her inquiries. “A witch accepts the present moment.”  Her constant overthinking led her further into isolation, fueling the anxiety she felt around The Witches. 

…

As an important annual testing approached, The Seaside Witch tried to put her curiosity to the side. The tribe needed a member to control the ocean; as this past year, they spotted more humans than usual in the distance. A ship that nearly found their rock, a car that showed up along the shoreline. 

The job of observing and of creating strong, choppy waves was fit for The Seaside Witch. She wanted it, which evoked a crushing pressure she placed on herself. The Eldest Witch gave her mallow root to soothe her nerves, but the herb could not cure the virus embedded in her mind.

Thunder signified the start of the test. She waded into the water, as precedent, in a haze. The next thing she remembers is the salt water filling her lungs.

Across town, another test took the place in the earthy ground. The Human fit into their tribe from a young age. Fluid and silent as they moved, blending into their terrain. Controlled. Attentive, never asking questions. Curious enough to discover new land, but focused. 

The Human passed the test on the day of their sixteenth birthday. Their father watched, with pride. A father dead in ten years time, of an unknown illness, leading the Human to a curiosity as incessant as the Seaside Witch’s. 

The Witch’s annual water test, led The Seaside Witch to question her identity. 
The hunting licensing test led The Human to cement the identity they were born into.

Back to Once Upon This Time

The Seaside Witch walks the rocks in the middle of the sea. She had told The Human that she couldn’t recall the location of her home. The Human suggested they look from the high rocks, where the moon shone brightest. Both knew this was not the reason.

The Human watches The Seaside Witch, her outstretched hand carrying an antique lantern. She must be, they think. Yet she wobbles as she walks, seems unnatural in the environment, and cannot carry a tune. An eerie whistling that floats into the night. 

The Human needed to be certain; they held their morals in high regard. A target had to be a worthy prey. As the target stands at the precipice of the tallest rock, the Human extracts the cinderblock from their backpack.

Their initial plan had involved the fallen rocks they had observed along the winding road above the beach. But there was something poetic about using the cinderblock from her shed.

As the Seaside Witch gazes out upon the deep water, memories of her last time here rush back. 

Lost in the the ocean; so heavy with expectations and fear of failure, that she felt physically heavy. Her legs, strong as a ballet-dancer (or as a Seaside Witch with flat feet,) kicked beneath the surface, weakening as The Witches watched her with anticipation.

The Human sees The Seaside Witch bow her head in sorrow. With expert precision, they tie the rope to the cinderblock, their focus unyielding until a shattering crash and sudden shadows.

Just as The Seaside Witch dropped her lantern, the moon disappeared behind a veil of clouds. She was possessed by what happened to her that day of the test, succumbing to the waves once again. Choking. Falling below the surface repeatedly. An entire hour before the Eldest came to her rescue. 

For who could have known it was possible for a Seaside Witch to drown. 

…

The Seaside Witch continues to whistle to avoid the approaching steps of The Human.

She allows the rope to constrict around her, more prepared to embrace the water than she had been years ago. 

The Human was determined to discern her essence, and so was she, her hunger for answers insatiable. The Seaside Witch needed to know if her destination was down the alleyway from her predator or on the coast.

She sinks to the bottom, the cinderblock settling into the ocean floor as if it belonged there. Plants of the sea swirl around her suspended body. Her eyes open. She is able to make out shapes miles away and hear sounds from the land, where The Human paces.

Big eyes peer downward.  A flashlight illuminates her hair and dress, floating gracefully in the ocean's depths. The Human thinks she looks more beautiful than ever. If she were truly a witch, she should have surfaced by now. But they will wait- they do not want to get wet. 

The Seaside Witch’s stomach cramps from The Human’s marshmallows. Anger- first at herself for eating them, then at The Human for bringing the artificial substance to her in the first place. Her anger grows as she contemplates The Human’s persistent insistence to help. The same person who now stands by as she drowns.

A cold wave crashes over the rocks as The Seaside Witch jolts to the surface. The Human smiles, despite being drenched, glad to lay blame on a confirmed witch. However, while they dig into their backpack for the inherited weapon, the woman sinks once more.

Moments later The Seaside Witch reemerges with a cough that sends ripples across the horizon. When she vanishes, again, The Human is torn. They’ve always categorized their targets- definitive tracks left by each one, a certain weapon depending on their size.

It doesn't occur to The Human that their current target is a Seaside Witch who has forgotten how to swim. Nevertheless, the fact she isn’t their expectation of a witch nor a human is enough. 

They can sleep peacefully if the entity dies from the water, not by their hand. After all, she ate their marshmallows and followed them to the sea. She kept a cinderblock in her shed.

So like all of their ancestors , The Human walks away. 

The Seaside Witch had given The Human access to her deepest secret and they used it against her. She never understood the lure of the cinderblock, why she felt compelled to meditate over it in the shed each night. She only knew that it brought her a sense of pain she had grown attached to, one she believed she deserved.

As she goes longer without air, answers come to her in a flash. 
Then everything goes dark. 

…

The Seaside Witch wakes, in a daze, laid down on the hard surface. Bare feet come into focus.

A strike of lightning pierces the rocks. 

“Breathe” the Eldest Seaside Witch whispers.

The tribe stands over her with concern. The Seaside Witch sits up and hugs her naked body, the coming of dawn revealing her tender form. A cloak is placed around her shoulders. She remembers The Human laying out a chair for her, and rips off the cloak. The tiniest Seaside Witch will not be coddled.

Another flash of lightning.

“Am I doing that?” The Seaside Witch looks around, at the cracks in the rock created by strikes of lightning. Then up to the tribe, who nods. The Eldest bends down to meet her eyes. 

“Do you know what lightning on water creates? A shock wave.”

“That’s how we found you,” the Youngest Seaside Witch chimes in, impressed.

The Seaside Witch takes the Eldest’s hand to stand. 

With the black gauze cloak draped around her, and a crown of nympheas resting upon her head, she walks toward the shore. The deep cherry- red petals of her crown glow in the rising sun. The Seaside Witch wobbles a bit as she leads a fleet of gliding women in white dresses.

They glare at the road where that one car always passes. A wicked wave crashes behind them, and the tribe of Seaside Witches follows The Human’s footprints in the sand. 

The Hunter has become the prey.

Epilogue That is Also a Prologue

The Seaside Witch never told the tribe what she saw in the flash before she nearly drowned. She only grasped the memory, herself, whenever she dove to the bottom of the sea to observe the cinderblock. The one now tethered to the decaying leg of The Human.

It turns out, The Seaside Witch was not wrong to feel a connection between her and The Human. She was also not wrong about the swing belonging on the porch.

The Human’s very great grandfather- the exact number of ‘great’s’ uncertain to her, frequently passed the house with the fine wooden porch swing. He nodded in approval at the Mother who sat with her two daughters.

The porch swing had recently been invented as a symbol of community, like an invitation to neighbors. But the Human’s very grandfather never approached due to the air of unease that came with the family.

Restlessness and unease were ever-present in the neighborhood at the time. A disease afflicted many, the weather was unpredictable, and the nearby ocean seemed to be encroaching on the land. The Human’s ancestors’ house stood between the sea and the forest, on the boundary of water and earth. Prone to both fire and flood in severe conditions. 

The Human's very great family was prepared to move when the wife fell ill, the same sickness that had claimed the life of a child living next to the family with the porch swing. It would take several more lives over the next few months.

While caring for his beloved, the Very Great Grandfather looked out to shore, where he often saw that Mother and her two girls strolling along the water’s edge.

…

They walked the beach at the Mother’s insistence, as she believed the fresh salt air would ward off the sickness. Sometimes, she led her daughters to the forest to collect herbs that improved immunity. 

The girls watched their mother craft concoctions in their cluttered kitchen. They planted seeds in the fertile garden of the yard. At night they lit the outdoor fireplace with the concoctions, in hopes of banishing the illness from the neighborhood.

The family with the porch swing was not supernatural, but held a profound connection to nature and put their faith in the spiritual realm. The Mother’s intuition kept them safe. As the illness spread, her interest in natural remedies deepened.

She began to meet with other mothers in the neighborhood who shared similar beliefs and a desperation to protect their children.

They would gather at night in order to feed the outdoor fireplace with their collected herbs and spices. The neighbors who closed their windows to avoid the odd-smelling smoke soon found themselves falling ill, while the families who fueled the fire remained healthy.

It was easy to question those Mothers, especially when their children played around the porch swing during those late nights. Neighbors heard children’s laughter at ungodly hours, and ridiculed their mystical Mother.

The oldest of the children, the firstborn in the family with the porch swing, heard the closing of the windows and felt the judging eyes of the neighbors. She was suspicious when a few of the late-night children came to her porch, without their Mothers- claiming they had disappeared. 

When her Mother moved the porch swing to the backyard, attaching it to poles she forced into the ground in a fury, the oldest girl knew something was off. Their family spent more time in the backyard, and her Mother cleared out the garage addition for them to sleep in.

The once exuberant younger sister suffered in their isolation. So the Mother built her a swing that she could soar high on, and see above the wall surrounding their yard. Meanwhile, the older sister could sprawl on the bench swing in the stillness she preferred. 

…

It was a night with a full moon when the girls found themselves on the swings. The back house was too hot, and the Mother’s piano-playing mirrored her erratic state of mind.

Creaking hinges seemed to harmonize with the piano, as the younger girl pushed hard against the ground. She wanted to reach the full moon, a world far from the one suffocating them. 

A sharp snap. 

The single swing broke, midair, sending the young girl across the garden. She landed at the outdoor fireplace, her blood splattering the stones. 

A scream that couldn’t be heard over the piano erupted from the older girl. She ran to her sister, who still had a pulse.

The oldest knocked on every entrance of the back house, each one locked in her Mother’s paranoia. Her Mother had told her to never light the fire again, but she had no choice.

She lit the fire, then held her sister.

Neighbors arrived, but before she could ask for help, the Human’s very great grandfather swung an axe at the garden gate. One man jumped the wall and two others entered through the barnyard door with cinderblocks. 

The Human’s Very Grandfather took out a map with certain houses marked. He shook his head and turned to his comrades. 
“We haven’t been here yet.”

The Very Grandfather scanned her with his large eyes.
“She’s lying. I’ve seen them upon the shore outside my home. Right when my wife fell ill. And in the forest, just before the wildfire.”

His thumb pressed hard into the map that marked the girl’s house, creating a hole. The map that would be passed down to The Human one day, who was particularly curious about what was supposed to be in that gap.

The oldest girl had wobbly, uneven legs but was quick on her feet. 
“My Mother vanished after the fire. She was concerned about my… powers.” 

Ironically, it was her lack of powers that made her tell this lie. Her Mother may be able to heal her sister, but she could not. 

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”
She was only fifteen.
“I will fuel the fire until it burns us all if you don’t get off my property.”

As if she spoke it into existence, a flame burst forth from the outdoor fireplace.

“Take her now! Put down the cinderblock, we just need one.”

…

So the men led her to the sea. The Human’s ancestor tied a rope around the same girl his very great grandchild would tie a rope to decades later. But at this point, she was a human too. She sank to the bottom quickly, dragged by the cinderblock. 

The men waited with bated breath for her to rise to the surface. One man nearly dove in to save her, but the Human’s ancestor stopped him. 

“She said, herself, that she had powers. If she doesn’t, then that is her own doing.”

“We cannot have another death on our hands.”

The Human’s ancestor spat at the nervous man. 
“Each death brings us closer to the culprit. None did not get what they deserved, worshipping nature and spirits while we go to the churchyard to bury our neighbors. And if we save them…”

They looked at one another- all too cowardly to rescue someone they had accidentally drowned. None of them wanting to get wet.

So they left.

In twenty-four hours the girl would surface with no memory. Greeted by women in white dresses who appeared vaguely familiar. Each of them unknowingly drowned as a human. Then coming back to life with a newfound power.

It was in the Humans’ hunt, that they actually brought the entities into existence.

Each time they walked away, they added to the tribe of Seaside Witches.