The alarm clock wakes me on the third ring. That means it is exactly six o’clock in the morning. I have a real alarm clock by the way. Not the one on my phone. Those aren’t very reliable. The one I have is old school; it has two sticks and numbers on it.
The clock was a gift from my grandmother. She believes that a good Christian should always be on time like our lord and savior. It’s not a magic clock, but it means something to me and that makes it magical.
I lift my arms over my head to stretch. As I turn to swing out of bed, I feel something sharp and heavy coming out of my head. The shock is paralyzing. I’m completely still as blood drips down my face like tears. I cannot breathe or move an inch. The prickles, one by one, pierce through my cheek. All I can do is scream as I grip the sheet in horror.
My vanity mirror across from my bed confirms my Mother’s intuition was right. Those dirty witches casted the thorn spell on me last night. There is no shadow of a doubt in my mind that the Raven sisters are the coven responsible for the trail of darkness haunting the east coast.
Shane, my little brother, pushes in my door with a slice of toast hanging from his mouth; his jaw drops down into Lucifer’s chambers, revealing his chewed up breakfast. What is left of the bread slice falls to the floor in slow motion.
“Julie!” He shouts in a disturbed voice.
My own flesh and blood is too frightened to come near me, so I pull the comforter over my head in shame. I am certain he is going to take this opportunity to rub it in, because I know I’m the one to blame for believing I could be friends with Draila. I should have listened to Mom. After all, Mother’s always know best. I grab my blanket and pull it close to my chest and weep. I would rather go back to sleep and never wake up ever again than live another second through this pain.
It doesn’t take long before I snap out of feeling sorry for myself, I quickly decide to jump out of my bedroom window and sneak next door. Although I may look like a freak, I’m going to get my revenge and break the spell. That’s much more satisfying than just giving up. I overheard my parents talking about a potion that can reverse the black magic.
When I see Draila, I cannot promise that I won’t yell. If she doesn’t tell me the truth, I will have to use my Dad’s witch blade to cut it out of her instead. I have no remorse for a brute bloodline of savages. Actually, I take that back. Wait, no I don’t. They deserve to suffer, even Draila. I never should have trusted her and those devious orphans.
I approach the side of the house and hide behind a bush with purple flowers. There’s a downstairs window directly above, so I rise up a bit to get a peep.
The cutest bumblebees are all over the walls, and Rita is writing in her yellow, fuzzy diary on the off white bean bag chair in the corner. At least these witch parents seem to love their adopted daughters by the looks of this room.
Though Rita’s environment is welcoming, her vibrations are very low by the dimness in her usual light. Her shoulders are also quite sunken to the ground. While I begin to rise up to reveal my face, Flora storms into the bedroom. Her presence is as dark as coal. I can’t make out the words from their conversation, but it’s obvious Rita is walking on egg shells around her own sister during this negatively intense interaction.
Based on my calculations, it’s probably not a good idea to interrupt, so I make my way around to the other side of the house to Draila’s window. It’s on the second floor, so I climb up the tree. I swing on the branch a few times to get some momentum, and then I break the glass with my feet.
The land was tough, but I’m still alive. I brush off my pants, stand up, and turn around. Draila is lying on top of her perfectly made bed. Her body is concerningly still and pale. I rush over to her and pick up her hand; they’re cold as ice. She must be dead. I reach for the witch blade and head out of the door and into the hallway. I creep downstairs and wait outside of Rita’s room.
Flora comes strolling out of the bedroom with such arrogance. It’s about time someone put an end to that girl thinking she’s in control of everything. What kind of person kills her own sister anyway? She deserves exactly what is about to come next.
Flora doesn’t appear to be phased or shocked to see me at all. This girl is a psycho. She just places her hand on her hip and says with a sassy tone.
“You look a mess Julie. What happened?”
With great rage, I run towards her with my Father’s blade and jam it right into the center of her chest and twist it. It felt good for a split second to wipe that smirk off of her face. Flora crumbles, and her eyes slowly close. I let go and cover my nose with my hands in disbelief of what I had done.
Rita hurries out of the room and cries on top of her dying sister. Her voice cracks as her heart breaks in pieces; her light goes from dim to black.
“No! No! Flora, you can’t die! If you leave us, we’ll lose Draila forever. Wake up!”
Author’s note: To read part one, click the link below.