Witches

Klara had heard about the Graveyard Website from a friend at the beginning of the lockdown, but she had soon forgotten about it until one day her husband beat her so badly that when she went to the supermarket her mask could not cover all of her face and a cashier made a comment.

The Graveyard Website was bare, presenting on its blank and black frontpage, a form to fill in with her name, a contact number, an address and what her problem was. It is said that the site is administered by Witches that help, free of charge, women who are victims of domestic abuse. Klara was sceptical: everyone knew that Witches did nothing for free. But last night she had felt something break in her body and was not sure she would be able see again from her right eye. So at midnight, after had husband had fallen asleep, she had pressed the SEND button.

Klara had moved to this country with her now husband six years before. It was normal for men in her home country to speak sometimes with their hands when their women used too many words. It was just the way they communicated sometimes. Klara’s husband had not been that bad, otherwise she wouldn’t have married him. It was true that she had tried to leave him twice before their marriage, but they had a small circle of friends in their adoptive country and one of them had always told her not-yet husband where she was hiding.

He didn’t use to be this bad, but he also used to go out for work while now, with the lockdown, he was forced to spend all the time with her. Maybe she was suffocating him and that’s what his fists were trying to say. It is true yesterday she had not cleaned the bathroom as well as she should have, but she was sure that the soup had been as good as always. Maybe he was tired of her food. Maybe she should try something you. Maybe he was bored of her. Maybe.

So tonight she has tried something different, a recipe she has found online, something from their adoptive country. He only eats food from their home country, but maybe that was the problem. She wanted to try something new. The bowl of foreign soup falls from her husband’s hand upside down over her head. She feels it as she imagines lava would feel like. Tentatively she tries to reach the kitchen. Someone, probably her husband, or a moving piece of furniture, trips her over. She lands in the kitchen anyway and manages to get over to the sink. She washes her head under cold water. She can hear her husband laughing. She knows she would get some back into the living room. She takes her time.

His laugh is interrupted by a scream from her husband. When she is able to she enters the living room and sees the Witch. The Witch wears a black mask with a big nose. Her hair is silver, but not the silver of old women, more like the silver of a young, fashionable woman. It is true then, what they say, Witches always appear in the nick of time so their clients, compelled by extreme gratitude, give them more money than their normal fee. She thought it was free of charge, but now she is worried. If it is too expensive her husband will hit her bad.

The Witch has a familiar with her. It’s a black dog, its skin obsidian and so sharp and it cuts when you stroke it. The Witch’s hands bear scars. But she is stroking it anyway as you would a pet. Klara knows that blood or some form of sacrifice is necessary for magic. Nothing is free, after all.

‘Klara,’ the Witch said. That was all she will say for the entirety of her appearance. Her mask has no holes for eyes. Klara nods. The Witch nods back and turns towards Klara’s husband. She takes her mask off, even though Klara never sees her face. It is said one must never look at a Witch’s face: if you are lucky you’ll only go mad. But her husband sees it and he looks scared. Klara smiles and then she gets so scared that she is seen that she hides her smile behind her hands.

The Witch’s blood dances in the air above her open palm. It is almost hypnotic. Then, it is unleashed. It slaps onto her husband’s face. And then again on his torso, his legs, his lap. Now there is new blood and it is all her husband’s. She feels sorry for this man she has spent the last eight years of her life with. ‘Stop,’ she says. ‘Just end it.’ Klara feels stupid when she says it and she doesn’t even know why. The Witch nods, still offering her back to her. And so the Witch ends it.