Fun with the witch.
The Witch of Salem Wood.
They’ve all heard the ghost stories about her. Tonight, they’re going to see for themselves. They have it all planned. They’ve even invited a few other kids in their sixth-grade class — but they’ll probably all be too scared to show up.
Lame.
He’s not scared. He’s with his friends. All six of them are the same age. Eleven. Way too old for chaperones tagging along, ruining their time.
The one exception is the boy at the very back of the bike brigade. The little one, struggling to keep up as they ascend higher and higher up the hill, clicking their gears and standing up on their pedals to keep momentum.
Only a bit farther, now.
“Declan!” The youngest boy calls, his voice breathy with exertion. “Wait for me!”
The older boys laugh and keep pedaling.
Onward, upward.
“Dec!” The youngster tries again as they hit the midway point. The reflective panels of his costume catch the streetlights with each pedal-turn. “Please!”
“Go home, you baby!” His brother’s voice carries back from a long distance. “You’re not supposed to be here anyway!”
“But I want to come with you!”
“Tough!”
“I want to see the witch!”
The older boy finally stops riding to look back. His face is annoyed. His friends are leaving without him. “You can’t come, Rory. You’ll be too scared.”
“I will not!”
“Will too,” the older boy counters. “You’ll start crying and screaming. Then, she’ll steal your soul away, just like the legend says!”
“Nuh-uh!” the little boy cries, but his voice is less certain. “I can be quiet.”
The older boy shakes his head. “You’re too much of a scaredy cat.”
“I’m telling Mom you called me names! And that you went to the woods, even though you’re not supposed to!”
“Fine! Whatever. Tattle like you always do, you big blabbermouth. You still aren’t coming.”
“But, Dec?—”
The older brother glares at the younger harshly enough to cut off his protests. “Don’t you get it, dummy? No one wants you here. Go back down the hill to the chaperones. And do me a favor: find your own friends.”
With that, the older brother turns his back, grips his handlebars tightly, and starts pedaling again. Up the hill, into the dark. He doesn’t look back. He doesn’t see the determined set to the younger boy’s shoulders as he fixes his eyes on the top of the hill. And he doesn’t hear the words that drift into the night.
“I’m not a scaredy cat. He’ll see. They’ll all see. I’ll prove it to them.”
The vision changed, morphed into something new. It was the same night, but darker. Later. And the boys were no longer on the streets, but deep in the woods.
The boy holds the flashlight under his chin, casting the planes of his face in ghostly yellow light. He affects a deep warble as he tells his tale, trying his hardest to instill fear in the hearts of the small group who’ve gathered in the deepest stretch of the woods.
He’s determined to impress his crush. He didn’t think she would show up, but there she is, sandwiched between two of her friends on the hollow log, looking cuter than ever in a neon pink wig. He doesn’t know what her costume is, and he’s too nervous to ask.
He wants her to think he’s cool.