The Witch is Back

Chapter Twelve




“Come again?” Jasmine asked, raising her eyebrow skeptically.

“The Witch in the Woods isn’t just some folktale,” Colette repeated. “She’s real.”

“What is the story of the Witch in the Woods, Colette?” I asked her gently.

By now, we were in line at the cafeteria and loading up our plates with chicken fingers and fries. Momentarily distracted by our food, Colette waited until we were seated again to ply us with the details.

“Moll Brenner was seventeen when Brighton first opened its doors in 1864. Of course, back then things weren’t as extravagant as they are now. Like I said the other day, the grounds themselves change every year to reflect advances in technology, pop culture, and, of course, magic. But in 1864, it was just a simple structure that met the needs of the witches who stayed here that first summer.

“Still, the bare necessities didn’t stop witches from wanting to come. The owners, Mr. and Mrs. Klenderston, were selective about attendees, even back then. That first year, there were only thirteen boys and thirteen girls found worthy enough to get an invitation. Each was picked based on their lineage, magical abilities, and natural talents. Moll Brenner was one of those lucky enough to be picked.”

Colette paused as if she were remembering what it must have been like for Moll to be asked to attend the exclusive camp in its inaugural year. She was probably just as excited as Colette was the first time she’d been invited. Only, from the look on her face, this story didn’t end as happily.

“At first she was excited about going, but when she got there, she didn’t really fit in with the other kids. She had wild hair and was sorta awkward and sometimes talked to herself. Kids thought she was dirty, even though she bathed regularly. Moll didn’t care about the other campers though, and preferred to spend her time walking through the woods alone to making friends. This, and the fact that she was an incredibly talented witch, made her an easy target for bullying. It didn’t take the others long to start harassing her.

“The campers would cast spells to trip her when she walked by. They claimed she was into black magic and even started rumors that she had funky diseases, so that people would stay far away from her. She became a pariah, and pretty soon, even the counselors stopped being friendly to her. Moll tried not to let any of it bother her, but this only seemed to make the others more aggressive in their taunting.”

Colette’s face scrunched up in anger. I couldn’t help but sympathize with Moll, too. Only, I wasn’t sure what this had to do with the present situation.

“One night, about halfway through the camp session, a group of kids who really seemed to have it in for Moll woke her up in the middle of the night and convinced her to go with them to a secret place where they would initiate her into their group. They explained that they’d been hard on her because they needed to know if she was strong enough to be one of them. Nobody knows why she agreed to go. Moll was a smart girl; she had to have known they were up to something. But whatever the reason, she went along.

“They blindfolded her and took her out into the woods. After a half hour they stopped walking and instructed her to keep her blindfold on as they set up the site for the initiation ceremony. They sat her down on a big rock nearby and left her to wait by herself.

“Of course the campers had no intention of letting her be one of them. Once they sat Moll down, they all crept away and then raced back to the lodge. By the time Moll realized that they’d lied, she was totally lost. Because of the blindfold, she had no idea which direction to go in and despite all the times she’d wandered in the woods before, nothing looked familiar to her anymore.”

Colette stopped talking then, picking up a french fry and dipping it into the bright red ketchup before placing it in her mouth. The rest of us were sitting around her, waiting for her to continue, completely caught up in the hell that Moll had experienced.

“Well? What happened to Moll?” Sascha asked, finally.

“They never saw her again,” Colette said sadly. “When she didn’t show up for classes the next day, the counselors started asking questions. And when she was still gone at dinnertime, the kids who’d led her into the woods finally admitted what they’d done. The counselors called a search to try to find her, but it was as if she’d just disappeared. They eventually found the large rock that Moll had been sitting on when the others had left her, but she was no longer there. There was something left behind though, something that proved Moll had indeed been there. Two distinct handprints in the rock, like they’d been burned into the solid surface.

“They nearly closed Brighton for good after that, but the owners decided that with a slew of new counselors and magical safety precautions in place, there shouldn’t be another tragedy like they’d had with Moll,” Colette said. “And there hasn’t been.”

We sat there quietly, wondering what it would be like to be left all alone like that. For a while, none of us spoke. We had no idea what to say.

“If Moll was at camp in 1864, then she’d be around 115 today if she even survived that night,” I asked gently. “So why do people still think it’s her that’s doing this?”

“Weird stuff has happened around here since then. Flickering lights, whispers, shadows appearing out of nowhere. Things have been stolen from rooms, odd messages have been left in unusual places. The adults all explain it away, but it’s pretty clear that it’s Moll. I mean, the same things wouldn’t still be happening now if it were just campers pulling pranks.”

“So, you think she’s haunting the woods, trying to get back at those who did that to her? Like . . . as a ghost?” I asked, trying to put the pieces together.

“Well, yeah. But not getting back at them per se. After all, she never really hurts anyone,” Colette said, appearing to be working through her thoughts as she talked. “Maybe she’s just making sure nobody forgets about her.”

“Moll’s a ghost,” I said, rolling the words over my tongue to see how they felt. It would make sense as to why the adults wouldn’t want us wandering into the woods alone. And the Cleri had seen the ghosts of our ancestors during our fight against Samuel, so the idea wasn’t entirely impossible. Only, this situation was slightly different. No one was calling on Moll, she was sort of just stuck here.


As crazy as it sounded, I could tell we all believed what Colette was saying. We knew what it was like to have what others figured was an “urban legend” suddenly prove to be real. The most dangerous thing we could do now would be to ignore the possibility completely.

“With weak-ass pranks like that, girl’s never gonna get the recognition she wants,” Jasmine said, finally, breaking through our thoughts. We all gave her a look, which elicited her signature eye-roll. “All I’m saying is if you don’t like the way you’re being treated, do something about it. If Moll wants us to know she’s still out there, ghost girl needs to step it up a bit. Go big or go home.”

I turned this all over in my head. If I were in Moll’s shoes, would I want to stick around a world that had betrayed me? Punish those who were responsible for my unhappiness? Or fight fate instead of moving on peacefully?

In the end, there was no good answer. I just hoped I wouldn’t have to find out for myself.



Asher didn’t come to lunch.

Neither did Brooklyn.

I didn’t want to assume they were somewhere together, but I knew it was possible. After all, I’d given him the green light to clear things up with her in the first place, so I couldn’t really be surprised when he followed through.

Even if I’d agreed on it before Brooklyn had made it clear that we were not going to be friends.

Like, ever.

Although Colette’s story of the Witch in the Woods had kept me sufficiently distracted for the first part of lunch, it hadn’t taken me long before I’d gone back to silently seething over the situation between Asher and his ex.

Just wait it out. Once Asher makes things right between him and Brooklyn, he won’t have any reason to spend time with her anymore, and things will go back to normal.

Trudging back to our afternoon session with far less enthusiasm than I’d had that morning, I tried to direct my attention to anything other than Asher and Brooklyn. The other Cleri members chatted among themselves, which gave me something to focus on until Miss Peggy began to talk.

Witch history had always been my least favorite part of our coven classes back home. For a while, I’d been convinced that learning about the past was a waste of time. I mean, it was just so boring. And where was the practical application of this knowledge? Sure, we didn’t want to repeat the mistakes of our past, but some of witching history was so behind us that it didn’t necessarily have any validity in our lives today.

Or so I’d thought.

History had somewhat repeated itself when Samuel Parris came back to try to wipe out our coven, much like he’d done to members of the Cleri during the Salem witch trials. It was only through learning more about our familial past that we were able to finally defeat him.

But I think the real origin of my disdain for history stemmed from the fact that I couldn’t seem to get away from the dreams of my ancestor during her darkest days. Reliving a person’s death and betrayal over and over again had a way of taking a toll on your soul. In a way, it was a morbid way to live.

So you could see why I wasn’t exactly psyched to spend more time analyzing the actions of witches past. Yet here I was.

“There are many witches in our history who have made significant contributions to us as a society,” Mrs. B said. “We will be spending the next month getting to know these famous witches as well as a few lesser-known ones. But don’t be confused, each witch you will learn about can teach you a valuable lesson about our heritage.”

“We’d like to invite you all to come up now to choose your research project topics,” Miss Peggy said, holding up a purple velvet bag. “Once you have the name of your witch, it will be up to you to learn as much as you can about them. How you report what you find to us is up to you. During our last week here, you’ll all be required to deliver your findings.”

“We recommend that you take this project seriously,” said Mrs. Jeanette. “Because if you don’t, you will not be asked back next summer. Learning from those who’ve come before you is incredibly important. It’s both a sign of respect and appreciation for the sacrifices these great witches have made.”

“I thought school was out for the summer,” Jasmine said under her breath as we all stood up and filed into a single line to retrieve our topics.

“Oh, but this part is so much fun, Jasmine!” Colette said, clapping her hands together. “Last year I drew Evelyn Rogers, the first witch to explore other planets in our solar system. It was so intriguing to learn that she landed on the moon before Neil Armstrong, and was instrumental in encouraging the US to send our astronauts up into space. She paved the way for all atmospheric exploration.”

“Apparently she wasn’t the only space cadet,” Jasmine said.

“Jasmine!” I said, horrified by her comment.

“It’s all right, Hadley,” Colette answered, her smile never leaving her face. “Some of the most important people in history were labeled as weirdoes by their peers. My Aunt Betsey says you can’t be afraid to live outside the box, because that’s the only place you’re not boxed in.”

I admired Colette’s ability to stand up for herself, but shot Jasmine a warning look anyway. We didn’t need the other campers labeling our coven as troublemakers.

The line was moving quickly now, as each person pulled a piece of paper out of the bag and then wandered off to huddle in smaller groups and share their assignments with their friends. When it was my turn, I stepped forward and shoved my manicured hand into the hole. My fingers brushed dozens of folded-up pieces of paper until it reached one that just felt right. And being that I was trying to trust my instincts more, I pulled it out and stepped back.

When I was far enough away, I opened up the paper and read the name of whom I’d be learning about.

YOUR WITCH IN HISTORY IS: Sarah Good

BRIEF DESCRIPTION: One of the first people accused during the Salem witch trials; Sarah Good was found guilty of witchcraft and sentenced to death by hanging on July 19, 1692. She was survived by her daughter, Dorothy Good.

I just can’t get away from it, can I?

I laughed out loud at the irony of my assignment. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised. For some reason, this awful incident kept inserting itself back into my life. Why would camp be any different?

“You got Sarah Good?!” Colette asked, looking over my shoulder at the paper that I still held open.

“Yep,” I said, folding it back up and handing it out to her. “Wanna trade?”

“You don’t want her?” she asked, her eyebrows wrinkling in confusion.

“She kind of hits a little close to home for me,” I said with a sigh.

As if on cue, Miss Peggy called out, “Please don’t trade topics with fellow campers.” A look around showed that I wasn’t the only one less than enthused about my research topic. Plenty of people in other groups were complaining and trying to get rid of their subjects. “The papers were enchanted to find the perfect person for each of you. Whether you understand why yet, you were meant to learn about the person you’ve selected. Please respect the process.”

Well, there you go. Fate obviously wanted me to delve into the life of Sarah Good. And who was I to question fate?

I pulled back my paper with a sigh, and then stuffed it in the tiny zippered pocket of my spandex shorts.

“Guess I’m stuck with her,” I said as Colette watched me put it away.


“She really does have an interesting story, you know,” Colette said. “And I’d think, given your lineage, you’d be empathetic to what she went through.”

“Oh, I am,” I said, hearing the disappointment in my new friend’s voice. “Don’t get me wrong, I fully think that all those accused back then were dealt a sucky hand. They didn’t deserve anything that happened to them. It’s just sort of . . . depressing, you know?”

“Even more reason to keep the memories of those who were mistreated alive,” she answered.

“You’re right,” I said. “At the very least, it’ll be easier than reporting on a topic that’s brand new to me. I already know so much about the trials that it shouldn’t take me too long to fill in Sarah’s blanks.”

“I bet there’s more to her history than you know,” Colette said, solemnly. “Remember, there are always two sides to every story.”

I nodded in agreement, looking to change the subject. “So, who’d you get then?” I asked.

Colette glanced down at her paper before folding it back up and placing it in her own pocket. “I think I’m going to keep mine a secret for now. It’ll be more exciting for you to learn about them when I do my presentation.”

I smiled at her enthusiasm. I’d never met anyone so excited about doing research before. I thought about what her aunt had said and agreed. Colette was definitely unique, and I think that’s why I liked her so much. She kept us wondering what she’d say or do next. She was a wild card, and one I was happy to have on my side.