Read Online The Hex Witch of Seldom by Nancy Springer - Free Book Online
Authors: Nancy Springer
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and called, the black mustang did not come to her. Probably it was deer she was hearing. Shane must have been out of earshot. He could move far faster than she could. She had no chance of catching up with him.
But she continued to follow the trail, feeling fear swell in her and dampen her palms. A day, two days, three, and the trail would grow too faint to lead her. Sooner, if rain fell. After that, if Shane caught himself by the halterâ
Damn double-thickness nylon halters wouldnât break for anything.
Years later, somebody might find the skeleton strewn at the base of the tree, the bones pulled apart by wild dogs or Pennsylvania coyotes, but the skull still hanging in the bright red halter.
Her mind shied away from the scene and started wandering as her feet carried her onward. She wondered what sort of a ghost a starved or savaged horse that was not a horse would leave. The ghost of a desperado stalking the mountains in his broad-brimmed black hat? She knew people who claimed to have seen ghosts in these hills: the ghosts of the lost children of the Alleghenies, two little boys, brothers, seven and five years old, who had died of starvation and exposure back in 1856. The bodies had been found after two weeks by a man who had seen them in a dream. People still heard the children crying on the hills at night. And there were the ghosts of a murdered hex witch, a man, and his murderer, his jealous wife, who poisoned his food then died shortly after him of his final curse on her name. Her ghost was supposed to haunt the woods in the form of a china cupboard, of all things. A cupboard full of fancy plates, dancing under the moon. What a thing to run into in the dark. Some people were crazier than she was, Bobbi decided, to think of such things.
The murdered man was the hex witch of Ness Hollow, Bobbi recalled from the stories. He had the evil eye and could seduce women without effort. She didnât want to run into his ghost. But there were other hex witches who were worse, and some who were far better. Old Nell the Hill Witch had lived for a hundred years and was reputed to have saved the lives of more than a hundred babies. Bobbi had heard of other witches still living in the mountains: the Buppsville Witch, the Hollis Corners Witch, the hex witch of Seldomâ
Where the hun was Seldom, Bobbi wondered. She knew of many towns in Canadawa County with peculiar names: Good Intentions, Cold Bottom, Salamander. She knew where they were, and she had been to some of them. But she had never seen a road sign for Seldom, or known anyone who went there, or seen it on any map. Maybe it was a ghost town. The thought amused her. A ghost town. She could be in the middle of a ghost town right now, walking through the woods, and not know it. The way people talked, there could be a cityâs worth of ghosts all around her.
She didnât like to believe the stories. Horses that spooked at nothing, she joked, were seeing ghosts. Yet in a way the ghosts were as real to her as the dead butts of giant chestnut trees lying on the mountainsides, trees killed off sixty or eighty years before. Life was different in these parts. Old, like the hills. Deep, like the taproot of a pine. People remembered back a long time in Canadawa County.
Well, maybe theyâll remember me when Iâm gone, Bobbi thought darkly. Maybe theyâll tell stories of how I was never seen again. Bewitched away by a black horse.
She followed the horseâs trail through the day as fast as her body would let her, walking along the steepest slopes, jogging when the terrain allowed and the trail was plain. She stopped to drink at every clear-running spring, but she didnât stop to eat. She did not even look into the bag Travis had given her. A few times she crossed a dirt road or a snowmobile path, and a few times she saw the back of somebodyâs cabin or bungalow, but she never came out of the woods, and that didnât surprise her. A person
But she continued to follow the trail, feeling fear swell in her and dampen her palms. A day, two days, three, and the trail would grow too faint to lead her. Sooner, if rain fell. After that, if Shane caught himself by the halterâ
Damn double-thickness nylon halters wouldnât break for anything.
Years later, somebody might find the skeleton strewn at the base of the tree, the bones pulled apart by wild dogs or Pennsylvania coyotes, but the skull still hanging in the bright red halter.
Her mind shied away from the scene and started wandering as her feet carried her onward. She wondered what sort of a ghost a starved or savaged horse that was not a horse would leave. The ghost of a desperado stalking the mountains in his broad-brimmed black hat? She knew people who claimed to have seen ghosts in these hills: the ghosts of the lost children of the Alleghenies, two little boys, brothers, seven and five years old, who had died of starvation and exposure back in 1856. The bodies had been found after two weeks by a man who had seen them in a dream. People still heard the children crying on the hills at night. And there were the ghosts of a murdered hex witch, a man, and his murderer, his jealous wife, who poisoned his food then died shortly after him of his final curse on her name. Her ghost was supposed to haunt the woods in the form of a china cupboard, of all things. A cupboard full of fancy plates, dancing under the moon. What a thing to run into in the dark. Some people were crazier than she was, Bobbi decided, to think of such things.
The murdered man was the hex witch of Ness Hollow, Bobbi recalled from the stories. He had the evil eye and could seduce women without effort. She didnât want to run into his ghost. But there were other hex witches who were worse, and some who were far better. Old Nell the Hill Witch had lived for a hundred years and was reputed to have saved the lives of more than a hundred babies. Bobbi had heard of other witches still living in the mountains: the Buppsville Witch, the Hollis Corners Witch, the hex witch of Seldomâ
Where the hun was Seldom, Bobbi wondered. She knew of many towns in Canadawa County with peculiar names: Good Intentions, Cold Bottom, Salamander. She knew where they were, and she had been to some of them. But she had never seen a road sign for Seldom, or known anyone who went there, or seen it on any map. Maybe it was a ghost town. The thought amused her. A ghost town. She could be in the middle of a ghost town right now, walking through the woods, and not know it. The way people talked, there could be a cityâs worth of ghosts all around her.
She didnât like to believe the stories. Horses that spooked at nothing, she joked, were seeing ghosts. Yet in a way the ghosts were as real to her as the dead butts of giant chestnut trees lying on the mountainsides, trees killed off sixty or eighty years before. Life was different in these parts. Old, like the hills. Deep, like the taproot of a pine. People remembered back a long time in Canadawa County.
Well, maybe theyâll remember me when Iâm gone, Bobbi thought darkly. Maybe theyâll tell stories of how I was never seen again. Bewitched away by a black horse.
She followed the horseâs trail through the day as fast as her body would let her, walking along the steepest slopes, jogging when the terrain allowed and the trail was plain. She stopped to drink at every clear-running spring, but she didnât stop to eat. She did not even look into the bag Travis had given her. A few times she crossed a dirt road or a snowmobile path, and a few times she saw the back of somebodyâs cabin or bungalow, but she never came out of the woods, and that didnât surprise her. A person
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