I blow out my hair. I’m meticulous with my application of makeup. I can’t look like I’m trying too hard, but I can’t look like myself, either. I need to look much, much better.

All of this is very stressful for Ralph, who sits on the coffee table with a set of legs in his mouth, his eyes wide.

“I’m getting pretty,” I tell him.

This doesn’t seem to ease his worrying.

I haven’t put that much thought or effort into my appearance lately. My blow-dryer has accumulated dust. My foundation has solidified. Ralph’s never seen me go through this beautification process. He yelps when I take out my tweezers. I think he must view this all as a form of self-harm.

If I were to consider the merit of this concern, it would truly fuck up my day. And perhaps my life.

Instead, I ignore Ralph and carry on primping. At around ten a.m., I check my phone. Sam texted an hour ago saying he’s on his way. I would be nervous to see him, but currently all of my anxiety is tied up in having to face Sophie, who once openly admitted to me that she’s vengeful, who is adept with curses and, allegedly, using human remains to make tonics.

I take a few deep breaths. I put my wallet, phone and keys in my pockets and go to pick up Ralph.

He skitters backward, just out of my grasp. Poor thing. His adorable round face is twisted. He’s afraid.

To be fair, so am I. But I need to do this if I want my reunion with Sam to happen without any supernatural interference. I can’t have Ralph or Sophie jeopardizing my chance at a happy ending.

“Come on, buddy,” I coo. “We’re going to see Sophie.”

His expression relaxes, eyes light up at Sophie’s name. He hurries into my hand, nodding his little head from side to side.

“Sophie will be so glad to see you,” I tell him. “You’re such a good boy.”

He squeaks with excitement. I feel guilty for lying to him. He’s so innocent.

He taps my palm, points to the door.

“Right,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat. “We’re off.”

It’s bitter cold out. I put Ralph in my coat pocket so he doesn’t freeze.

“You okay, buddy?” I ask, peeking in.

He nods, but I can see he’s shivering.

I hurry down Main Street, into the woods, past the well, the graves, the hut. Icicles drip from the collapsing roof of the hut, and they add a certain menace to it. A chill drags across the exposed skin of my neck. I should have worn a scarf.

The ground is slick in some spots, and I almost fall twice, Ralph yipping nervously.

“I got you,” I tell him. “You’re okay.”

When Sophie opens the door for us, I’m so winded all I want to do is to collapse at her feet.

“Come in, darling,” she says. “You’re frozen. Come. I’ve got a fire going. And I have something to show you. A surprise.”

“A surprise?”

“Yes,” she says. She looks down. “You brought Ralph?”

He’s climbing out of my pocket.

“Yeah,” I say. “He wanted a visit.”

She huffs. “Annie, it’s too cold for him to be outside. He’s not even wearing his hat.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “He wanted to come. How could I say no to that face?”

Ralph cocks his head to the side, either confounded by the lie or charmed by the compliment.

Sophie sighs, taking Ralph and setting him on her shoulder. “All right.”

“Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t realize how cold it was.”

“Oh, of course you didn’t, pet. I know you take good care of Ralph,” she says. “And he keeps eyes on you.”

What does that mean?

“Uh, yep,” I say. My nervous voice sounds exactly like a pubescent boy’s. It’s indistinguishable.

“Hurry,” she says. “I’m very excited about the surprise. I have absolutely no restraint. None. Come, darling.”

She starts skipping away from me.

“Coming, coming. I still can’t feel my toes.”

“I’ll thaw you out,” she says, turning toward me to reveal a devilish grin.

Impatient, she grabs my hand and drags me the rest of the way to a room I’ve never been in before. The walls are pale blue, and there’s a gold fireplace, a gold chandelier. Everything orbits around a beautiful grand piano. There’s also a massive gold harp in the corner, and I can see cobwebs on it from here. There are a few petite antique chairs scattered around. Sophie sits me down on one of the chairs and tells me to close my eyes.

“They’re closed,” I say.

“Don’t open them yet,” she says. “Not until I say.”

“I won’t.”

It’s quiet for a minute, except for the hostile crackling of the fire burning in the fireplace. I get whiffs of smoke, hints of heat.

“Sophie?” I say.

She doesn’t respond.

My immediate reaction is fear.

I was stupid to come here.

She’s more powerful than I am. I couldn’t hold my own against her if it came to that. I need to leave.

I open my eyes.

She stands in front of me smiling. She’s holding a guitar.

“Surprise!” she says, presenting it to me.

I’m an asshole. Here she is being thoughtful and generous, and here I am scheming about how I can get away from her. Did I let Oskar get in to my head, let his hostility tarnish my perception of her? He doesn’t know Sophie like I do. I have no reason to fear her.

Well, I mean, except I kind of do . . .

“You like it?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say, taking the guitar. It’s beautiful. “This is . . . too much. I don’t deserve this.”

“Nonsense,” she says. “And it’s just as much for me as it is for you. I told you, you have to play for me.”

“This is so nice, Sophie. Too nice. Really. You’re too good to me.”

“I want you to focus on your own gifts. Your talents. I want you to continue to feed yourself,” she says, pushing a stray hair out of my face. “When I met you, you were starving.”

“Is that why you made me pie?”

She laughs. “No. The pie was because I wanted pie. It was selfish pie. Feeding myself.”

“You shared with me.”

“Only because I really like you, Annie. I don’t go around sharing my pie with everyone.”

“This sounds super sexual,” I say.

She gasps. “Oh, dear!”

I forgot Sophie can be scandalized. I forgot how old she is. I stifle a giggle.

“Don’t laugh at me,” she says, fake pouting.

“Sharing pie with everyone.”

“Stop!”

“Okay, okay,” I say. “Sorry.”

“This is the thanks I get,” she says, “relentless teasing.”

“No, I’m sorry. I’m very grateful for the gift. This really is a beautiful guitar.”

She sits in the chair across from me, tucking one ankle under the other. Ralph settles in her lap.

“Play something for me, pet.”

“I’m rusty,” I tell her. “Out of practice.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Let me practice first. I’ll be too embarrassed otherwise.”

“Don’t be. It’s just me.”

“I know. I want it to be good. Put on a proper concert.”

“Oh, I’m not looking for that. Come, darling. Play.”

I hear my phone vibrate in my jacket pocket. Ralph stirs.

“Actually,” I say, “I can’t stay long today. I’ve got a lot of work to do. Grading and lesson plans. Fun stuff.”

I wait for her to react. She doesn’t.

Outside, the sky clouds over. The only other source of light in the room is the fire. It flickers belligerently. Casts intense shadows. Sophie sits in front of it, and when the flames lick up high enough, they appear over her shoulders like wings.

She uncrosses her ankles. Ralph gets up. His face has changed. The happiness is gone. His eyes are black and lifeless, like caviar. His mouth, ever wide and smiling, shrinks. Even his movements are different. Less fluid. He climbs down Sophie’s leg onto the floor.

I clear my throat. “I wish I could stay, but I should head out soon. Get to it.”

She’s looking at me. I wait for her to speak. A minute passes.

“You know I’d rather be with you,” I say, wanting out of the silence. “I’m sorry.”

“For what, pet?” she asks. “For abandoning me or for lying about why?”

My dread bursts like a blister. I might throw up.

“Sophie,” I say. What does she know, and how does she know it? “I’m sorry. I was afraid to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” she says, rolling her shoulders back. “Go on.”

“Sam reached out. He said he wanted to see me. He misses me. He wants to make sure we made the right choice.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. I thought . . . I don’t know, Sophie. I thought it’d be worth seeing him. Figuring it out.”

There’s a faint growling. I look around the room, searching for the source. It’s Ralph.

Did he get bigger?

“Shh, shhh,” Sophie tells him. He quiets, retreating underneath her chair.

My heart beats haphazardly. I put a hand across my chest and feel its unsteady insurrection.

Sophie stands. She begins pacing back and forth in front of the fire. Every time she passes, the flames burn black.

“The first time I saw you, I recognized you,” she says. “I knew you were just like me.”

The fire dances frantically behind her. It spits and howls.

“But you didn’t know. What you were. What you could be. I thought if I showed you . . .” She trails off. “Perhaps I pushed you too hard. I wanted it for you more than you wanted it for yourself. That was my mistake. To put so much faith in someone who has none.”

“Don’t be mean, Sophie.”

The fire snuffs itself out.

Or maybe it was me. Maybe I extinguished it with my mind.

She snaps her fingers and the fire reignites.

“And you want to go back to being ordinary?” she asks me with a smug grin.

The piano begins to play. Badly. The keys scream.

“Stop,” I say.

“I’m not doing anything,” she says. “That’s all you, darling.”

“I meant, don’t tell me that I want to be ordinary,” I say. “That’s an . . . an oversimplification.”

“Is it now?” she asks.

“I just want to be happy,” I say, shouting over the piano.

“I know, pet. And I’m trying to help you. All I’ve ever done is try to help you. Have I not been a devoted friend?”

The harp is going now, too. The chandelier swings over our heads.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” she says, her grin widening. She gestures around the room. “You can’t go back now. It’s too late.”

“No, it isn’t,” I say. Everything stops. “I’m done with this, Sophie. I don’t want it. I’m done.”

The room goes still and quiet, except for the fire, which seems to be whispering secrets to itself.

I move to stand, to leave. To run if I have to.

“Sit,” Sophie says. “We’re having a discussion.”

“This isn’t a discussion!”

“You’re right,” she says, sighing. “A disagreement.”

We’re both distracted by the sound. A chair tipped over, and it tipped because Ralph has outgrown the space underneath it. He’s now roughly the size of a golden retriever.

I run.

I sprint out of the room and down the hall. I can hear my bones cracking awake.

“Annie,” Sophie calls. She’s following me. “Annie, stop this.”

Ralph’s following me, too. I hear his many footsteps.

My legs carry me to the right, toward the kitchen. I’ll leave through the kitchen door, the side entrance.

“You’re afraid of me,” she says.

“You’re chasing me!”

“Only because you’re running.” She speaks calmly from inside my head.

“Stop!” I tell her. My lungs seize up, my legs ache, but I go faster. I push harder. I blow into the kitchen. I’m almost there.

But it doesn’t matter, because here’s Ralph. Giant and fuzzy and fanged, blocking the kitchen door.

He opens his mouth, and a drop of his viscous slobber emerges, landing on the floor with a sickening smack.

“Annie,” I hear, this time from outside of myself. She’s coming.

What will happen when she gets to me?

I stand vulnerable in the sweaty armpit of crisis. I decide my best option is to hide. I scuffle into the pantry, through the hatch doors, down the steps into the cellar. I reach up and pull the doors down. I turn the handle, locking them in place.

It’s pitch-dark with the exception of the thin sliver of light where the doors meet. I crouch on the steps, attempting to silently catch my breath, my hand clapped over my mouth.

I hear the clean click of her heels against the kitchen tiles. They’re unhurried.

“Why do you fear me?” she asks. “I’m asking in all sincerity, pet. I’ve never understood people’s fear. What about me is so terrifying? I’m kind. I’m giving. It keeps me up at night, darling. Truly.”

I hear the faucet running, the tick of the stove igniting. Is she making tea?

“I don’t smile when I don’t feel like smiling. I don’t pretend. I’m entirely honest about who I am. Is that my great offense? Or maybe it’s that I live alone in the woods. And what’s more damning: that I live in the seclusion of the trees or that I live alone? Or that I’m happy about it all? That I’ve made these choices, that I have these gifts, and I embrace them? I’m not ashamed of who I am. Of what I am. What is it about a woman in full control of herself that is so utterly frightening? Can you tell me, Annie?”

I begin to sidle down the steps, hoping to further conceal myself inside the dark of the cellar. But the deeper I submerge, the louder it gets.

The strange moaning.

Sophie is still talking, but it’s hard to pay attention with the moaning. It sounds vaguely like a draft, like wind funneling through a small space. That’s what it must be, because it’s cold down here. It’s freezing. Almost as bad as outside. I have to release my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering.

I don’t know how long I’ll be able to last down here. I’m a sitting duck.

I realize I’m oddly calm, considering. Either this is such a surreal situation that I haven’t yet processed it or I’ve switched into some extraordinary survival mode I didn’t know I had.

I remember my phone in my jacket pocket. My lifeline. I reach carefully, quietly into my pocket and slowly lift it up close to my face.

It illuminates with a text from Sam.

Halfway there !

My brief moment of joy at the thought of him, at being able to feel his arms around me again, smell his familiar smell, talk with him, joke with him, touch him, is dragged away when I see the face floating before me lit by the glow of my phone.

It’s a pale creature with bloated eyeballs protruding from receding sockets. I’ve never been this close to it before. Not when I saw it in the mirror. Not when it tried to drown me. It’s wearing a dusty, tattered pin-striped suit. It’s a man.

And when he opens his mouth, revealing rotten teeth and the prolific stench of decay, he says one word.

“Help.”

The scream comes from some unknown part of me, some deep cavity of my being. It gives me away. The cellar doors fly open. The ghost wails and hobbles backward where the light can’t reach him. I look down and see symbols on the ground. Red paint. White powder.

I see the others. There are more of them, all in various states of deterioration. Some look like people; they possess solid physical bodies. Others are less formed. One is just a floating orb.

“Annie,” Sophie says, her tone like that of an annoyed parent, “I told you not to go in the cellar.”

At the moment, she’s the lesser evil. I stumble up the stairs, where she waits for me with her hands on her hips.

“Are you ready to have a civilized discussion?”

My mind is a white blizzard of fear.

“I made tea,” she says, gesturing to the table set with two steaming cups.

Whatever emergency composure I thought I had dissolved the second I came face-to-face with the ghost that tried to drown me. This is too much. It’s too fucking much!

“Come,” she says, gently guiding me to my chair.

“I see you’ve met Theodore,” she says, rolling her eyes. “He built this house, you know.”

“He asked me for help. Why?”

“He wants to be released. He wants to leave, to move on, to rest,” she says, “or, at the very least, to be able to roam about the house like he used to before you came around.”

“Wait. What?”

“The ghosts are bound to me, Annie. It’s a very long story involving several failed attempts against my life and several successful curses. They’re a part of my history, part of me. I can never forget, and they can never rest. I wouldn’t want them to after what they did to me.”

I’m exhausted. I don’t have any fight left.

“Whatever you’re going to do to me, just do it,” I say. “Just get it over with, please.”

For the first time since I’ve known her, she seems genuinely shocked.

“Annie?”

“You can grind my bones for tonics or whatever.”

“Ah,” she says, and sips her tea. “Seems I’m still the subject of town gossip. I always think that maybe things are different now, that maybe this will be the generation to grant me some compassion and understanding. But it’s never different. Their fear, it gets passed down. I should have known.”

She drops a sugar cube into her tea and stirs.

“Is it true? Have you hurt people?”

“I have only ever defended myself. I’m otherwise perfectly pleasant. You know this,” she says. “Those headstones, those graves in the woods, those were my sisters, my friends. They were burned at the stake. Hanged by their necks. Drowned. I couldn’t save them, and I have to live with that. All I can do, all any of us can do, really, is embrace our power. Not restrain it for the benefit of those trying to do us harm. I’ve protected myself when necessary. I’ve saved myself. And, yes, on occasion I’ve taken some revenge. I think it not unreasonable, considering the circumstances.”

She gives a small nonchalant shrug. “Does that answer your question?”

“You’ve kept things from me. You haven’t been totally honest.”

“Forgive me for not being forthcoming with my trauma,” she says, her voice reaching a morbid pitch. “Forgive me for thinking that I might spare you from hearing all the gruesome details.”

She takes a breath, another slow sip of tea.

“Sophie,” I say, “enough of this! Enough!”

Both teacups shoot off of the table and smash against the wall.

There’s a beat. Then Sophie starts to clap. Slow applause.

“Don’t you enjoy it, darling?” she asks. “Isn’t it fun?”

“I don’t want this,” I say. My voice shakes. I can’t tell if I’m crying because I’m angry or crying because I’m scared or if this is my default reaction to everything. Tears. “I don’t want any of this. I didn’t ask for this. I’m in a creepy mansion in the middle of the fucking forest! There are ghosts in the basement! There’s a giant spider right there!”

I point to Ralph, who remains in front of the door, eating what appears to be a raw bird.

“Well, you upset him,” she says.

“This isn’t natural!” I yell. “This isn’t cool!”

“Annie.”

“And you poisoned me, didn’t you? You poisoned me with that mushroom tea!”

“That wasn’t poison,” she says. “It was intended to awaken your mind. Perhaps it was a little strong. I should have warned you. Honest mistake.”

“No. An honest mistake is accidentally picking up someone else’s drink at Starbucks. Drugging someone isn’t an honest mistake. It’s crazy!”

“Please, pet.”

“I’m not your pet!”

This particular outburst surprises both of us. I was completely unaware this term of endearment bothered me until this moment. Suddenly, I realize how patronizing it is. How it implies ownership and reinforces an unfair power dynamic. This resentment must have been simmering in my subconscious for months.

Sophie’s face registers shock and, unless I’m mistaken, glee.

“I’m an adult. I’m my own person. I can make my own decisions. Even if they’re bad decisions, Sophie. They’re mine to make. Not yours.”

She raises an eyebrow. She reaches back and snaps her fingers at Ralph, who begins to shrink down to his former, more reasonable size. He doesn’t look too pleased about the whole ordeal.

“You’re absolutely right,” she says, smiling at me with what I think might be pride. “I won’t call you that anymore.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“You have to understand, Annie, I do adore you. I only want what’s best for you. Truly.”

Does she? I don’t know what to believe anymore.

“I don’t want you to leave,” she says. “You’re my dear friend. I don’t want to lose you. I’ve already lost so many friends. Friends like me. Like us. We should stay together. Protect each other. Enjoy each other’s company.”

“I can’t stay,” I say, my fear wearied. “I need to see what will happen with Sam. I need to know, or I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering. I deserve certainty.”

She looks away from me. She gets up, takes another cup from the cabinet, sets it down and pours herself more tea.

“Very well,” she says. “You said yourself you can make your own decisions. If you want to leave, leave.”

It’s a relief like I’ve never felt before. Blissful.

“But,” she says, “if you leave, you cannot come back.”

“What?” I say.

“I’m not punishing you. I support your right to choose whichever path you most desire,” she says, seating herself across from me at the table. “But I will lose all respect for you if you leave. And I don’t believe I will ever get it back.”

It might be the most hurtful thing anyone has ever said to me. The very definition of brutal honesty. Absolutely savage.

It stirs in me the urge for petty defensiveness. I stave it off. Just leave, I tell myself. Just go.

Why is it so hard? Ralph is small again and no longer blocking the door; he’s busy gnawing on a bone. There’s nothing in my way. It should be easy. I have the chance to extricate myself from all of this. This twisted fairy-tale horror-show bullshit.

I look at Sophie, who is sitting there casually sipping her tea. And up comes the resentment; up comes the pettiness, up with torches and pitchforks.

“You want to know why people are afraid of you, Sophie? I can solve that mystery for you. Save you the trouble,” I say. “It’s because you’re a fucking witch!”

The word hovers between us like dust in the ether.

My resentment chips away, and underneath it are guilt and sadness and fear. I want to apologize, to take it back, snatch the word out of the air, chew it up, swallow it down. But of all the impossible, unimaginable things transpiring in my reality lately, I know this won’t be one. Magic has its limits.

I know she’s hurt. It’s obvious to me in her erratic movements, in the oscillation of her eyes, the trembling of her hands. She seems aware of this. Maybe even embarrassed by it. Her cheeks glow exceptionally red.

She smacks her hands down on the table.

“Is that how you think of me?” she asks. “After everything, is that how you see me?”

She stands, and as she does, she begins to transform.

She lifts her hands, bending bony, haggard fingers. Her nails, usually artfully manicured, clean and well maintained, are a horrible yellow. They split as they curl under, and around, and around.

Her skin greens. Her veins seethe under her skin like hungry snakes. Her nose grows, breaking in multiple places as it extends out each foul inch. Her chin elongates with a loud, unrelenting crunch. Warts appear on her face, her hands. Sores rip open; they bubble and fester. Her lips shrivel. Her eyes expand to the approximate size, shape and color of undercooked eggs. She opens her mouth, a dark abyss punctured by pointy teeth.

She erupts in a fit of cackles. “Is this how you see me?”

A broomstick materializes in her left hand. Her dress is now puritan.

“Like this?” she says, lunging toward me.

I run for the door. I tear it open, topple outside. She follows, cackling louder and louder. I take off up the hill, into the woods.

“An-nnieee,” she sings. “An-nnieee.”

The rustling of the trees lets me know she’s not behind me. She’s above me. She’s flying above me.

Flying on her broomstick.

I think I’d laugh if I weren’t so terrified.

I keep my eyes down, focused on the ground in front of me, as I dodge rocks and branches, navigate the uneven terrain. The hut comes into view, and I notice the door is open. I can see inside. There’s a fire burning in a small cauldron in the center of the room, thick smoke billowing.

And Sophie. She’s here. She emerges from the smoke. She stands in the doorway clutching her broom.

“If this is how you see me, go on. Go on, then. Go running back to your old life.”

The shock of the scene has glued me in place. I’m incapable of movement.

“Go,” Sophie says, her voice breaking. The green of her skin begins to fade. Her nose recedes. Her chin returns to its normal shape. She leans against the frame of the door, her always-perfect posture failing for the first time. Her shoulders hunch. Her neck hooks forward.

“Go,” she says. “And don’t come back.”

She steps back into the hut, and the door slams.

Now it’s just me. Alone in the woods.