burned into the small metallic circle—the same symbol that is on the page of the journal in front of me; the same symbol that appears on the cover of the journal as well. I flip the pendant over to examine the other side and find an inscription delicately burned into the leather. I read it out loud, “Not all those who wander are lost. –J.R.R. Tolkien.”
“That’s a pretty perfect quote, you know, considering the situation we are about to get into,” Zoë remarked.
“Why did my dad wear this? And why would he hide it from me?”
“And why are you named after that little girl?”
"I've never heard of these people. I have no clue why."
Traffic slowly begins to die down. The sun has turned into a burning ball of orange and dips low in the sky behind us. The blue hue gradually disappears from the sky and is replaced by a soft blend of pink, purple, and violet. The clouds are no more than wispy lines scattered like paint strokes on a canvas.
The cars around us carry people headed home to their families, to their normal lives. Twinges of sadness laced with jealousy sweep over me when the thought crosses my mind. My eyes well with tears but I fight them from spilling over. I know what I have to do. I know how important it is. At the same time, all I want is to be at home, lying on my bed, finishing my beyond-boring reading assignment for English class.
“Should we read more of those journals?” Zoë asks, most likely knowing where my silent thoughts are headed.
I clear my throat before answering. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”
I flip back in the journal to first legible part after where I had left off.
The first day of the curse was a most difficult day. Afraid of leaving my home, I planned on hiding Emma indoors for the entire day. With the shutters drawn and the door locked, I only made her more fearful. She wanted to go about our daily activities, collecting eggs from the chickens and milk from the goats, but terror kept us barricaded indoors.
As I prepared her breakfast, she sat peacefully and toyed with her dolls. I mindlessly spread jam on bread and warmed eggs in a pot of boiling water, hanging over the fire. I called her to the table to eat and as she took the smallest bites possible, I pressed her for answers.
“Did you see your mother and sisters enter the forest?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Were they frightened?”
Again, she nodded.
“What were they frightened of?”
She stopped eating her bread and looked at me with her enormous brown eyes. Her brown curls hung sloppily around her face. “A very big man, a little girl called Angelina, and the little girl’s Mother.”
My breath became shallow and I fought for words. “Why were they frightened of them?”
“The little girl is a witch. Mama said to be frightened of witches and never look at their eyes.”
“Did you look at her eyes?”
She looked away from me, down at her lap. She was clearly remorseful regarding the answer she was about to give. “Yes. Only the little girl, though. Not the big man and not the little girl’s Mother.”
Our conversation ended with a loud knock on the door. Emma jumped at the sound. I arose and slowly walked to the door. Another knock. “Master Owens, it's Dr. Carroll. Are you in?”
I lifted the lock and opened the door. “Dr. Carroll, what can I do for you?” I asked.
“I received your note that you needed my services first thing today. Your wife and children have fallen ill?”
I hadn’t left my house, not even for a moment. The expression on my face must have led him to believe I was confused. He held up his hand and presented me a note in my handwriting, stating what he had just expressed. I had not written a note, nor had I contacted anyone regarding the events of the prior evening. Examining the confusion on my face, he asked, “Master Owens? May I examine them?”
I retreated and let him in. Emma remained at the table, clutching her doll tightly, nibbling on her bread and jam. I led him first into the sleeping quarters where my wife lay. He gasped at her appearance. She looked even more frightening as she had when I attempted to wake her. Her lips and the circles around her eyes had grown darker. Thin black lines covered her face. He turned and looked at