House of Ivy & Sorrow

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They say a witch lives in the old house under the interstate bridge. Always in the shadows, draped in ivy and sorrow, the house waits for a child too daring for his own good. And inside, the witch sits with her black eyes and toothless sneer. They say she can foresee your death in return for a lock of hair. She can make someone love you for the small price of a pinkie finger. And, of course, she can kill your enemy if you give her your soul. Some people think it’s only a silly tale to scare children, but it’s true. Every word.

I should know. She is my grandmother, after all, and right now I could steal her pudding stash for what she did to Winn. “Nana! He was just talking to me!”

She sits at her large mahogany desk, a variety of feathers and animal bones arranged precisely in front of her. She won’t look at me. She never does when I catch her cursing him. “Josephine, my dear, his intentions were clearly impure.”

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