Witch Hunt by Devin O'Branagan

and so she chose Montvue as their new home.
    “Momma’s got a hard decision to make,” Diane told Tiffany as she strapped her into her car seat. “There’s this crazy man who believes in witches. Like in ‘Hansel and Gretel.’ You remember Hansel and Gretel?”
    Tiffany nodded, her eyes wide.
    “Well,” Diane slid in behind the wheel and strapped herself into her own seat, “this crazy man wants me to tell everyone that these certain people are witches and that witches are bad because this book he has says they are.” Diane started the engine and pulled out into the flow of late-afternoon traffic.
    “Now, this man, a regular gospel shouter he is, is planning to do some shouting at these witch people and wants lots of other people to be there to back him up. He wants — you want a burger, honey?”
    Tiffany giggled. “Want a burger.”
    Diane pulled into Wendy’s and got their dinner at the drive-through window, then headed home to eat it.
    “Burger!” Tiffany yelled, straining for the aromatic bag that was just out of her reach.
    “You’re too messy an eater, honey. We’ll be home soon. Anyway, this crazy man — who’s this odd version of Rambo-gets-religion — wants me to write the story about the witch family and announce this rally at their home Sunday night. If I don’t do the report, he’ll get someone else to.”
    “French fries?” Tiffany asked.
    “In just a minute. However, I think if I keep the story, and write it in a manner that shows both sides, it would be better than giving it to Joe or Paula or some other twirpy reporter at the Post who’s gaga over this crazy man. I mean, they’d write whatever he wants them to, because they think he’s just so terrific. So, I think I’ll keep the story and do it with objectivity. What do you think?”
    “Root beer,” Tiffany said.
    Diane grinned. “Thanks for your input, honey. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”
     

     
    The Sunday morning issue of the Post-Dispatch carried Diane’s story about Preacher Cody, the Hawthornes, and witchcraft.
    The Hawthornes passed the newspaper around the breakfast table.
    “It says they’ll be here at eight tonight,” Melanie said.
    “What are we going to do, Craig?” Vivian’s composure had deteriorated in the few days since the funeral. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her voice quavered with fear.
    “We could secure the gates and not let them in. Wish we had some alligators for the moat.”
    “What’s a moat?” Adrian asked.
    “A ditch dug all around a castle and filled with water,” Kamelia said.
    “We got a moat?” Adrian asked.
    Kamelia rolled her eyes. “No, silly.”
    Adrian nodded and popped a strawberry into his mouth. “Okey-doke.” Okey-doke was his latest word.
    “Maybe you should call and talk to the police,” Leigh suggested.
    Craig nodded. “It wouldn’t hurt.”
    “Some protection magic wouldn’t hurt, either,” Jason said.
    Melanie peeked over the top of the newspaper. “I’ll help you with that.”
    “Can I come?” Kamelia asked.
    Everyone looked at Leigh.
    Leigh cleared her throat nervously. “I … I don’t know …”
    “Go for it, Kammi,” Craig said. “Now the covers are pulled, you’d better not keep sleeping in the buff.”
    “Thanks, Dad.”
    Dorian began to cough and couldn’t seem to catch his breath.
    Glynis slapped his back a few times. “He’s not well today. I think it’s all the stress.”
    “Put him to bed after chow time. Kammi and I will be by later to give him a look-see,” Craig said.
    “Can’t eat,” Dorian said, his voice raw. “I’ll go now.”
    Craig nodded.
    Dorian maneuvered his electric wheelchair away from the table and out the terrace doors, to the small guest cottage he and Glynis shared.
    “He’s scared,” Glynis said.
    “We’re all scared,” Vivian said, giving more attention to chewing her fingernails than to the food on her plate.
    “I’d like to discuss why everyone’s so scared,” Leigh