Witches by Phil Stern

 
     
     
    AS SHE HAD the preceding two Saturdays, the young witch cantered into the town square, red hair flowing gaily in the soft evening breeze. An athletic horsewoman, she leapt from the steed’s back the moment it pulled up before the tavern, hitching her mare to the provided post with practiced flair.
    Standing before the general store next door, young Tommy Hanes stabbed a seven-year-old finger at the interloper. “Mommy! Mommy, look! That bad woman is back! Look, Mommy...”
    “Hush! Tommy, no!” Desperately clamping a hand over her precocious son’s mouth, Mrs. Hanes, eight months pregnant with her fourth child, smiled weakly at the witch. “My Lady, I’m so sorry! Please forgive my son. He doesn’t know what he’s saying!”
    Hands still on the bridle, the young woman paused, contemplating the boy. “Did your son say that I was a bad woman?”
    “No! I mean, yes...but...” Tommy’s mother stammered. “Please, he’s my son!”
    In her early 20's, the sorceress was dressed in tight blue jeans and a low-cut white blouse. Around her neck hung a delicate chain attached to a round silver pendant centered by a pulsing green stone. Thoughtfully mounting the long plank porch that stretched the length of several storefronts, the witch now sauntered a few steps closer, sleek black boots echoing lightly on the wood. “Now where would he get that idea?”
    Catching her breath, Mrs. Hanes pulled Tommy closer into her wide hoop skirts. “Nowhere, my Lady. Nowhere at all!”
    The few other women out shopping late had already scurried off into the nearest doorway. From inside the building itself, the terrified face of the tavern owner took in the situation only long enough to yank down the window shade. Clearly, Mrs. Hanes was on her own.
    “Mrs. Melony Hanes,” drawled the witch, her youthful features forming an almost pleasant smile. “I’m asking you a question. Why does your son think me a bad woman?”
    “Please, my Lady, I beg of you!” How had this she-devil known her full name? Then again, how did the witches do any of the things they routinely did? Appearing out of thin air at a moment’s notice, they were answerable to no one, wrecking lives and homes for pleasure, taking what or whom they liked. “Don’t hurt my boy!”
    “There’s no reason to beg. I would never dream of hurting your child.” Bending down, the sorceress first touched Tommy’s nose, then tousled his hair with a black-gloved hand. Receiving a giggle in reply, the svelte beauty now rose once more, looking Mrs. Hanes in the eye. “And you know I’m no lady. Don’t you?”
    “Yes! No! I mean...” Melony trailed off, taking a deep breath. “Well, it’s just...”
    “You may call me Keyla.”
    “Of course.” Despite her fear, Melony began to find herself captivated by this stunning, sophisticated visitor. A spell, no doubt. “Pleased to meet you, Keyla,” she finally mumbled.
    “And you know I have no interest in you. Or your son.” Leaning close to Melony, almost sensually, Keyla whispered in the town woman’s ear. “It’s the men I want. You know that.”
    Gasping, Mrs. Hanes drew back. With an absurd backhand wave, she urged a few bold male faces back from the tavern window once more. “My Lady. I mean, Keyla, this is a good town. God-fearing men and women. We mean you no harm...”
    “Nor do I, Melony.” Giving Mrs. Hanes a firm nod, the witch applied a final, friendly swipe to Tommy’s head. “But I have business to conduct. Good day.”
    Turning on booted-heel, Keyla then sauntered over to the tavern door, pulling it open and slipping inside with a soft jangle of the interior bell. Shaking with relief, Melony collapsed down on her child with a crushing embrace.
    Watching from across the street, the tall stranger felt a slow rush of anticipation. On two previous occasions, hurrying into town upon belated word of the witch’s arrival, he’d just missed this Keyla as she rode away. As with all of her