The Good Witch

In her father’s desperation to find her a new mother, Suzie and Dad fell prey to a shrewd woman with two nasty daughters of her own. Moving into their home atop a hill outside of town was one of the worst days in her young life.

It was tall and skinny, levels sandwiched atop each other like rotted wooden pancakes. The stairs on all floors creaked, the corners filled with cobwebs, cats slinking about the house like thieves.

Suzie shivered in her bed atop the highest floor, where the heat escaped through torn shingles. It was this night, weeks after arriving, that the Good Witch appeared. She came in a moment’s flickering and in her hand she held a bottle. Suzie was too young to read the label. The Good Witch tiptoed over and held a finger in front of her smiling face, patted the young girl on her head, and vanished.

Suzie clutched the leaky bottle tight. It had an awful smell, truly vicious, but it was a gift to her, and she felt something magical inside.

In a few days, she and Dad would be all alone.

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