The Witches of Marble Falls

I

There was no sign on the highway signalling the exit to Marble Falls—just a sharp turn off into a thickly wooded area that went on for miles. The ground was red and brown with needles and leaves, damp with the fog that rested within the branches looming over the road. An unsteady wood fence lined the road on either side, with brief and small openings here and there for animals to pass through. It was a long drive on that path, twists and turns and ups and downs for miles until they reached the small, rural town.

Marble Falls rested on the bank of a misty grey lake, backdropped by awe inspiring mountains eternally capped in white. It had a dock where residents kept boats; there was a main street, housing a hardware store, a diner, a coffee shop, and a few thrift stores.

Pouring from the mountains roared the waterfall that gave the town its name. Nestled within the woods that surrounded the town were the homes of the residents—each home maintained a garden for fruits and vegetables and the occasional decorative flower. A farmers market stood in the town square each week and was the most exciting thing in the town. It looked to be a tight knit community where the residents regarded outsiders with a weary eye, and families lived for generations in the same houses.

It was a quiet town where nothing exciting happened. Though the teenage residents were less than thrilled with their isolation, the older generations were happy to be away from the hustle and bustle of city. So, it was with great disquiet that the residents stood on the side-walks as a black van lumbered down the main street and took a left onto Twin View Lane.

It stopped in front of a small mint coloured house with roses and lilacs and lavender blooming around the front fence. Two lithe bodies exited the back of the van and stood on the stone walk. Their hands met, their fingers intertwined, and they both looked back at the open car door. Thin legs covered in dirty brown trousers that ended above the ankle, sloppy shoes on the wrong feet. A pair of hands emerged next, gripping the door-frame and the door handle as the boy hopped down from the seat. Behind him followed a girl, her white dress stained and her brown curls knotted around her head. The four children stared for a moment at the cottage. They made a note of the bundles of flowers and herbs hanging from the eaves. The front door with its oval of glass covered by a lace curtain rustled, shadows moving behind it.

The driver shook her head at the children. 'Go, now. No one will hurt you.' She started the van and backed away from the house. They did not turn to wave or say goodbye, they only watched as the front door opened and two women stepped onto the porch.

Agatha and Kittie Wakefield were, quite plainly, opposites of one another. Though they had similar builds and bone structures, one could tell them apart by their hair and style of dress. Agatha had hair the colour of autumn leaves, red and brown and gold, that fell in waves over her shoulders; Kittie had straw coloured hair that fell in pin-straight lines down her back, only a few strands out of place, draping around her neck. Where Agatha revelled in colours and prints, Kittie appeared beside her, proper in a slimming black dress that covered her arms, ending at her knuckles, and dusted the wooden porch. The women looked at the four children, and their faces welcomed them.

'Emilia, Valerie—come here, girls.' Agatha cooed, waving her hand, inviting the two older girls to the porch. Kittie descended the stairs, the sound of her shoes like a horse's hooves on stone as she walked toward the younger siblings. At first, her appearances terrified the children—she was tall and stern in her dress, like the woman who had watched them at the group home. Kittie broke the tension with a smile, and said:

'My sweets, Hayden,' she patted the boy on the head, 'and Daphne. Come inside, before the chill from the lake settles in your wee bones.' The children followed Agatha and Kittie into the house where the aroma of burning herbs and dusty books and fresh bread filled their senses. Agatha offered the children chairs and tea that smelled of forest and rain; they drank their tea in silence as Kittie placed warm slices of spiced bread on a platter and fresh fruit in a bowl. As they sat, placing their offerings on the table in front of the children, they glanced at one another. Agatha gave a silent nod and Kittie clasped her hands in front of her.

'We are so very sorry to hear what happened to your parents, children. It was a tragedy.' Kittie began, her face soft and her voice quiet. 'I think we will all miss them a greatly.'

'And why would you miss them? You never came to visit. When was the last time you even saw mum?' Emilia said, putting her cup down. She stood from the table and left the room, storming out the front door, slamming it behind her. Hayden, Daphne, and Valerie glanced at each other, but went back to their tea, bread, and fruit. Kittie stood from her chair, but Agatha rose first and gestured for her sister to sit.

'I'll take care of her, Kittie. Console these three.' Agatha said, gripping her sister's shoulder. Kittie patted her hand and looked at the children sitting across from her.

Most people would say their births were an anomaly because it was rare to conceive only twins. However, the Wakefield's were known to only birth twins, as noted in the town records. The Marble Falls library recorded only three single births in the four hundred year history of the Wakefield's.

She and Agatha were one of two sets of twins their mother birthed—Eleanora, the children's mother, and their brother Harvey were the younger set. Harvey died at a young age before the others could have fully comprehended his death. The three sisters had been close most of their childhood and teen years, but grew apart when Eleanora left their home-town for the city and college. Emilia had been correct, it had been years since the sisters had been in contact with one another, aside from letters and short phone calls on birthdays and holidays. Eleanora refused to let the children visit during the summer though they always enjoyed their time with their aunts.