Witchcraft

Chapter Five

I accidentally got almond oil in my left eye and so i wrote this entire chapter half-blind

If there are a lot of spelling mistakes (or rather, more than usual) that is why. I will edit this when i can see again.

thanks for reading i am going to go cry now

Chapter Five  

He locked me in the basement. I had managed to climb up the wooden stairs, only to twist the knob, and of course, it wouldn't budge.

I was locked in Sloan Mansion, by Sloan himself, and nobody knew where I was.

I tried to compose myself. I tried not to let the fear overtake me but what was the point?

I slammed my fist on the door, I screamed until my voice was raw, but I knew it was a fruitless effort. Nobody just hangs around Sloan Mansion. There is nobody but Judas and his father's remains to hear my cries, and that's exactly why I did it. If it'd annoy him, then that's good enough for me.

I admit, it was stupid to not come with a weapon. I had done such a spectacular job at convincing myself that Sloan would still be dead, that I didn't think about it until I was already in the forest. I regret not going back to get something to defend myself. If I had a gun right now, all I had to do was shoot the door, and shoot Judas. I don't think it'd be as hard as killing someone else, because at least I would know that Judas can't die.

Even if he is a fucking nut.

Exhausted, I give up pounding on the door, and return down the stairs to see if there is anything I can use to hurt him when he comes back. There is an old couch, covered in dust and cobwebs, as well as large wooden crates that I assumed dated back decades ago. Most of the crates were empty, but others had old furniture pieces in them. One had a very detailed and elegant chair, another had a table that clearly went along with the chair. There was an old lamp in another, and it was way too heavy to pick up and use as a weapon.

There was an old stove heater, something you'd see from the 1800's. It was completely grey in dust, even though it's natural color is a dark black. Obviously, that is not a weapon either.

My head was still pounding, and the longer I stood, the more the room began to spin. I ran my hand across the couch, clearing it of any cobwebs, and I sat down; my entire body ached.

It has been over twenty-four hours since I have last slept, and I can barely think. My head hurts, it hurts so bad I feel nauseous.

I lay down and close my eyes for only a moment. I don't know how long I slept, but I'm awoken by the basement door creaking open, and Judas slowly walking down the stairs, as if he is scared to greet me.

I try to quickly sit up, but I can only move slowly, my head pounding so hard that it takes a moment for my eyes to see properly.

Judas and I lock gazes, and he stops at the bottom of the stairs as if he doesn't want to come any further into the room. I don't know why he's cautious, I can barely stand, let alone make a run for it.

I glare at him, and I hope my hatred is evident, "Do you plan to keep me down here forever? Perhaps curse me like your father cursed you?"

He stares at me, and then, after a long moment of contemplation, it seems he's finally gathered enough thought to say, "You're cold." At first I think he's insulting me, but when I see him hesitantly move to the old heater, I realized he was genuinely telling me my temperature. I watched him as he pulled a match from his pocket, and lit the old wood in it with ease.

When he turns back to me, the scars on his face are more evident in the fire's light. The bullet wound my brother gave him was still prominent; fresh. I winced at it. It looked painful, did it still hurt?

This man was crazy, and no doubt dangerous, but who wouldn't be when they are hunted down and alone every year of their life?

There was no point in trying to run up the stairs and escape. Of course he'd catch me, but perhaps, if I show him he can trust me, maybe he's gullible enough to believe I'd stay.

It was a risky plan, but I was out of options.

I force myself to say, "Thank you." Because I really hadn't realized just how cold I was until the heat of the fire encased me like a hug.

He doesn't respond, so I try to think of something more to add, but I can't think of anything. We end up studying each other, until he abruptly spins to leave. I panic, and shout, "Wait!"

He stops, his back turned to me, when he slowly looks back, I spit out the first words that come to mind, "I'm hungry." I'm not, in fact, I still have some dried deer meat with me, but I'm saving it as I don't know how long he'll keep me down here.

Everyone knows that Judas can't die, and I always wondered if that meant he doesn't have to eat either. How else would he contain food if he can't leave the house?

He blinks, and speaks, "I will not let you starve." And that is the last thing he says before he moves up the stairs, and locks the door once more.

I have no clock to measure the time, I end up sitting on the couch, basking in the heat of the stove for I'm not sure how long. It feels like a while, but it could have only been minutes too. When Judas returns, he's carrying a bowl of food, I'm not sure what it is, and because he seems scared to go near me, he does not hand me the bowl, but places it gently on the concrete floor. I peek over and to see the contents of the bowl.

Vegetables. All sorts of them.

I slowly hoist myself off the couch, and retrieve the bowl of vegetables. Judas takes several steps back, but he doesn't leave.

Looking into the bowl, I see carrots, cabbage, I even notice some type of melon.

I'm surprised. "How did you get these?" I ask him, and wonder if he has some sort of indoor garden.

He must have, as there is no other explanation.

"I don't have anything else." He ignores my question.

Is it even safe to eat? I pick up a carrot, it looks fresh, it looks clean. It is so bizarre.

He begins to leave again, and this time I let him. When the door is locked, I once again return my gaze to the vegetables. So, he does eat, or rather, he grows his own food. Where does he get the water? The dirt? Perhaps he doesn't have to eat but grows food anyway.

I don't know what to think.

I do not eat the food, instead I place the bowl back on the floor, and I wait.

I think I am in too much pain to cry, and I'm still exhausted. My father has taught me how to survive alone in the woods. I've gone weeks camping in the Alaskan woods with my brothers. This is nothing. I will be fine. I will get out of here. This is only temporary.

I have a plan; getting him to trust me. If, somehow, he believes in my act, all I have to do is get close enough to the front door and run out. Were he to follow me, he'd be lit up in flames.

All I have to do is show him kindness.

I reach down and grab a carrot, while I hear Judas's footsteps from upstairs. Laying back with my eyes closed as I listen; I take a bite.