Page 110 of The Witch

“Please,” I croak. “I won’t tell anyone. I swear.”

“Come now. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“How do you expect to get away with this?” I drop the shovel and wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. “My parents know I’m here. They’ll be looking for me.”

“Right.” She nods like she’s considered this. “And I’ll tell them you left bright and early in the morning, and after that, I’m not sure what happened. You’ve been so lost and directionless lately—can’t even find a job—so maybe you decided to travel the country to find yourself.” She lifts a shoulder. “What do I know? I’m just an old woman. It’s not like you tell me everything.”

I back up against the side of the grave that I just dug for myself. Celia has killed before—she killed my real grandmother, and now she has killed the man she loved; it would be so easy for her to pull the trigger a third time.

I’ve got to figure out a way to stop this. Except what can I do? The only weapon I have is that small shovel. And I’m too far away to even attempt to hit her with it.

The only thing within my reach is the dirt. Lots and lots of dirt.

“And conveniently,” Celia adds, “you’re already in the hole where I will be burying you.” She smiles. “Right next to your dear grandmother.”

My fingers close around a handful of fresh earth. As hard as I can, I throw it at Celia, spraying little bits of dirt everywhere as I scramble out of the hole. Celia lets out an annoyed cry. It’s not enough to stop her, but it throws her off for long enough for me to steady myself on the ground. I’m out of the hole, and now I can run. If she wants to kill me and bury my body, she’s going to have to put some work into it. I’m not about to let another Eldridge die and get buried on this estate.

“Stop right now!” Celia screams. “Or I’ll shoot!”

I sprint across the backyard as quickly as I can, but Celia isn’t messing around. She fires the gun, and I almost feel the bullet whiz by my ear. Two inches to the left, and that would’ve been the end of me. It’s dark, and she is no expert shot, but now she’s running to catch up with me. I can hear her rapid footsteps and the faint panting of her breath. Her stamina is better than I thought.

I’m gaining more distance, and the back door of the house is within throwing distance. Another burst of energy propels me over those last several yards. I’ve now made it to the back of the house, and Celia is too far behind to stop me. All I need to do is run through the house to the front door, and then I’ll jump in my car and drive to the nearest police station.

I don’t have even a second to catch my breath. I wrap my hand around the doorknob leading to the house. I’m home free.

Except…

The doorknob doesn’t turn.

“I locked it.” Celia’s voice is behind me but getting louder. “Just a little precaution that I’m very glad I took.”

Oh no.

I can’t believe the only thing between me and escape is this stupid door. I throw my body against it, hoping the lock will break.

“Don’t do that, Julia.” Celia’s voice has become singsong. “That door is part of the original house, and it’s very well made. Like they say, they don’t make ’em like that anymore.”

My eyes well with tears as I slam my body against the door again. My shoulder screams in pain, but as promised, the door does not budge. I wonder if I can run around the side of the house to get to my car, but it’s much too far and Celia is much too close.

“Turn around, Julia,” Celia says to me. “But slowly, with your hands in the air. I hate to shoot somebody in the back—it’s so unsportsmanlike. Although I will if I have to.”

I raise my hands in the air and turn around slowly, as instructed. I lost my flashlight, but I can make out Celia’s silhouette with the gun in her right hand, pointed directly at me. While she was running, her neat bun came partially undone. She looks as disheveled as she ever has, which is more put together than I have ever been.

“I’m sorry it had to end this way,” she says. “I’m sorry I have to kill you like I killed Ethel. And I’m even sorrier, for your sake, that none of that ridiculous ghost stuff was real. After I pull this trigger, you will not be returning to haunt Pemberton. You will simply be dead and buried in an unmarked grave, like your grandmother, and like Caroline Eldridge.”

I always wondered what happens after you die. I have truly started to believe that your spirit stays behind, looking out for the people who mattered to you in life. But now I think Celia is probably right—and Henry would agree. When you’re dead, you’re just dead.

I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for the bang of the gun. Waiting for the explosion of pain in my chest, and then…blackness.

And then I hear it: a loud thump.

Wait.

That wasn’t a gunshot.

I open my eyes, expecting to see Celia standing there like she was a moment ago. But instead, she is sprawled out on the ground, a gash on her temple. She looks to be unconscious—the gun has fallen from her right hand.

And standing over her is my grandmother. No, not my grandmother—it is Letitia Barlow. Holding the large shovel from the garage that she used to dig up that bone.