Page 62 of Night of the Witch
A shadow rises behind her, growing, growing through the light until her outline blends and bleeds into the silhouette of a massive tree, gnarled branches reaching into the endless white light. Her shoulders protrude from the tree, her elbows and knees, but my eyes cannot focus on where she ends and the tree begins.
“What? No!” Another slip down. I cling to the wall, thrusting my weight against it, fingers aching and legs trembling at trying to keep myself on these crumbling footholds. “That’s not what happened—please—”
“Oh, it’s far too late, Fritzichen,” says someone else.
I know that voice.
My body goes ice-cold, a thousand warring memories fighting to be felt.
I look up slowly, the stench of earth overpowering, mildew and decay and dying, breaking things.
And there, kneeling next to the tree, is Dieter.
Kommandant Kirch now.
Resplendent in his hexenjäger uniform.
Mama is gone. The tree remains, with Dieter over the hole, separate from it, seemingly unaware of it behind him.
“It’s too late,” Dieter says again. “You had your chance.”
Come to me, Fritzi,says the voice. Only the branches of the tree shift, those ancient limbs flicking and twitching like in a wind, but I know,I know, the tree is speaking, the tree is the voice I have been pushing against for so, so long.He lies. It is not too late. You can still stop him. Come to me. Say the spell.
My body wracks with a sob, tears relentless, choking.
Dieter reaches down into the hole. My heart tangles with hope and fear, and before I can decide whether to trust him, he grabs my hands, wrenches me off the wall, and drops me into the darkness.
“Auf Wiedersehen, Fritzichen,” he calls, and I scream as the nothingness swallows me—
But I’m not falling alone.
Next to me, the wind of the fall billowing her blond hair, is Liesel, little Liesel, her eyes gaunt and bloodshot, bruises on her cheekbones. Her thin fingers scramble to reach for my shoulders, clinging to me as we both fall into nothingness, down, down into darkness.
“He’ll break through,” Liesel gasps at me. “He’ll break through the barrier with me. Get me out, Fritzi,get me out—”
“I’m trying!” I grab onto her, but the darkness of the cellar is thicker and thicker the farther we fall, and when I look up, the square of the opening is a pinprick, and I can barely make out the silhouette of Dieter there, motionless, staring down at my unraveling as the tree looms larger and larger behind him.
Come to me. Say the spell. Come to me.
“Liesel!” I grope for her in the dark. “Mama!”
“Fritzi!”
A different voice in the dark. The bony arms of my cousin are broader now, heavy and solid, and hands grab at my shoulders, pat my cheeks.
“Wake up—Fritzi,wake up!”
The dream releases me with a ripping surge, and I careen into the present, gasping the frigid air of the night-drenched house fort. The lantern is relit on the floor next to the cot, and its unsteady orange light shows me the kapitän sitting next to me, his hands on my shoulders, his pinched face flickering in and out of shadows.
“Fritzi?” He prods my name, the barest echo of care, and I come apart.
Sobs send me rocking forward, and I cling to him, my forehead pressed against his chest. He goes stiff for only a moment, then his arms fold around me, cradling me against the wide set of his chest.
I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve his comfort, his help. I deserve to fall, I deserve the way Mama looked at me in my dream, like there was nothing left to save.
Schiesse, I sound like a Catholic. Self-deprecation and flagellation.
My sobs start to abate, but only because I’m shaking too hard. It’s absolutelyfrigidin this house fort—every part of my body is numb with cold, and I’m almost grateful for that discomfort to yank me out of my sorrow.
