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The Old Witch



It was a cold winter night, shrouded in a dense fog that clung to the deserted street. Despite the late hour, 1:30 am, a full moon provided a welcome beacon on my bicycle ride home. It was election week, and our newspaper had managed to snag some crucial insider information. Naturally, our cautious editor delayed the printing until the very last minute before closing time.

As a 21-year-old from a poor family, I had recently landed a job at the newspaper printing press, located about 30 kilometers from my village. On regular nights, the presses ran until 8 pm, allowing me to return home by 9:30 pm. But that night, something unexpected occurred on my way back.

I spotted an old lady sitting by the roadside, weeping uncontrollably. Seeing her alone in the middle of nowhere startled me. Perhaps, I thought, her family had abandoned her. Moved by her plight, I stopped my bicycle and inquired about her village and if she was alright.

The lateness of the hour weighed on me, so I decided to offer her some leftover food from my evening snack box. She devoured the entire box in a flash, which surprised me considering her frail appearance. Despite the moonlight, I couldn't make out her face clearly, no matter how hard I strained my eyes.

Out of concern for her safety from wild animals, I offered to drop her off at her village if it was along my way. The old lady gestured with her hand, indicating a direction. It was my usual route home, one I knew like the back of my hand. However, there were no villages on the path she seemed to be leading me towards. My questions went unanswered as she remained silent.

As we ventured deeper, the road gave way to dense jungle. An unsettling feeling crept over me, and I decided to turn back. Suddenly, the old lady began scaling a tree with astonishing agility, screeching with a voice I didn't recognize. Her long nails, significantly longer than before, scraped the bark. For the first time, under the moonlight, I saw her face tilted towards the sky. It was a horrifying sight – a woman with long, flowing hair, her face contorted in a smile that revealed empty black holes where her eyes should have been.

Panic seized me. I sprinted away without looking back, ignoring the pain of scraping my feet and not caring about my abandoned bicycle. I could feel her presence in the trees, drawing closer with each chilling screech. Frantic, I chanted religious hymns, and eventually, after a breathless run, stumbled back onto the deserted road as dawn broke.

Exhausted and terrified, I collapsed near some villagers making their way to their morning rituals. That encounter left me bedridden with a high fever for two months. Eventually, my family and I moved to the city, settling into an apartment where the constant hum of traffic replaced the haunting silence of that fateful night. The city may be noisy, but it offers a peace that the dark, deserted roads never could.



The Old Witch



*A story shared by the author's college friend, who chooses to be anonymous.

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