I’d never seen anyone like her, with her black silky hair mixed with disgusting dreadlocks. I pictured myself running my fingers through it just to see what it felt like. But one does not run their fingers through the hair of a witch.
Cordelia started school midway through the second term, just as Halloween ended. She stood in front of the class, catching everyone’s attention with her two different colored eyes: the right one black and the left green. Her spicey-leathery smell reached the back of the classroom.
“She’s a witch,” Kayden leaned toward me and whispered, but not softly. Cordelia shot her gaze at us, and Kayden and I looked away like cowards.
It horrified and slightly intrigued me when she showed up in microbiology, and the teacher assigned her as my lab partner.
“You will partner up with A’lamar.” He directed her toward me.
Cordelia took the empty seat at my table, stuffing her patched bag next to my feet.
“So, you’re the boy who thinks I am a witch,” she said, staring at me with eyes as powerful as Medusa’s. I looked away so she didn’t turn me to stone.
I had no answer for her.
Paper crinkled behind me, and someone sneezed. I squirmed in my chair and sat on my hands, trying to pretend a witch wasn’t right next to me.
The teacher, Mr. Crombie, said, “Alright, everyone, we are going to be studying the cells of plants today.”
Cordelia leaned into me and whispered into my ear. “I am a witch.” Her acidic breath blew into my face.
My blood curdled in my veins.
And wouldn’t you know it, she got on my bus after school.
“Where’s your broom?” A kid named Mike said as she walked down the aisle.
She stopped next to his seat. “Why don’t you come home with me, and I will show you.”
Mike scooted closer to his seat partner.
“That’s what I thought,” she purred and continued toward the back of the bus. Her eyes caught mine and locked them in for the kill.
Oh no, Kayden isn’t here yet. She is going to sit by me. I know it.
“A’lamar,” she said as she turned her butt into me and tried to sit. I threw my arm over the empty space.
“This seat is taken,” I squeaked out.
“By me,” she said as she pushed her weight into the spot. I scrunched next to the window. I could taste her odor of incense or whatever clung to her clothes. I stared out the window and acted as if she wasn’t there.
The bus driver’s awful country music played, with the twaining and sadness that those annoying songs bring. The cheap speakers popped and crackled. Why couldn’t he play popular hits?
“So that is how you are going to be,” she said halfway through the ride home.
I didn’t respond.
“Listen, A’lamar. You don’t want to piss off a witch. You know, you can show me some kindness.”
I thought about continuing to ignore her, but she was right. I didn’t want to piss off a witch.
I turned to her but avoided those eyes. “Are you really a witch?”
Cordelia rolled up the sleeve of her brown velvet blouse and showed a tattoo of some pagan star with curly Latin words around it. She took her finger and rubbed a powder across my lips.
Angered by her unwanted touch, I almost barked at her, but then my deepest thoughts spewed out. “That’s dope. Your parents let you get a tattoo? I’d like a tattoo, but my parents said they’d kick me out if I got one. They are so controlling. I hate them. They control everything I do. My mom is the ultimate Karen.”
A kid from the front crawled toward the back of the bus, trying to avoid the bus driver’s mirror. He breathed heavily as his hands slapped against the floor. At the very back, he popped up, grabbed a kid’s backpack, and ran toward the front. The bus hit a pothole, and the kid flew momentarily, then slammed against the floor.
“Sit down!” the driver screamed.
I had momentarily stopped speaking to watch the action but soon returned to going on and on about my life.
I couldn’t stop myself from sharing intimate details until we came to a new stop on the bus route. We pulled up next to the city cemetery. Cordelia smiled at me. “I will see you tomorrow.”
“She’s getting off at the cemetery,” a kid said as Cordelia walked to the front.
“I told you she is a witch.”
Cordelia turned, waving her gnarly fingernail at us. “I am a witch, and you better watch out, or I will hex every one of you.” And then she cackled. Her voice high and shrill, sounded just like a witch.
No one spoke as Cordelia got off. The bus driver turned the corner before I could see where Cordelia had gone.
“I bet she lives at the cemetery,” Kayden said, sliding beside me.
“I am sure she does.”
“Bruh, why didn’t you save my seat?”
“The witch said she’d put a spell on me if I didn’t let her sit.”
Kayden stared at my face as we hit a bump and bounced in our seat. “What is on your lips?” he asked.
I wiped them, and brown powder dusted my finger.
“I dunno. The witch wiped something on them.”
Kayden shuttered. “That is creepy.”
“You’re telling me. I think it was a truth spell, of some sort, because I couldn’t stop telling her all about my life.”
The next day in Microbiology, after Mr. Crombie explained the assignment, he said, “You have forty-five minutes to complete the lab.” He leaned back in his chair, put his feet on his desk, and pulled out his phone.
Chatter erupted as we knew he no longer cared how the rest of the period went. And parents say that we teens are always on the phone. They would be surprised to see how many teachers don’t actually teach. They just scroll on social media while we are left to our own.
“I’ll gather the supplies,” I said to Cordelia. I grabbed the microscope and slide kit and returned to our table.
“Have you ever done anything with microscopes?”
Cordelia shook her head.
“Here, I will set up the slide.”
“You know,” she said. “I have been thinking about all the injustice you told me about your parents. I have a solution for you.”
I set the slide down and looked at her. Her eyes almost seemed to glow.
Next to us a kid angrily stood up as his chair scraped against the floor. All eyes turned to him as he yelled, “It is my turn.” He saw us watch him, and his face went red. He slumped back into his seat.
Cordelia stared at him for a second more, then turned to me. “I have been working on a potion that I think will solve your problems.”
“Mm,” I said apathetically. Why had I shared my problems with a witch?
“Meet me at the cemetery tonight at one minute past midnight. I think I can end all those unwanted interactions you have with your parents.”
“Yeah, yeah, for sure,” I said sarcastically. I picked the slide back up and attached a plant cell to it. Why did I get stuck with a looney witch as a lab partner?
After school, I walked into the house to find my parents sitting in the parlor, waiting for me. They had that look on their faces that told me my life was about to end.
“A’lamar, sit!”
“What’s this about?” I didn’t sit but threw my weight on my back leg and folded my arms. I hated it when they ganged up on me. I hadn’t done anything wrong in a while. This wasn’t fair.
“Well, we put spyware on your phone, and we’ve been watching what sights you visit, and we’ve read your texts and…”
I exploded. “You have no right to spy on me.”
My dad stormed toward me. “Do not talk to your mother that way.”
I stood my ground. “You don’t have any right to spy.”
“Give me your phone,” My dad commanded, with his hand outstretched.
I backed toward the wall. “No.”
“Harold, sit down,” my mom said.
My dad stepped into me, stared at me, and then, like a faithful dog, sat by my mom.
“Listen, A’lamar, we saw everything on your phone. And I mean everything.”
Her words sunk in. All my private searches. All my texts. Oh no, they saw my texts with Lizzy. My head spun, and I stumbled into the wall.
“Give us your phone.”
I couldn’t think. What all have they seen?
As guilt entered me, it washed away my defense. I pulled the phone out of my pocket and handed it to my mom.
“How long are you going to keep my phone?”
“Forever. You have shown you are not responsible enough for a phone. You can buy your own phone when you are an adult.”
Guilt gone. Anger returned.
“You can’t do that to me!”
“And we have put heavy restrictions on your laptop. You will only be able to access your school account.”
A demon of hate crawled out of the floorboards and took over my body. A rumbling exploded in me, and I grabbed my mom’s glass figurine. I knew I held her most prized possession. It was her most cherished heirloom, dating back to the cavemen. Wait, maybe she had purchased it on her honeymoon in the Amazon rainforest. Perhaps it was my father’s engagement gift to her.
Regardless, she loved the figurine more than me, and to make her hurt like she made me hurt, I smashed it against the wall.
My mom let out the sound a rabbit makes while being slaughtered.
Her disappointment wasn’t enough.
“Rarrr!” I kicked my foot into the curio and shattered the glass and a couple more figurines inside.
“To your room now, boy, before I call the cops!”
“Gladly,” I stomped to my room and slammed the door so hard that the knob broke.
“I hate my parents. I hate my parents. I hate my parents.”
The evening dragged on as I had nothing to do. The fury in me built as I stayed locked in confinement. I heard my parents go to bed around ten. I couldn’t sleep. I refused to lay in my covers as my mind spun in madness.
At 11:30, my mind wandered to my earlier conversation with Cordelia. “I have been thinking about all the injustice you told me about your parents. I have a solution for you,” she had said. “I have been working on a potion that I think will solve your problems.”
Could she solve my problems?
At 11:45, impulsively, I crawled out of my window and skated to the cemetery.
I didn’t think I was the scared type, but as I walked between the gravestones, my legs started rebelling by hardly moving. Every sound made me jump as I searched for Cordelia. Where am I supposed to meet her anyway?
This is so stupid.
The cemetery smelled of wet dirt and moss. And death? Do I smell death? I thought I might.
I turned to head home when I heard, “A’lamar.”
Hearing a witch call my name in the cemetery made my eye twitch. A chill came over the graveyard as flakes of snow fell upward. Seriously, they emerged from the ground and formed dark clouds above us.
I didn’t want to turn to Cordelia. I wanted to run, but where was she?
An ice-cold hand touched my shoulder. I jumped higher than the jocks who did the high jump at school. My heart beat so fast I wondered if it would explode.
“Are you ready to change your life,” her wispy voice said.
I shrugged. I turned and looked at Cordelia. If I had ever doubted that she was a witch, those feelings disappeared. She stood in the dark as the light of the moon illuminated her long cloak and freaky facial grin. I have made a mistake. I never should have come.
Cordelia sprinkled a potion on my head as she circled me, chanting words that felt like the very devil was speaking. My skin tingled. I looked at my arm and saw spiders crawl out of my sleeves.
“What are you doing?” I madly swatted at my arms, chest, and legs. Spiders swarmed my face, and they all started biting—millions of tiny fangs sunk into my skin.
“Stop. Stop. Stop. Make it stop!”
Cordelia didn’t stop.
And then, the pain hit. A piercing, stinging pain entered every single cell. My cells felt like they were swelling to the point of exploding, and then they imploded. Burning. Stretching. Shrinking. I levitated off the ground and spun in circles. I spun so fast that I thought I might enter another realm. My body tightened, and I shrunk smaller and smaller until I was the size of a Barbie doll.
“What did you do to me?” My little voice squeaked. The spinning stopped, and I fell to the ground. I went to stand up but didn’t move. I was as stiff as a statue. I always thought the witch with her two-colored eyes was like Medusa and would turn me to stone.
Cordelia’s giant body hovered above as she looked down at me.
“Oh crap,” her loud voice rumbled through my chest.
She picked me up. “I think I screwed up.”
You think?
Cordelia put me in her bag, and I jiggled all around as she ran home. It smelt funky in her bag, like a mixture of stinky socks, books, and spices. I desperately wanted to crawl out and breathe fresh air, yet nothing moved on me. I remained in her bag for well over a week. At times, I heard her living her life at school and home; other times, there was only silence. I had my thoughts to keep me company, but nothing else. I couldn’t move.
Then, one night, the bag opened up, and a large hand pulled me out.
“Cordelia! What have you done?”
An adult witch held me. This had to be her mom. She had the same two-color eyes, except the black and green were in opposite eyes. She wore a black laced dress that could have come from the 1800s.
“Cordelia, get in here now!” The voice pierced my ears, yet I couldn’t cover them. The smell of sage lingered around me, and my stomach growled. I was dying to eat something, starving for over a week. The witch put me on a table.
“Cordelia!”
I scanned the area around me with its scattered papers, bundles of weeds, and stuff. My parents kept a home so clean that I was afraid to even breathe in it because my breath might soil something of mom’s. I liked the chaotic energy of the witch’s home.
Cordelia walked into the room. She looked at me and then at the adult-witch. Both her hands flew to her mouth, and she backed away slowly.
“Stop! Cordelia. Where are you going? Tell me what you’ve done.”
“Well, I might have cast the mutatio spell on a kid from my class.”
“You might have?”
“Well, I did.”
The witch clicked her tongue. “This is not the mutatio spell. Give me your spell book. Show me what you did.”
Cordelia left, then returned with an ancient leather book. She opened it and pointed to a page. “There, the mutatio spell.”
The adult-witch intently studied it. “Did you follow it exactly to the T?”
“Well, yes and no. I might have improvised.”
“Improvised. Do tell.”
“Well, I didn’t have bat drool, so I used dog drool. And instead of doing it by the light of a full moon, I did it under a waxing gibbous moon.”
“CORDELIA!”
“I am sorry, Mom.”
“Who is this boy, anyway?”
“I dunno. Just some boy.”
“His name?”
“A’lamar, something or other.”
The witch-mom counted her fingers. “So, he’s been like this for ten days?”
“I guess.” Cordelia looked away. She didn’t seem so confident as she cowered under her mother’s disapproval.
“We must take him to his parents.”
“No, Mom, he hates his parents. That’s why I was doing the spell.”
“I told you never to do a spell on your own.”
Cordelia moved out of my line of vision. “I know,” I heard her say.
“Let us take him to his parents,” the witch-mom said, picking me up.
“Oh, Mom, please no.”
“We have to.”
“What if the parents have us arrested or, worse, drown us or burn us with faggots as they did our ancestors?”
“I will put a spell of contentment on them,” the witch-mom said. “But they have the right to their son. They have the right to know what has been done. I will see what I can do to counter the spell.”
“Can’t you undo it?”
“Only you can undo the spell, and I doubt you have any idea how to do that.”
“I don’t, but you could teach me.”
The witch-mom let out a long sigh. “If I knew what spell you cast on him, then perhaps, but you altered it, and I don’t know how you would undo it.”
Cordelia’s voice sounded weak. “I am sorry, Mom.”
The witch-mom grabbed a glass container that had a tarantula in it. She lifted the dome, removed the tarantula, put me in its place, and closed the glass dome on me.
I wanted to scream!
I needed to scream!
But I couldn’t.
“Where does the boy live?” The witch-mom asked.
“I dunno.”
“I will ask the stones,” the witch-mom said. She spread a handful of stones on the table and studied them.
“Awe, that is where you live,” she said.
I wanted power to do that.
The two carried me to my front door, and before they knocked, the witch-mom chanted something and then waved her hands at the door. It must have been her spell of contentment. I wasn’t sure what that would do. I guess to stop my parents from calling the police on them.
My mom answered the door. She had massive bags under her eyes, looking fifty years older than I remembered.
When she saw the witches, she stepped back into the house. “Can I help you?”
The witch-mom showed the glass dome with me in it.
My mom let out a horrific scream and collapsed on the ground. I heard my dad’s feet pound as he came to the door.
“What did you do to my wife?” He snapped as he knelt next to my mom.
“I am afraid my daughter put a spell on your son.”
My dad’s head jerked up. “You know where A’lamar is. His anger disappeared as he came to their side. He looked at my mom on the ground, then at the witches. “Oh, please tell me he isn’t dead.”
Tears came to my dad’s eyes.
The witch-mom held the dome to my dad. He looked at it. I don’t think he processed what he saw. He returned his eyes to Cordelia. When he saw her eyes, he shuttered.
“Please tell me where A’lamar is.”
“He is in the dome.”
My dad scratched his head. “I don’t follow.”
The witch-mom shoved me into my dad’s face. He moaned as if she had dumped boiling tar on his skin.
“What is going on?” His voice became defensive as he backed up.
“My daughter put a spell on him.”
“You are witches.”
“Yes.”
My dad wrapped his arms around his chest. I had never seen him scared. “Why would you do that?” He sounded like he might cry.
“He wanted me to.”
I did not!
“Can you please make him big?”
My mom moved, moaned, then sat up. She held her forehead and rapidly blinked her eyes. My dad dropped to her side. “Oh, Helen.”
She scooted farther away from the witches.
“Are you alright, honey?”
My mom looked like she might pass out again. My dad left her side and returned to the witches.
“Please undo your spell and return A’lamar to us.”
“I am sorry. We cannot. The only thing I was able to do was put a counterspell on your son. He will stay as this figurine until November 6th. Every year, on the anniversary of the spell, he will have one day to become his full self again. But, at one minute past midnight, he will return to this state for another year.”
My mom curled into the fetal position. “What do you mean?”
“I think I explained it.”
“Please, please, please, you must undo this spell.”
“I have done all that I could.” The witch thrust the dome with me in at my dad. He grabbed it. I could no longer see the witches, but I could hear them walk down our steps.
“Wait, you can’t leave. Don’t leave. Return our son to us.”
They didn’t reply.
And so, that is how I became stuck in my glass prison. At first, my mom carried me around with her all day. Then, as the weeks went by, she would put me on the counter, where I would stay for half of the day. After several months, I spent more time alone in the kitchen or parlor. Eventually, I was placed on the fireplace mantel.
My glass dome was worse than hell. I watched my family live their life without me. They had parties. They celebrated holidays, and all I could do was watch. My mind never stopped working. I would play out conversations in my head that they would never hear. My body still had sensations like hunger, pain, and sorrow, yet I could do nothing to satisfy them.
I had lost track of time, but when my mom started decorating for Halloween, I got excited. Soon, it would be November, and then the 6th. I couldn’t wait to become myself again if that really would happen. I had my doubts.
After the trick-or-treaters left, I started counting down the days. Six days. Five days. Only three to go.
On the eve of my anniversary, so much anticipation built in me. What if I didn’t get my day? What if nothing happened? That night, my mom slept on the couch with my dome on the end table by her head. At precisely 12:01 a.m., a sonic boom shook our house, and I sprawled out on the end table.
The big me.
The full me.
The me who could walk and talk.
“A’lamar!” My mom screamed through tears and joy. She grabbed my head and kissed it all over. Her touch felt amazing. I embraced her in the longest hug I had ever given anyone. I never wanted to let her go.
“Honey!” My mom hollered. “Honey, A’lamar is alive.”
My dad ran into the room. The three of us embraced as we did this little hug dance.
They couldn’t stop kissing me.
I didn’t mind.
We spent the following 23.59 hours soaking in each other’s company. My mom made me three of my favorite meals, which I devoured until I puked. I didn’t care. It felt excellent to eat. My dad returned from the store with four cartons of ice cream, sprinkles, whipped cream, and other toppings. I took a mixing bowl and made the largest ice cream Sunday ever!
We played a few card games. My parents told me all about the previous year and the events that had happened away from home. The day was more magical than any trip to Disneyland could ever be.
But sadly.
Oh, so sadly, one minute after midnight hit. My mom clutched me so tight I could hardly breathe. She wanted to defy the spell. -to stop the inevitable. But she couldn’t.
My body wretched in pain, as if it would rip apart. And like that, I was the silent figurine once again.
And then.
It happened.
All over again.
365 days of agonizing loneliness. No one to talk to. No one to hear my deepest thoughts and desires. There I stood, day in and day out, with throbbing legs that wanted a break. I watched my family move on without me. They celebrated life while I detested it. They laughed, they cried, they yelled, they fought. I did none of those things. I existed, but only that.
I watched my mom go through her mental challenges. Never could I ease her pain or comfort her. I watched my dad shut down to stress. Never could I lift his load.
The smells of breakfast and dinner would torment me. Sometimes, the house smelt so wonderful I felt ravenous. I would have given anything to break my spell and eat. -anything.
And then my day would come, a day I would spend 365 days planning for. One time, we celebrated every holiday. But it made things worse. Those presents my parents gave me only brought pain, pain of what couldn’t be. The presents sat on the couch for a month and mocked me, tormenting me that I could no longer enjoy them.
My parents spent the first few years seeking out the witches. After basic inquiry, they discovered Cordelia Schmidt and her mom, Evanora Schmidt, had registered their house with the school district as 928 Cemetery Rd. The problem was that was the address of the cemetery’s maintenance shed. The day after the witches returned me home, Cordelia quit going to school.
What was their purpose in moving to our town? Why had Cordelia decided to go to school? Would we ever find them again? -doubtful. And even if we did, it sounded like they didn’t know how to break the spell. The best the mom-witch could do was give me 24 hours of freedom once a year.
Was the freedom worth it? Nothing in the world was sweeter than those 24 hours, yet it left me in such a depression that I would have thrown myself off the fireplace hearth if I could. It usually took five months to pull out of the depression.
If only I could just talk to someone.
I regretted my last day as a real person when I broke my mom’s prized figurine. I would go the rest of my life without a phone and computer if it meant just having my abilities back, just having the gift of being me. But instead, I will spend the rest of my life in the glass dome, watching my parents age, yet I don’t seem to.
Will I live for eternity?
Maybe someone should just smash me against a wall.
________________________________________________________
The Silent Figurine
by Stephanie Daich