The Witch in the Woods

It was around 8 p.m. on a chilly Thursday evening, Kelly parked her Prius Prime on the side of the cabin, both her and Ali clad in comfortable sweatpants and oversized jackets. Ali had a big backpack slung over her shoulder, a pillow tucked under one arm, headphones dangling from her neck, and her large Stanley cup in hand. Kelly, on the other hand, carried only a tasteful tote bag, her expression hinting at uncertainty.

Kelly stopped suddenly after closing the car door, the cool air brushing against her face as she hesitated, then turned to Ali. “I wonder if we’re moving too fast with this whole cabin and Lua thing. We met her just days ago, and now we’re spending the night here?”

Ali raised an eyebrow, her upbeat nature unfazed. “What do you mean? We’re just committed to our project. This is for work, not pleasure,” She said before taking a big slurp from her gigantic cup.

“Are we? I mean, are we really? Or are we just trying to fill some kind of void in our lives?” Kelly challenged, her tone sharp. “I mean, come on, what do we really have going on right now? Besides this?”

Ali paused mid-step, clearly taken aback by the shift in tone. “Wow, okay. Speak for yourself, Kel.”

Kelly sighed, knowing she was being dramatic but feeling a strange tension she couldn’t shake. “Sorry, that’s a bit rough. I just… I don’t know. Don’t you think we should take things slow? It’s like our whole lives revolve around this cabin and this woman since the first time we stepped foot here.”

“Wait a minute,” Ali came closer to Kelly, narrowing her eyes. “Are you scared?”

Kelly scoffed. “Scared? No! What are you talking about?”

Ali grinned knowingly. “Yes, you are! That’s why you’re being weird about this. You’re freaked out about staying in the cabin the whole night. So you’re trying to bail.”

Kelly rolled her eyes, but Ali wasn’t having it. “Go ahead, do what you want. I’m going in.”

With that, Ali marched confidently up the porch steps, knocking on the door. Kelly followed reluctantly, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. After a few moments of silence, they glanced around, unsure if Lua was even home. The cabin seemed eerily quiet, no lights visible inside. Kelly tried the door, and to their surprise, it was unlocked. Hesitating only for a second, they slowly pushed it open and stepped inside.

Darkness greeted them.

Kelly wasn’t trying to hide her apprehension anymore. “Ok, now this is officially too creepy,” she said, her body tense and getting ready to run back to the car.

“Where’s the light switch?” Kelly muttered, fumbling along the wall. As she moved, Kelly’s foot caught on something—likely a rug—and she let out a small yelp, certain it was some wild animal lurking in the cabin. “Oh my God!” she gasped.

Ali, startled by Kelly’s scream, bumped into a lamp, nearly knocking it over. “Damn it, Kelly, don’t scare me like that!” she hissed, heart racing.

In the middle of the chaos, Kelly managed to find the light switch, illuminating the cabin in a warm, soft glow. They stood frozen for a second, their hearts still racing, taking in the scene around them. Everything felt charged, tense. The cozy vibe of the cabin had shifted into something more mysterious.

Ali broke the silence. “Let’s just go, she’s clearly not here.”

Kelly folded her arms. “Oh, now you’re scared? She’s probably in the garden. I’m not leaving.”

They sat on the couch, anxiety bubbling as they waited in the dimly lit cabin. Time seemed to stretch, their breaths the only sound, until suddenly, footsteps approached the porch. Panic surged through them.

“Oh my God,” Kelly whispered, eyes wide. “Someone’s coming. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

They both shot up, ready to bolt, when the door creaked open. Lua appeared, slightly out of breath, her face flushed from the cold. “Hey, girls! Sorry I’m late! I ran as fast as I could—I was just at GallU delivering some extra tarts for tomorrow. At times like these I wished I had a cell phone!” She was taking off her long suede brown coat and thick black scarf and placing them on the hanger when she paused, noticing their anxious expressions. “Did I startle you?”

—

Not too far from the cabin, at GallU’s Botanic Gardens Welcome Center, Peter Gallanti had been mingling with colleagues and university partners for two exhausting hours. He had curated the exhibition “Cultivators” over the past few months and felt proud of it, but if he had his way, he would have avoided the social obligations altogether. Yet, as the dean’s son and future heir to GallU’s leadership, Peter knew his presence was expected.

“You’re up next,” Hunter whispered as he passed by, coordinating staff through his headset. Peter sighed, adjusting his stance. Before he could move, Abigail intercepted him, fussing with his tie. He let her, though his impatience was clear, and made his way to the stage.

Despite his disdain for public events, Peter was undeniably good at them. He was the classic introvert-extrovert: able to command a room with ease but left utterly drained afterward. The prospect of retreating to solitude was far more appealing than endless socializing, but his responsibilities left little room for such indulgences.

His father’s words echoed in his mind from their earlier drive to the event. “I need you to convince every investor that GallU is the future of science. We need their investments, and they need to be substantial. This is our moment.” The pressure weighed heavily on Peter, one more burden in a life currently defined by stress and obligations, leaving little space for joy.

Stepping onto the stage, Peter delivered his speech with a calm authority that belied his inner exhaustion. His voice was steady and persuasive, effortlessly capturing the audience’s attention. He spoke with conviction, not only about the exhibition but also about its broader cultural significance.

“This garden display and exhibit highlight the knowledge, skill, and resilience of enslaved Africans, their descendants, and today’s Black community—and the deep connections they’ve fostered with plants and the cuisines those plants have inspired,” Peter explained, his tone both impassioned and professional. “Now, I’ll invite my father to tell you more about Gallanti University’s future and how you can join us in our mission to explore the enduring connections between the plant world’s rich diversity and the equally diverse cultures it sustains.” 

Polite applause filled the room, and Peter, flashing a small smile, added, “And by my father, I mean the great Joseph Gallanti, of course!” His light-hearted quip earned a ripple of laughter and applause from the crowd.

As Peter stepped down from the stage, he spotted Abigail waiting nearby. On impulse, he veered in the opposite direction, slipping into the crowd instead. He needed a moment away from her and the pressures that followed him everywhere.

—

The night had started off slightly rocky at the cabin, but the vibe quickly turned around and after chatting for a little while, they all settled at the table for dinner. Lua prepared a simple meal—warm soup and toast—accompanied by a bottle of wine. As they ate, the conversation flowed easily, though the earlier tension still lingered faintly in the air.

Ali took a sip of wine, glancing at Lua. “Do you ever get scared here, being alone?”

Lua shrugged as she cleared the table. “Sometimes, but mostly not. I love it here.” The soft glow of the room made her feel at peace, enveloping her in a sense of comfort that seemed impenetrable to fear.

Kelly, however, wasn’t convinced. “But you don’t even lock the doors when you leave. What if someone just walks in?” She tapped her fingers nervously on the table, the idea of an intruder making her stomach twist.

Lua smiled softly, her eyes drifting toward the window. “What would they take? There’s nothing here worth stealing. Maybe some food, but if someone’s desperate enough to steal food, I think we can agree they should have it.” Her voice was warm, filled with a mix of pragmatism and understanding.

Kelly leaned back, arms crossed, eyebrows knitted in concern. “There are other dangers besides robbery, though.” Her mind raced with thoughts of the unseen threats that loomed in the darkness.

Lua paused, her expression serious. “I know.” 

Ali, never one to miss a moment of mysticism, piped up. “What about supernatural stuff? You’re not afraid of that?” There was a playful glimmer in her eyes as she entertained the spooky notion of spirits.

Lua glanced at her, a small, mysterious smile on her lips. “No. Not at all.” 

Captivated, Ali leaned forward. “Badass,” she grinned. Kelly, however, groaned, frustrated that the topic of conversation kept coming back to the occult, “Can we not talk about spirits right now? 

Lua walked over to a shelf and returned with a large, wooden box. “We don’t need to talk about them,” she said, placing it on the table. The girls leaned in curiously as Lua lifted the lid, revealing a vintage Ouija board, its surface rustic and mysterious.

“But we can talk to them.”

—

Peter nodded mechanically, half-listening as the investor rambled on about a revolutionary startup that was supposedly about to disrupt the pet furniture market. “It’s going to change everything,” the man declared, voice brimming with enthusiasm. Peter forced a smile, offering the occasional “Wow” or “That’s interesting” to keep the conversation flowing. Internally, though, he was screaming. *Is this really how I’m spending my evening?* he thought, trying not to let his impatience show.

Just when he thought he couldn’t take another minute of the investor’s monologue, Abigail swooped in, her smile wide and calculated as she placed a possessive hand on his arm. “Hey, babe, there you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” Without waiting for his response, she tugged him away from the group and toward a familiar figure. “Look who I ran into! Mrs. Clark wanted to say goodbye before she leaves.”

Peter shifted gears, forcing himself to engage. “Oh, please call me Bernadette,” the older woman corrected warmly, extending her hand.

“It’s so wonderful to see you again,” Peter said, managing to inject some genuine warmth into his tone. Mrs. Clark’s family had been long-time benefactors of the university, and the last thing he wanted was to offend her. 

“Peter, it was such a delight hearing your speech tonight,” Mrs. Clark gushed. “Alfred and I are both so impressed with how well you’re handling things. GallU is in very capable hands.”

Peter gave a gracious nod, thanking her. But before he could steer the conversation elsewhere, Mrs. Clark pressed on, lowering her voice slightly. “Oh, and we’ve received the paperwork regarding the cabin eviction. Rest assured, we’ll expedite that process.” She gave a dismissive wave as if the matter were trivial. “Alfred has some ideas for what to do with the property—he mentioned turning it into a daycare or maybe even a farm lab. But between you and me, I think we should just tear the whole thing down and start fresh.”

Peter felt his stomach tighten at her words. “Tear it down?” he repeated, caught off guard. 

Mrs. Clark barely noticed his reaction, prattling on. “Yes, yes, I mean, it’s served its purpose, hasn’t it? Best to focus on the future, not the past.” She offered a bright smile, leaving no room for disagreement. “Anyway, dear, I must run. Alfred’s waiting in the car. But we’ll talk soon, yes? Congratulations again on the exhibition.” With that, she swept away, leaving Peter standing there, momentarily speechless.

He stood frozen for a moment, her words echoing in his mind. *Tear it down?* The cabin was old, yes. It didn’t serve much of a purpose anymore, not for GallU or the Gallanti family. But it had been there for generations, a symbol of something—tradition, continuity, maybe even memory. The thought of demolishing it felt wrong, almost like a betrayal. Still, if it came to that, Peter knew he’d have to make his peace with it. His job was to protect the university’s future, not cling to its relics. The most important thing was ensuring the cabin was vacated and not squatted by just anyone. 

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. The night was far from over, but his patience was already wearing thin.

—

Kelly didn’t waste one second to reply, “Hell no.” to Lua’s suggestion about the Ouija board. The very thought sent shivers down her spine, and she shifted nervously in her seat.

“Awesome.” Ali reacted, her enthusiasm uncontainable, while Lua chuckled softly at the diverging responses from her friends. “We don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable. It’s up to you.”

“Everybody knows these things are dangerous. Plus, I don’t believe in them, so what’s the point?” Kelly was adamant, her resistance firm against the supernatural.

Ali grinned. “How can you say they’re dangerous and also claim not to believe in them? Makes no sense.” The playful banter between them lightened the mood, sparking a friendly debate.

Kelly shot back, “You really think a spirit’s gonna waste their time just to humor us by moving this stupid little arrow—” she picked up the heart-shaped piece from the board, raising it dramatically, gesturing with the planchette like it was an audience’s attention.

Before she could finish, it slipped from her hand, flying across the living room and landing near the window. The room fell into silence, the unexpected motion freezing everyone in place.

Ali’s eyes widened. “Oh… do you think they’re already trying to tell us something?” Her tone was a mix of apprehension and intrigue, eager to explore the unexplained.

Lua, sounding certain, said, “Of course it is.” Her calm demeanor contrasted sharply with the surprise, making her words all the more captivating. Kelly let out an exasperated sigh, rolling her eyes once more, while Lua calmly pointed toward the object. “And by the way, that’s called a ‘planchette.’”

Ali nodded with a smirk, clearly enjoying the moment. “Yes, it is. And did you know the word ‘Ouija’ comes from the French ‘oui’ and the German ‘ja,’ both meaning yes?”

Kelly looked unimpressed. “What? That tells me absolutely nothing.”

Lua chuckled again. “A lot of people think that, but it’s actually a myth. The truth is, a medium once asked the board to name itself, and that’s the word it spelled out. ‘Ouija.’ And it stuck because it was catchy.”

Ali’s face lit up with realization. “Ohhh. So it doesn’t even mean anything?”

Lua nodded, leaning back. “It means something, alright. When the medium asked what the name meant, the board replied with two words: ‘Good luck.’”

A silence settled over the room as the weight of the words lingered, sending an unexpected chill down Kelly’s spine.

Kelly quickly stood up, her voice exaggerated. “Alright then! I think we’ve all learned a lot today, and that’s just fantastic.” She hurriedly grabbed the Ouija board and its pieces, packing them away. “So we have some letters, a yes-yes heart, and it was apparently invented by a medium named Cate Blanchett. What a ride.”

Lua and Ali watched Kelly in total amusement, as she walked to the kitchen.

After a few seconds, she came back. “This is the only connection to the supernatural I need tonight,” Kelly said, her voice playful as she raised the bottle of wine in a lighthearted toast. She poured generously into each of their glasses.

Ali took a sip, her eyes widening in delight. “This is delicious. It tastes homemade! Did you DIY this?” she asked, savoring the rich flavors.

Lua chuckled as she took a sip of her own. “No, not this time. I bought it from a friend who runs a small farmhouse. She calls it her ‘magical wine.’ There’s even a little rhyme that goes with it—something like, ‘I sip the enchanted wine, I see fantastic things, I seek the life I want, come true my wildest dreams.’ It’s such a lovely little chant. But who knows—maybe I’ll start making my own soon. Mrs. Lynx left all her winemaking equipment here when she moved out, so I’ve got everything I need sitting in the basement.”

Kelly raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. “Wait… there’s a basement here? How did I not know this?”

Lua smiled mysteriously. “Yep, there’s a whole basement. Wanna go check it out?”

Kelly immediately shook her head. “No, thanks!” she replied, her skepticism apparent.

“Oh, come on!” Ali chimed in, giving Kelly a playful nudge. “Are you really going to chicken out now? You’re gonna say no to everything tonight?”

Kelly sighed dramatically but gave in with a shrug. “Alright, alright. I’ll go. But only after I’ve had more of this ‘magical’ wine. Let’s see how enchanted this stuff really is!” she said, skepticism still lingering in her tone but with a hint of amusement.

“Say less!” Ali laughed, refilling all their glasses. She hummed the little rhyme Lua had taught them, her voice soft and melodic as they continued sipping their wine.

From that point on, the night became a blur of laughter, curiosity, and drunken exploration.

—

As Peter arrived at his sleek, minimalist apartment, he sighed in relief, finally alone. The shower was long and hot, easing the tension from the evening. He put on his favorite pair of old, soft, grey sweatpants and no shirt –his favorite outfit. Peter would never wear a suit and tie again in his life, if he had a chance.

Afterward, he poured himself a glass of whisky, swirling the amber liquid as he paced the apartment. Abigail had wanted to stay over, but Peter had come up with an excuse, something about needing space and time to think. Everyone needs time alone, right? He reassured himself, taking a slow sip of his drink.

As he wandered through his pristine, modern apartment, Peter’s thoughts kept returning to the conversation at the botanical garden—particularly Mrs. Clark’s suggestion to eliminate the cabin. He knew better than to dismiss it as idle chatter. Bernadette and Alfred Clark wielded significant influence over his father and the University. Longtime friends of the Gallanti family, their contributions to GallU’s board and their status as prolific investors in recent developments gave them a strong sense of ownership—perhaps rightfully so.

Peter didn’t particularly like the Clarks, though he couldn’t say he actively disliked them either. Both had dedicated their lives to science and had become self-made millionaires through the development of a lucrative pharmaceutical drug before transitioning fully into academia, their true passion. However, their staunchly conservative ideology had likely been the main reason Peter never invested much energy into cultivating a closer relationship with them. Not even their occasional attempts to set him up with their granddaughter, Valerie, could bridge the divide. Nothing ever came of it, much to his quiet relief.

Whether or not the cabin would be torn down was still up in the air, but one thing was certain: the woman living there would be evicted, left without a home. Did she have other plans? Did she even realize the precariousness of her situation? Surely the university would help her find a new place to live, if she needs.

Abigail’s words from a previous conversation suddenly came back to him. She had questioned why he was going through so much trouble to evict Lua, wasting his precious energy on something that didn’t really affect him in any practical way.

Was it just because of her so-called alternative lifestyle?

Peter had been indignant at the suggestion, adamantly defending his decision. “It’s not about her lifestyle,” he had snapped. “I’d evict anyone squatting on my family’s land. This isn’t up for debate.” But now, in the quiet of his apartment, he couldn’t help but reflect. Was it really just about the land?

He had heard rumors from another professor that Lua practiced dark magic. The stories about her growing herbs around the cabin for rituals were unsettling. That, Peter thought, was definitely the final straw. He didn’t feel guilty about disapproving of that lifestyle. His family’s property, the sacred land that he revered, would not be used for such… nonsense. It was as simple as that.

Maybe the daycare idea wasn’t so bad after all, he mused, settling into bed. As he reached for his phone, an impulse hit him. He texted his secretary, Mary, asking if she had any recent pictures of the cabin. Almost immediately, she responded, “I have some from a couple of months ago.”

He opened the attachments and began swiping through them: photos of the weathered cabin, the surrounding woods, the herb garden. Then, one picture stopped him. A woman sat on the cabin’s porch, legs crossed, a basket of herbs in front of her. The sunlight streamed down, and she smiled softly. Her features were gentle yet striking, her expression peaceful.

“Is this Lua?” Peter texted back, staring at the image longer than he intended.

“Yes, that’s her,” Mary replied.

—

The next morning, Kelly groaned, rubbing her temples as she blinked awake. “I don’t even remember going to bed,” she muttered, looking around the unfamiliar cabin bedroom where she and Ali had crashed for the night.

Ali, lying beside her, stretched and groaned. “Same. Last thing I remember is going down to the basement and putting on those old dresses. We were like… spinning or something? Ugh.” She rubbed her eyes, catching a whiff of fresh coffee coming from downstairs. “Oh, thank God. Coffee.”

They dragged themselves out of bed, their bodies aching from too much wine and too little sleep. Stumbling down the stairs, they were greeted by a cheerful and surprisingly bright-eyed Lua, bustling around the kitchen. “Morning, ladies!” she chirped, clearly unaffected by the night before.

“How are you not hungover?” Kelly asked in disbelief, slumping onto the couch. “You drank just as much as we did!” She reached for a cup of coffee, filling it to the brim and sipping eagerly.

Lua smiled knowingly. “I have my secret remedies. Don’t worry, I’ve got some made up for you both.” She handed them trays with a small but nourishing breakfast, herbal tea, and strong coffee. “Eat, drink, and give it a few minutes. You’ll be feeling like new in no time.”

True to her word, after a few bites and sips, Kelly and Ali felt the fog of the hangover lift, replaced by a surprising clarity. They exchanged grateful glances, marveling at Lua’s skills.

“I don’t know what you put in this, but it’s a miracle,” Kelly said, finishing her breakfast.

After some relaxed chatting over breakfast, Ali and Kelly realized they needed to hurry to make it back to campus in time for their Friday morning classes. They thanked Lua, promising to come back soon, and she waved them off from the kitchen.

Lua remembered every detail of the night clearly –she hadn’t really indulged in quite as much wine as Kelly and Alinda. As she stepped outside and settled into a porch chair, sipping her tea, the memories of the evening began to surface. “They don’t remember anything… Wow,” she thought, smiling to herself. “Not even the tattoos?”

She chuckled quietly, recalling their carefree, wine-fueled adventure. The three of them had giggled uncontrollably as they descended the narrow, creaky stairs to the basement, a bottle of wine passed between them. Their laughter echoed through the cabin as they rummaged through the basement’s forgotten treasures—dusty books, vintage vinyl records, boxes of Christmas decorations, and even a creepy doll collection. 

The real excitement, though, began when they found the suitcases packed with vintage dresses. Delighted, they slipped into the old clothes and spun around the basement like little kids. Alinda, in a high-pitched, half-drunken shriek, declared, “These are too cute! I wanna go out and show them off!” 

“Let’s go to a nightclub wearing these!” Kelly had exclaimed, and in their tipsy state, it sounded like the best idea in the world. 

To top it off, they called Brett, begging him to drive them downtown. He was reluctant at first, but he couldn’t resist Kelly’s charm. And since he had been photographing the event at the botanic garden in Campus that evening, it wouldn’t be that much trouble anyway.

Brett dropped them off in front of a bar, but it was almost closing time, so they walked around aimlessly. They never made it to a nightclub, but it didn’t matter. Instead, they ended up dancing around the fountain in the main square, twirling in their dresses like carefree lunatics, singing the “magic wine” song at the top of their lungs.

The scene had attracted more than a few onlookers. A group of old men sitting at a nearby bar terrace cast judgmental looks their way, which Alinda was quick to shut down with a defiant shout: “We are the weirdos, Mister!” She leaned over to Lua and whispered with a smirk, “I’ll explain later.”

Lua smiled at the memory—it had been one of the most fun and freeing nights she’d had in years.

As they collapsed onto a bench near the square, exhausted from dancing and laughing, Alinda had posed an unexpected question: “What would you have asked the Ouija board about your life if we’d played earlier?”

Kelly had blinked, confused. “That’s not how Ouija works. You communicate with spirits; you don’t ask it about your own stuff.” Alinda shot her an annoyed look. “Oh, sorry, I forgot you were the authority on Ouija boards!” Lua laughed at their harmless bickering, knowing how their small disagreements always seemed to end in humor.

After a beat, Kelly, her voice soft but serious, admitted, “I’d ask if I’ll ever truly be loved—unconditionally. It terrifies me that I won’t.”

The mood shifted, and Ali had immediately wrapped an arm around her. Then Lua said, “I think I’d ask how I can improve as a person. As a friend, as… a human being.”

Lua turned to Ali and asked quietly, “And you? What would you ask?”

Ali hesitated before answering, her voice tinged with sadness. “I’d ask if I’ll ever find my purpose. I’m tired of pretending I don’t feel lost.”

Without a word, Lua stood up, motioning for them to follow her.

The women left the square, walking three blocks to a tiny door. Ali and Kelly had no idea what the place was, and assumed it was somebody’s house, or one of those secret bars that have become trendy in the last years. But as they entered, they realized they were in a 24-hour tattoo parlor owned by a friend of Lua’s.

“For someone who’s supposed to be a mysterious recluse, you’re surprisingly well connected.” Ali joked.

In a spontaneous decision, the three of them got matching tattoos—tiny outlines of a Ouija planchette on their ankles and the words Good Luck below it.

Lua smiled again at the memory, the ink on her ankle still fresh.

She went back inside the cabin to finish cleaning up. But as she walked across the living room to the kitchen, something caught her eye. A small, heart-shaped object lay on the floor, half-hidden beneath the window. Lua’s breath caught in her throat. It was the planchette from the Ouija board. She crouched down to pick it up, noticing with a chill that it was pointing toward a door in the far corner of the room—one that she had never been able to open.

“Hmm,” she murmured to herself.