A hundred whispers one of the teenagers huddled around the campfire tonight She must be a hundred He can’t be blamed for thinking it She’s tired looking and bent Her skin clings to her face like a dried-out potato sack Her eyes are hollow and dark Her fingers are long and crooked Her teeth when she flashes them are yellow and worn down The villagers call her many names The adults call her Mum The littlest kids call her Grandmum The teens call her the Old Witch in the Little Cottage or just the Owl for short when she’s not listening She knows all those names and she doesn’t mind them Mum says a girl of about fourteen who is sitting on a tree stump by the campfire She leans toward the flames a bit trying to soak up some of their heat Aren’t you going to bed The old woman gives a slow smile I suppose I should she says It’s just so warm here and so comfortable She stares across the circle into the dark woods around them And I admit she goes on after a brief silence I do like the energy of youth She
chuckles You kids give off life like a lightbulb gives off light A lightbulb the girl asks confused The old woman nods and hums amused She picks up a stick and pokes the embers They pop and crackle and then brighten for a moment How about I tell you a story before I turn in she says looking up The teens mumble and grumble The old lady laughs lightly again Such enthusiasm she says She tosses her poking stick into the embers and watches the weak orange glow gather around it It burns slowly at first then catches in a yellow and blue flame that crawls along its length like a butterfly flapping its wings Your parents have heard this story she says staring into the fire Your little brothers and sisters will hear it She looks away from the fire and stares across the circle at the girl I suppose your kids will hear it too the old woman says eventually
The girl’s face goes red and the boy sitting on the log beside her puts an arm around her She shoves him away The teens laugh at that and the old lady laughs with them but her laughter dies first and her eyes fall on the fire once again It was morning she says The teens quiet down and watch her though she hardly seems to know they’re there anymore It was a bit past sunrise the woman goes on but Emily Lemon was still asleep
CHAPTER 2 Emily Lemon woke to the alarm on her phone She always did She had an alarm clock her mother had picked it out ages ago but the red numerals bugged her and the radio hardly worked And who listened to the radio these days anyway So Emily had unplugged it and hid it in the back of her closet last summer Ever since she kept her phone right in bed with her each night At 6 30 every weekday morning her phone would vibrate and blast a random song from her vast collection of music This morning though Emily woke to nonstop beeping thrashing guitars drums bass and the deafening screams of a heavy metal singer that definitely had not come from one of the songs in her own music collection
