Witches

Witches--

After having read Charles’s letter a dozen times, Melody laid it on the dining table, shuffled into the kitchen and found a knife. With Charles’s words still playing in her mind, she started up the steps to the attic. Along with making it clear the marriage was over, he’d implied it was Melody’s fault.

“I thought you were different from the other women in your family,” Charles had written in bold letters. “But I was wrong.”

In the attic, Melody couldn’t ignore the heaviness she felt. Still gripping the knife, she knelt in front of an old trunk. Stale air filled her nostrils when she lifted the heavy lid. She combed through the contents until she found the treasured doll her sisters had gifted her before the wedding. Holding it close against her, Melody began to weep.

The doll -- a handmade miniature of Charles -- had been stuffed with his hair clippings, collected by Melody herself. It was family tradition.

Melody sat chanting -- doll in one hand, knife in the other. After an hour she began to slice.

Days later Melody’s sisters found her with her wrists savaged, the intact doll and bloody knife on the floor beside her.