A Mouth Full of Shadows

Something is Wrong with My Hands

For years, I believed it was common knowledge that the summer months caused drought. That the sweltering heat could be fatal to both livestock and crops. It was why I'd move my chickens inside, why I would forget planting in favor of foraging the surrounding forest. It wasn't until recently that I began questioning my actions; the very concept of my living turned over in my mind.

In the midst of the burning heat, a series of storms occurred, forcing everyone to stay indoors and pray for their land's survival. The suddenness of the rain caused a whisper among the townsmen, their words reaching their women and soon spreading to the depths of the trees. Their words, I admit, sent me into a state of shock. They said a witch had found her way into town, cursing the land and bringing the flood.

Standing in the doorway of my old, drab cabin, I watched the way the moonlight poured in, casting little rays of light through the holes in my roof. I often found myself gazing into the buckets under them, smiling as the water ripples and contorts my face.

Since the storms have arrived, the trees have fallen, and the plants have long since been drowned. The sudden exposure has caused the animals to be sick, though neither cow nor pig had it as badly as the chickens.

Boils have grown on their skin, protruding out of their feathers and hot to the touch. The townsmen say they barely move now, their tiny muscles beginning to atrophy. According to them, it must be because of the witch's curse—that she didn't plan on just destroying the land, but planned on ruining us too. They've started their own hunt for her, or as they call it, a siege. They planned to go through the surrounding forests to look for clues, to find definitive proof of her malpractice. I thought it was silly at first. After all, most of the people around here have homes deep in the green, and aside from that, we all know each other. How could a witch be hidden among us?

I found it frightening. The very idea of being kicked out of my home, to have my space searched, sent a pang of unease through me. Of course, I didn't own anything related to witchcraft—I found the very prospect of it maddening—but the idea of them suspecting something, of them reading through my journals, sent a pang of unease to my stomach.

My husband has been gone for the past month; he and his little band of people had gone into the city, selling fur and meat in hopes of making us rich. I allowed our sons to go with him, since I figured they'd need to learn how to make a living, too. Looking back at it, it was a mistake. The presence of no men in the house would only fuel speculation, and the time they've been gone would lead to prying questions.

I did my best to keep these thoughts out of mind, to distract myself with anything until the time for questioning came.

I locked the door behind me, waving goodbye to my chickens before venturing out to the underbrush. I always found it easier to forage at night; it was peaceful, and despite the mud, I found it easier for the moonlight to guide me back home.

My shoes sank into the ground as I crouched, digging into the underground and scraping my hand against a fallen trunk. The moonlight caught a faint glimmer, the sight blinding me for just a split second. My hands twitched, easing deeper into the dirt until I realized what I had uncovered. It was a bracelet, a small, dainty thing that looked like it had been long forgotten. My hands shot out before I could even think, snatching it up and lifting it to my face. It was pure gold; whoever had lost it must have been careless. Mud caked my fingers as I lifted it higher, letting the grime fall off. Pretty, I thought, pocketing it in my apron without a second thought.

A cold breeze blew past as I leaned back, sending a chill up my spine. I could feel it in my veins, that eerie feeling that someone was watching me. I looked up, eyes darting between the trees. I expected to see something there, like a deer or an owl keeping guard. But there was nothing, just the dark leaves of the forest leading further in.