The Fine Line Between Truth and Fiction

A Wise Old Owl

"A witch?" Dakota questioned in disbelief. Her grandmother, who was sitting directly across from her in her favorite armchair, nodded.

"Yup." Dakota stared for a moment before letting out a nervous laugh.

"Yo-you're kidding, right? I mean, I know some of the things you prescribe are...odd, but a witch? Come on, nanna!"

The older woman let out a sigh. She had known that it would be hard to convince her granddaughter that witches did in fact exist and that she was one. The trouble was how much she should reveal to Dakota and how much she should hide. She did not under any circumstances wish to involve Dakota with the underneath, but at this point she saw no other option. The elderly woman clamped her right wrist with her left hand before reaching into the small bookshelf that rested next to her chair. She pulled out a badly beaten, bluish scrap book and flipped through a few pages before stopping at a particular picture. She extended the book to Dakota and she took it. A confused look was plastered on the young girl's face before she turned to the old picture.

"I know that this all sounds quite silly to you, but trust me, child. It is all very, very real," her grandmother warned.

Dakota stared at the black and white photograph. There were only four figures in the picture: a young woman holding a baby, a young man behind her (Dakota assumed him to be the woman's husband), and a small boy holding the woman's free hand. Their expressions were all sullen, no smiles, and the group was wearing modest attire. The woman, who had a certain natural beauty, had her hair pulled loosely into a bun and wore a simple dress. The child was wrapped in a dark-colored blanket and looked to be asleep. The young man was handsome and clean cut. His dark hair was slick back and he was wearing a gray sports jacket with matching slacks. He had one hand resting on the woman's shoulder as she sat on some sort of stool and his other hand was shoved in one of his slack pockets. The little boy who looked no older than five had his hair styled the same way as his father. He wore a white, long sleeved dress shirt with black slacks. Dakota analyzed the child further and noticed the familiar features. The boy was her father's. The young woman in the photo had to be her grandmother, but...who was the young man and baby? Dakota didn't have a grandpa on her dad's side or any other aunt or uncle for that matter.

"Who...why is this important?" Dakota asked once she looked up from the photo.

"Look at their necks," her grandmother instructed. Dakota did so and found nothing unusual until she glanced at the young woman's. It was hardly noticeable and at first glance it would be impossible to see the necklace strung around her neck. Dakota brought the picture up closer to see the emblem hanging from the chain. It was an upside down triangle. Dakota's eyebrows crinkled in confusion. What was so strange about that? The family's blank stares creeped her out more than the simple necklace.

"A triangle?" Dakota questioned.

"It's a symbol. It means 'water'," her grandmother explained, "Dakota, be a dear and go bring me that bowl in the kitchen."

Dakota set the book on the ground and did as she was told. She carefully brought the bowl to her grandmother, being careful not to spill any of the water.

"Good girl, now, sit right here and watch," the old woman commanded as she gestured with a free hand to an area on the ground beside her. Dakota crouched down and rested her hands on her grandmother's lap to get a clear view of the bowl.

"Your father was not the only child," her grandmother said as she slowly began to move the bowl in a circular motion, causing the water to turn into a small whirlpool, "I had a girl not long after. She...she was beautiful. Truly my everything....not to say that I did not love your father. Neil is my baby, but, like most boys, he always had a special bond with his father. Something a mother could never have, except with her own daughter."