I try to get the numbers out of my head and go downstairs to say hello to my children. Ester just turned seven and Isaac is almost four. I give them pastries for breakfast as I do every day. Since we don’t have the money to educate them properly, they are homeschooled. I do most of the teachings and since I am smarter than most women, I hope to pass down much knowledge to both of them. My husband does not know about this, and would not be proud, but I know that both of my children will be grateful of their knowledge someday. After breakfast, the children go outside and my dear friend Verity comes over for some tea. Most people can only have a limited supply of water and would never waste it on tea, but I love tea more than anything else, and my children have started to like it as well.

“Have you heard? There has been a report of a witch in this town, they made a woman lose her baby.” Verity says.

“Oh my, is that so? I thought witches were made up people.” I say in wonder.

“Oh, no! They are real for sure. Her baby was gone and there’s no question about it. I heard people say they saw the witch fall into a pond and not drown. They were positive they saw her use magic”

“What is the name of this witch?”

“I’m quite sure her name is Grace Sherwood, have you heard of her?”

“Grace Sherwood is my neighbor! She was always a bit strange.”

“Oh my, you must not speak bad of her or else she could kill you.”

“I must tell my husband right away when he gets home.”

Once Verity was gone, I started to get very worried. I decided to check on my children to make sure they were okay. When I called them to come inside for supper and they came running inside the house, my mind was racing with math and I was non-controllingly counting the number of steps my son took as he ran. I ran upstairs and held my head in my hands, rubbing my fingers against my skull, trying to get the numbers out of my head. After about 20 seconds, (Oh no, I did it again) everything came together. I had been cursed by the evil witch, Grace Sherwood. There was no question about it.

“I’m home!” I heard John scream from downstairs as he slammed the door. I ran downstairs and tried my best to put on a smile and say hello. After the air in the room was warm again and John had settled himself in a chair, I told him about Grace and how she had bewitched me. I was about to bring up the numbers in my head, but I realized that John would have gotten angry. I made something up and said that I saw her dancing around in the fields in men’s clothing. I made this up based on another story Verity told me about a man who claimed he saw Grace Sherwood dancing around with no clothing on at all.

John stared at me after I told him my made-up story. “We will report this and make sure that Grace Sherwood is killed at once!” I nod my head and watch his fleshy hand covered in red cuts bang the table.

John suggested that we spread the rumors about Grace Sherwood to everyone in Williamsburg so that everyone knows about her and they will know to stay away. More rumors about her went around, and she started becoming extremely popular. One man said his eldest son had died because of her.

Though I felt safer from her now, the numbers in my head would not go away and I felt like I was going insane. I was taking less care of my children, becoming quieter around my dearest friends, and afraid to talk to my husband. Some nights I would sit in the corner of my room weeping and rocking myself to go back to sleep. One night rocking hadn’t worked, so I lit a candle and decided to count the number of nails on the wall. If I couldn’t get away from math, I could bring it to me and then overpower it.

It was no use. I kept on crying and almost woke up John. I got a needle from my sewing kit, a cloak to keep me warm, a candle to find my way, and my sturdiest shoes. I walked outside into the pitch black night, only able to see up to four footsteps in front of me. (Uh oh, more math) I ran as fast as I could toward the direction I knew was Grace Sherwood’s house. The rough pebble-filled paths were crunching under my feet. When I got there I looked around to make sure everyone was asleep. The candles were out, and when I opened the door to step inside, I almost tripped on a small body laying down in the middle of the indoor kitchen. A few seconds later the body turned over, and I look to see that I had almost tripped on a little boy. He must be the son or Grace Sherwood. My, does he have the face of a pig. I chuckle to myself as I look around for Grace herself. I turn around and see a shiny knife in the kitchen. I look from the knife to the boy. Should I kill him?

I shake my head. No, he may be the son of a monster, but he may not be a witch as well. Perhaps she is keeping the poor child captive. I walk away as fast as I can before I get tempted. Besides, I’m not here to kill her family members, I’m here for Grace’s final test. I had spoken to a witch expert about Grace and he said that one of the most common ways to identify a witch is to find if they have black spots on them. Black spots are marks of the devil, and anyone who has one is a witch. He said to test the black spots, you must poke them with a needle, and if the spot doesn’t bleed, the person is a witch.

After the longest five minutes and 46 seconds in my life, I finally found Grace lying in her bed, sleeping soundly. She didn’t really seem like a witch at all in that moment. I had imagined claws and five extra arms coming out of her head. Well, I thought, Now I can make sure she really is a witch and send her to jail. I thought about how my life was going to be so much happier with her in jail, getting punished as she deserved it, and possibly killed. She was a monster and she didn’t deserve to live happily any longer. Everyone wanted her in jail for a while, but with this proof, She would be send straight off to jail.

I started taking her clothes off carefully trying not to wake her up while checking her over until I found a black spot. I know there has to be one here! I’m positive she is a witch! I look at her skin carefully, smooth in some places and bumpy red in others. When I was about to give up I see a big black spot on Grace Sherwood’s arm. It is big and exactly the way the witch expert described it. I take out the needle from my small bag and hold it right over the black spot. I close my eyes as the needle goes into the flesh and I pull it out right away. I check for any blood, but there is none. I close my eyes again. She is a witch. I am in the house of a witch. If she wakes up, she will surely kill me. I get up quickly to leave before she wakes up, (which I am surprised she has not already. Perhaps it is witch magic keeping her asleep.) I turn around to leave when I hear a crackle of laughter. I turn around to see Grace’s vicious face with fangs laughing at me. I start to hear myself scream. The laugh is like nothing I have heard before. I run out of the house and turn around to see her following me. I open the door and trip down the front steps, face first into the gravel.

I open my eyes breathing as hard as I can and pull off my covers to get up and go shush my baby back to sleep. The numbers are still there.