Victoria

Victoria lay on the ground completely still with her arms spread out on either side of her. Her short blonde hair piled around her head where it had hit the floor moments before. She was wearing the same pink pencil skirt she always wore with a white blouse and short-sleeved blazer and a pair of black stiletto high heels. Her pink pendant necklace hung from her neck, exposed as it lay on her chest still intact. The pink swirling gas inside was slowly fading away. Her medium-sized pink sparkly handbag sat on the table next to Mrs. Valedette’s hand. The white china teacup with the delicate pink rose on it that Victoria had drunk from sat a small distance away on a small white plate with a gold line rimming the edge. Even Victoria’s grey eyes were frozen open, unblinking.

Mrs. Valedette’s hand still hovered frozen over the handle of the handbag from when she had prevented Victoria from reaching her inhaler. Her mouth was slightly opened, and her gentle brown eyes were wide with shock as if she could not quite grasp what had happened, as if she could not quite grasp what she had done. Her other hand was frozen against the pleats of her short green brocade skirt into which she had tucked her tight black sequinned shirt. Mr. Valedette stood across from her opening and closing his mouth as he furiously tried to find something to say. Perhaps, he wanted to chastise her, but he seemed too afraid. He always listened to her and always trusted her no matter what she did, but this was different. There was no denying that Victoria was gone and that nothing they did would bring her back, nor in fact, any possibility of denying that it was their fault. Mrs. Valedette had triggered Victoria’s asthma intentionally, and then she had prevented her from reaching her inhaler.

“She was a witch,” was all Mrs. Valedette seemed able to manage. Mrs. Valedette had hated everything about witches as her parents had and their parents before them. She was taught that they were the enemy and would hurt her, but as she looked at Victoria lying on the floor something seemed to catch in her throat. She had killed her in cold blood. “She would have hurt us.” Mrs. Valedette dragged her pale hands together and shifted between her feet nervously.

“I know she was a witch,” Mr. Valedette responded, his gaze tracing his wife’s hands. There was pain in his eyes as if he could not quite meet those of his wife. He ran his hands through his greying brown hair and then looked down at Victoria sorrowfully and almost shamefully. He closed his eyes, and his hand found the rolled-up form of the newspaper he and his wife had each read earlier that day. It had a message about being careful around strangers, especially witches, plastered across the front page. ‘Page 37’ was scrawled in the top right-hand corner directing to where the story continued within.

Even though her parents had broken their frozen state, Katelyn remained affixed to her place, staring into the unblinking eyes of her former babysitter. She had liked Victoria, although she had thought her former babysitters had instilled in her a lasting grudge against all babysitters that made her not want to admit that she liked Victoria, especially with Victoria being a witch. She had known Victoria was a witch long before her mother had. Victoria had told her that it did not matter that much. Katelyn had wondered how her parents could possibly not know and why they could not just fire Victoria and send her somewhere else, but instead they had done the irreversible and unmerciful. They had killed her.

Katelyn could say nothing. In her parents’ presence, she felt like she had to sympathize with them and had to pretend that she had detested Victoria like she had detested all the other babysitters, and perhaps even more so, which she had been doing. Nevertheless, the conscience within her told her that she had to say something and had to defend Victoria somehow. She knew she should call the police, but she was afraid. She thought it would be better if she just pretended that it did not happen, for perhaps then everything would go back to the way it was before Victoria. She did not think that was something she wanted, but at least then she would not have to deal with anyone’s reaction. She knew her whole province and especially her city hated witches, though her country as well was mostly against. At the same time, she was ashamed of standing back and doing nothing, which she felt like she had been doing her whole life. She was always afraid.

In kindergarten, Katelyn was naive and believed that everyone was good and that there were no divisions in society. She believed that life was good and that everyone would be okay. She had been hopeful, but her hopes had also been shattered so easily, giving way for the fears that had clouded her mind for most of her life.

“Now, my dear students,” Mrs. Jeannette Frélein had sung in her usual light, airy voice that gave her an edge of naivety even her class of Kindergarteners could not match, “who would like to start the art project?” A young boy with a pale face and black corduroy overalls had raised his hand with a fleeting look at the dark-haired girl behind him who had dared him. “Excellent,” Mrs. Frélein had squealed, ignoring the lack of excitement by the other students and unaware of that sparkle of terror in the little boy’s blue eyes.

The teacher had beckoned the student to approach the metal sink and lifted him up onto the three-legged art stool she had placed in front of the sink moments before. There had been a rumour that someone had contaminated the water and that anyone who touched it would die in minutes and that the perpetrator had been a witch, though the truth of the rumour was entirely unknown, which was why the dare had started. These students had not been cautious, perhaps because their small school bordered by an unruly garden of rough fescue grass on the edge of an ordinary neighbourhood with rows of one- and two-storey brown houses looked like every other normal neighbourhood and was uninfected by witches.

Katelyn Valedette, at the time, a student with loose waves of brown hair, a lavender t-shirt with a yellow bee on it, and black jeans, certainly had not believed the rumours. She had thought, however, that the dark-haired girl, Meleena, ought to have tested the water herself just to ensure it was not dangerous, or at least that someone should have warned the teacher so that she could perform any necessary tests.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

It had been agreed among the students that the teacher was either unaware of the rumours or did not believe them, the popular opinion being her lack of belief since she seemed the kind of person who would reassure students of their safety if she were aware. Meleena had said that if the water was contaminated surely someone would have died by now, but the rumour, despite being widespread among the kindergarteners, had only started a few weeks before. Katelyn was not sure where the rumour had originated; she had only heard about its details. This had made it seem less believable, but she would never risk the rumour’s truth, especially not when the short blonde girl who never really showed much emotion or talked much had warned Nathan, the little boy, not to act. Then, the girl had hung her head, a sadness plastered across her slumped shoulders.

Regardless, Nathan had turned the tap to let the water flow into the cup of water next to the sink, and then had turned it off. He had picked up the cup and turned towards the class as if to say, “See there was nothing wrong with the water anyway,” but lines halfway between the colour of mustard and limes snaked up his hand and from those lines branched off others that had slowly faded into trails of blood.

The colour had drained from the teacher’s face as she had started to question Nathan about what he was doing, while some of the students had edged away, others had whispered to each other about the rumours, and still others had stood frozen in their places with their eyes drawn wide. Katelyn herself had felt paralyzed.

The blonde girl had risen from her chair, her eyes horror-stricken and had approached Nathan cautiously. She had spoken in a soft voice, too soft for Katelyn to make out the words if Katelyn were in a little less shock, and Nathan had put the cup back in the sink crying, though he had always before made a point of claiming “boys do not cry.”

Meleena had been laughing at his behaviour, not really comprehending his danger, not that anyone was, except possibly the blonde girl. She had held her hand steadily over Nathan’s arm, letting a blue light emanate across the boy’s skin. When she had drawn back her hand, Nathan’s hand had returned to its original colour and he had touched it lightly as if he could not believe she had healed it. The students had congratulated her and in a moment the atmosphere had changed from its tense, terrified mood to one of rejoice and relief.

“Witch!” Mrs. Frélein had shrieked, pointing at the blonde girl with a sudden rage and turning all the students into stone once more. The blonde girl had stared at Mrs. Frélein with a sudden fear. The colour had drained from her face and even her formerly pale blue eyes. “Help us!” the teacher had hollered to no one in particular as footsteps had sounded in the hallway. Her airy nature had completely evaporated in her new ecstasy.

“Ma’am, what’s the problem?” the old balding janitor had questioned as his empty black eyes had scanned the room.

“Witch! Witch! Witch!” Mrs. Frélein had screamed in increasing agitation as she had pointed towards the shivering blonde girl.

“I’ll call the cops,” he had replied as if she had accused the girl of vandalism rather than simply healing a student in grave danger of perishing. He had pulled his phone from his pocket and had raised it to his ear. “Um, hi Mr., we’ve got witchcraft, sir ... No, sir, I mean to say, one of the students is a witch, sir ... Sarrista Heights School, sir.” Hanging up, the janitor had put his phone in his pocket and sat on one of the little desks. The teacher had opened her mouth to protest, but said nothing and quickly closed it, as an awkward silence filled the room. Half an hour later, they had been interrupted by the sound of a wild techno-pop song on what sounded like an electric guitar. “Sorry,” the janitor had muttered, glancing at Mrs. Frélein, before answering his phone, “Hi, sir. ... Room 27, sir, in the basement.”

Moments later, a middle-aged man with short black hair and a black suit with a green blouse and silver bow tie had entered. The edges of his suit jacket sleeves had been encased with silver lace. “Who?” he had questioned in a slightly cranky voice.

“Her!” Mrs. Frélein had whined, pointing towards the cowering blonde girl. The fancy-dressed man had taken one look at the child, grabbed her arm, and shoved her out the door.

“Everything alright, now, Jeannette?” the janitor had asked the teacher.

“Bright as ever,” Mrs. Frélein had replied with her voice as light as ever, almost as if she had believed finding a culprit would solve every problem. The janitor had smiled and left. Katelyn had glanced around at her classmates, confused at her teacher’s behaviour, but the students had hung their heads. “Back to your desks, everyone,” the teacher had sung, abandoning the idea of the art project, possibly since the water was still contaminated.

The students had returned to their desks as a silence had spread over the room and hung like a dark cloud, forcing them to stare up at her as she had beamed at them. Their countenances had merged into a collective gloom, confusion, and fear.

Mrs. Frélein had continued talking as if they had just read a story where the blonde girl was a ferocious dragon, the young boy an innocent princess, and the man in the suit a knight in shining armour. Indeed, she had begun to read such a story to the class, the same one she had always read, but with the details tweaked slightly so that they reflected the previous event. That is, the villain was a witch and the princess a prince. Something in her voice had been sweet and convincing, so that when she was done the class was whispering to each other and a rumour began spreading that the blonde girl had been the one who had poisoned the water.

Katelyn had not believed it, would not believe it, and she had been surprised at her class for turning so easily on their own members, but they had always known someone had poisoned the water. She had been angry at them, but she had said nothing. Even now, her own parents had murdered Victoria and still she did nothing.