I could feel each drop of rain curling around my neck and down my chest, soaking the fabric in front of me. I could barely feel my toes in the sneakers I wore as I looked down at the mud trying to fight its way through the thin soles. I tried to ignore my numb ass, mud again soaking deep from where my body touched the ground. I think the most overstimulating part of it all was my hair sticking to my neck, causing a suffocating feeling to surround me like the strands were trying their hardest to cut off my air.  

Long hair was the worst and rarely was compliant. It got stuck in your purse strap every time you were in a hurry, which would almost send you over the edge and into an emotional meltdown. It would wrap around your arm, immobilizing you, as you tried to pull your seatbelt over your chest. Long hair was also very easy to grab a handful of while in the parking lot of where you shop for your groceries every Sunday. 

It all happened so fast and my brain was trying to space out, to keep me from replaying the assault. The brain did its best to protect its host, even if its host was a masochist and liked to hyper focus on her potential mistakes. I felt like I needed to break the events down, to do my best to control the situation before it controlled me. I needed to see what I did wrong, what I could’ve done differently. I should’ve been more aware of the dangers surrounding me even though I never carried any fear while living my independent lifestyle. 

I drug myself from the past and tried to focus on the present, attempting to wiggle myself free from where I was restrained against what felt like a scratchy tree trunk. I felt sluggish, similar to how I felt after a late night of drinking with an early morning the next day- slightly drunk. 

I couldn’t see the men that took me anywhere in the forest closing in on me, but I could hear them. I heard two sets of noises and shuffling footsteps behind me, over my right shoulder. I tried to focus on the details I could catch, but all I could confidently say was that there was walking involved. Incredibly helpful. 

It only took a bit longer before one of the men appeared through the trees in my line of sight. He looked to be about mid thirties with a face that was unmemorable. He had basic brown hair, dark eyes, and nothing else that stood out. It would be mentally easier to latch him to a crime involving kidnapping a young woman if he looked the part or had some kind of flashing red flag. He looked like any neighbor on any suburban street, the one you saw pulling his trash cans to the curb every week while every week you couldn’t pin down his name. 

He stood there staring at me for an uncomfortable length, neither of us breaking eye contact. Soon another man appeared, the same as the first. He stared, he looked unmemorable, and I was unimpressed.

From a very young age I haven’t processed fear properly, but fear wasn’t a default emotion for me. When a situation pressed for a fight or flight response, I never hesitated to leap into the fight. I grew up as the feral child in the kids group, often biting the boys that pulled my hair or got too  close on a bad day. It didn’t take long before I was shoved to the outskirts and 25 years later I was still there. Everyone in my family was slightly on the deranged side, but I made sure I won the award for least likely to get fucked with, because I lived for the game of confrontation.

It felt like the three of us were waiting for someone to react to the situation. I currently couldn’t muster up anything other than irritation at the discomfort the rain was causing me and the desperate need for some water in my throat. And for my vision to straighten out.

One of the men in front of me finally moved and unfortunately in a direction that brought him closer to me. Fortunately it was just a few steps before he paused, looking unhurried. 

I felt my mind pull from the interaction and to what happened to my groceries after the men invaded my Sunday routine. Did they get left in the shopping cart? Did someone grab them? Were they rotting or being enjoyed by a homeless person? I pondered on the fact that the steady rain was washing away any evidence of tracks in the mud and came to the conclusion I definitely wasn’t getting my food back. 

Hypothetically speaking, I would also do my kidnapping in the rain, but I would fix a few other things, such as better bound extremities on the victim being the most pressing one. I mean seriously, what if I got away? It would be fairly easy to identify these idiots. Sure, no outstanding marks but I could still spot them in a line up. I think.

The same man that moved closer suddenly began stalking towards me and all I could think was oh god, here we fucking go. 

“Get up,” he said, while jerking his head towards the sky to indicate what standing up meant in case I wasn’t smart enough to figure it out myself. 

I raised my eyebrows and dropped my chin, showing my resistance without saying it out loud.

He wasn’t impressed by my response and kicked my outstretched foot, repeating the same command. 

I sighed. “The ground is slick, my wrists are tied, and I feel dizzy. I can’t stand up.” I feel like stating the obvious with this company may be the safest bet.

He grunted and stepped further into my space, trying to yank me up by my arm but only succeeded in hurting it, not in assisting me to stand. He rounded behind me and I heard the snick of a blade popping out of a pocket knife and felt my wrists go fully slack.

This was really weird. I was now very, very unrestrained and the guy was walking away from me. Walking away? 

He looked over his shoulder and said, “follow,” before continuing through the trees with his companion trailing behind him. 

I glanced at the space around me, taking note of how dense and wild the forest felt. I suppose even if I wanted to run I wouldn’t get very far. I was more likely to stumble around like an overweight, confused deer which would easily redraw these guys in. I really needed to up my exercise, but I was not and never would be a cardio queen. 

I followed the direction the duo went in and came to another clearing that held a giant pit. The pit had large rocks lining the outside of it, scorched black with signs of previous ignitions, and crumbling wood laying at the bottom of it. It looked deep enough and wide enough for a few bodies to sink into and struggle getting out, which was not giving me a warm and fuzzy feeling about this place. 

The pair had their backs to me, hunched over a raised bench, doing who knows what, before they turned toward me simultaneously. Creepy. 

“Are you ready to repent for your sins?” Man Number One asked expectantly. 

I paused. “What?”  

Number Two chuckled with a furrowed brow and responded, “For being a witch.”

I wasn’t expecting to be called a witch. I was often called a bitch but never a witch by the general public.

“I wouldn’t broadcast myself as being a witch.” 

One of them scoffed while the other shook his head, as if I was the biggest idiot out of the three of us and at this point I really was feeling like I was.

“That’s what they’ve all said but we see the signs of your corruption. You aren’t as good at hiding as you think you are.”

“What kind of corruption are we talking about here? I’m an Atheist.”

Number One grunted and remarked that all of us were the same before turning away to the table behind him, while Number Two came towards me looking awfully grabby. 

The rest happened quickly, so much so I couldn’t really do anything other than stand there and let it happen. I must have still been dizzy from whatever they gave me, because he didn’t use excessive force to get my hands bound again with the rope that was dangling by his side. 

The rain switched from a steady drizzle to a heavy pour, as if the world was weeping for what it thought was going to come next. 

I watched as Number One turned to the pit and poured what could only be gasoline on the wood below, and yet all I could do was consider how the job might be tricky for them with the wet conditions. My head began to clear, my vision straightened, and I grew tired of playing along with this bullshit. I wouldn’t go six feet under because of two subpar witch hunters, I’d never live it down in Hell. 

Number Two moved to shove me forward and hesitated when I didn’t move. 

I turned my head and looked over my shoulder into his eyes, meeting his uncertain gaze. I didn’t think the pair had met any High Coven witches in their dirty activities, but they were about to get real acquainted with us bitches. 

I felt my teeth lengthen as I offered a smile, a smile that was wider and sharper and uglier than what should’ve been possible on a face as dainty and adorable as mine (per my mother). The whites of his eyes flashed right before I threw an elbow straight into his nose.

I heard a crack and felt him stumble away from me, groaning while the sweet tang of his blood drenched the air, trying to tempt me into a distraction.  

Number One leaped from his position by the pit and looked to struggle with coming closer or turning away, to run or to grab a weapon. 

“Still think you’re going to fry me up and eat me?” Silence floated in the air at the lack of response. 

I glanced over my shoulder just as the body rushed me from behind and wrapped around my neck, while I heard the pulling of the choke on a chainsaw in front of me. 

Fucking hillbillies had access to some real unfortunate weapons.

It was still pathetic how easy it was to disable them, so much so I was confused on why the other girls in the coven were overpowered. Lower Coven witches had an affinity for mixing herbs in artful ways, some ways that could inconspicuously kill your husband, and was often done so for the women struggling with violent men in the community. I was the type of witch that was more into sucking the blood out of your entire body for self gratification. 

I dropped to a crouch and reached high on the man’s shoulder behind me, crunching forward to throw him over my body and into a heap in front of me. I looked to the chainsaw psycho and knew he needed a little more finesse. I popped up from my crouch and used his forward momentum against him, rolling around his lazer focus and behind him. I again dropped low to the ground and aimed to kick out his knee, successfully landing him on his ass. The knees were unbearably weak when hit properly. 

I reached for the chainsaw that was sputtering on the ground next to him and I cut the choke, saving us all the headache that was forming from the vibrating noise. 

“You know, this isn’t going to end super well for you two based on the power dynamic here.” I shook my head. “I have generations of scorned women to… what’s the fucking word… avenge. I also do have an insatiable appetite, unfortunately for you.” 

I grabbed One by the back of his shirt, turning to do the same to his partner. It was beautiful what a woman could accomplish with a little bit of supernatural strength and spite. 

I passed a bundle of rope, which was most likely meant for me, and restrained  their bodies before tossing them into the pit, feeding my desire to make them live the fear they’ve been creating for their own pleasure. 

They did their best to pull themselves from the hole, but I was fairly good at knots and their pit was dug deep for bodies. They stopped trying to roll to their feet and their heads simultaneously cocked in my direction. Creepy.

I closed my eyes, connecting with the world around me as I took a deep breath through my nose, expanding my lungs to the point of pain. 

I felt the wind pick up on my skin and I could hear the trees swaying softly.

I felt the sky rain down my exposed skin once more, mourning the loss these losers were responsible for. 

I felt the whole atmosphere pressing into my skin, digging as deep as it could go, in what felt like a million little souls looking for acknowledgment.

I opened my eyes and smiled, canines pressing into my bottom lip once more. 

“Karma’s a witch.”

It all happened so quickly, and I wouldn’t change a single bloody thing.