You Wish to Know

Dank was the word. Brian had been trying to think of it once he turned down the alley. Trash lay scattered and slips of newspaper flew about until they caught on objects or were gripped by grimy puddles. Weak light from apartment windows overhead only illuminated the occasional drops of water from leaky gutters. What looked like a rat carcass, but could have been a blackened Styrofoam cup, rocked gently in the breeze. How anyone could willingly bring themselves this way without some illicit purpose became clear to him then; they couldn’t. He wished he hadn’t worn his designer shoes.

An intermittent drip echoed louder than it should have, but Brian noticed he couldn’t hear anything else. It grew louder with every step he took, like an indirect variant of water torture. Suddenly a dark green bulb flickered on, muddled and encased in a small steel cage. It revealed a weathered door with a brass knob that shined in defiance of its surroundings. He approached it quickly. Beside the door, but out of sight, the loud puddle rippled, but stopped. It then threw itself into reverse and spit up the droplet until that paused then fell back to the puddle starting the process again.

The sign by the door had faded, but Brian could still read it: The Prime Minister’s Witch. This is the place, he thought. He looked up and down the alley for prying eyes, witnessing none. He knocked in a 2-3-1 pattern and waited. The door opened by an inch and an eye flashed in the crevice before the door closed again. After a shuffle of chains and locks the door swung wide open, but a woman blocked the entry.

“You wish to see the witch.” She hissed at him in a thick accent, though he detected no malice in it; only the factual statement. She wore an ornate but moth afflicted shawl that hung loosely, plainly showing her tattoos and tightly bound corset. “And you’ve the payment.” Again, plainly stated.

“I-I’m sorry, I wasn’t told anything about a payment.” Brian said, worried he’d missed a vital point somewhere in his briefing. The woman didn’t care. She stepped aside and directed him to enter, which he did quickly.

~~~

continued in Stranger and Fiction Anthology 3

The Prime Minister's Witch by Hethe Srodawa. Inspiration for this story.