He leaped off the porch and ran full-speed toward the shed, repeating a mantra every time his boots hit the ground:
Let me beat Lizzy. Let me beat Lizzy.
Chapter 24
Willadean
“Get inside,” Mama said, pointing to the dark interior of a tidy garden shed.
“We won’t be able to see anything from inside,” Willa argued. “What if Otis needs help?” The rifle felt like more than just an impulse decision; Otis and Mama thought she was responsible enough to carry a firearm under adverse conditions. Actual lives were at stake and they trusted her with a killing machine. And she’d survived being the captive of a psychopath. When this was all over, she would definitely ask for extra privileges.
“I’m more worried about this storm than anything else right now,” Mama said, glancing at the greenish sky with a deep furrow between her brows. “I want you all out of sight from the cabin and under a roof in case there’s hail. Or worse,” she added, studying the lumpy clouds that Willa knew were a type called mammatus, not worrisome themselves but almost always a harbinger of a dangerous storm. She had learned this in Knoxville while writing a story about a puppy who ventured out during a tempest.
It hadn’t ended well for the puppy.
“Them’s titty clouds, ain’t they, Willa?” Cricket said as the three entered the small shed.
“The word mammatus is derived from Latin, meaning udder or breast. So yes, technically you could call them titty clouds, and of course you would, because you’re a goober.”
A small window allowed a partial view of Serena Jo standing outside, and the witch’s cabin in the distance beyond. Mama stood very still, like a granite statue of Diana the Huntress. But instead of a bow and arrow, she wielded an AR-57.
Mama had left the door ajar, but because the coming storm had turned daytime into dusk, much of the shed’s contents lay in shadow. Anemic illumination filtered through the small window as well as an overhead skylight. Willa did a slow pivot, squinting into corners and perusing the neat shelves. A witch’s shed should be vastly more interesting. Where were the jars filled with bat’s wing and eye of newt? The poisonous herbs lashed with twine and strung from the ceiling to dry? No primitive broom leaned against a wall. Instead, she saw a garden hoe and a spade. No pointy black hat hung on the hook next to the doorway; in its place, a straw fedora dangled from a leather chinstrap.
Of course Lizzy wasn’t an actual witch. Willa knew that. Lizzy was merely a psychopath. But Willa couldn’t help feeling disappointed at the pedestrian contents of the shed. And when she tried to imagine Lizzy wearing the fedora and weeding a garden, she laughed. No way that crazy broad would engage in such activities. Lizzy’s only interest in yardwork would involve digging a hole for a body.
A rustling sound emanated from one of the dark corners. Willa could make out a woven mat on the floor; several pristine flower pots rested on top. Had a rat built a nest back there?
All three children had been standing with their noses pressed against the solitary windowpane. Just as she decided to search the rat corner, she caught a glimpse of a moving figure through the filmy glass. She recognized the spikey flame-red hair as Mister Fergus practically flew down the cabin’s front porch steps.
He ran toward the shed, waving his arms and yelling something she couldn’t understand. It seemed Mama couldn’t either. She was yelling back, “What? I can’t hear you!”
“What’s he saying, Harlan?” Willa said. Harlan may be able to read Mister Fergus’s lips, even from this distance.
I can’t tell. Wait, I think he’s saying...
Willa watched the color drain from her brother’s face as he spun to face the corner. Willa turned as well, dreading whatever had caused that look of terror on Harlan’s face.
The top half of Lizzy’s body extended from the ground where the woven mat had been. She blinked rapidly, like something irritated her eyes, but she wore that awful grin. And she pointed a gun right at Willa.
Willa opened her mouth to scream, but the rifle’s muzzle shifted to Harlan’s head. “I’ll do it, Willadean. I won’t hesitate. Close the door. Do it fast.”
Willa did as she was told.
“Latch it. Hurry,” the witch said.
Willa slid the metal bolt into its housing. She should have noticed that sooner. Why would anyone install a latch bolt inside of a garden shed?
“You came through a tunnel?” Willa replied, switching to her childish voice. “How clever!”
“On some level, I always knew it would end here,” the witch said. “I had the tunnel built as a safeguard against my capture. But you children and your mother bungled everything. None of us will be getting out of this alive.”
It couldn’t have been easy climbing out of that hole with broken fingers and an injured shoulder, all the while keeping the rifle pointed at Harlan. But Lizzy managed it. When she reached the patch of weak sunshine filtering through the skylight, Willa could see which witch she was dealing with. It wasn’t the somewhat reasonable one Willa had managed to charm in the basement. This Lizzy, with her pinpoint pupils and maniacal grin, was the drugged-up psychopathic version. The one with whom there would be no reasonable discussion.
“Put that rifle on the floor, Willa,” Lizzy said.
Willa’s mind raced as she stared into those disturbing green eyes. Problem-solving was one of her talents, but the current situation didn’t present even one good option. After a moment’s hesitation, she complied, setting the Mossy next to the hoe and spade. A sudden pounding on the door surprised her, but the witch didn’t blink or flinch.
“Open up!” Serena Jo was using her overly reasonable voice; it was the one that
