Year Seven- The Concrete Witch

This year my class has found a strange fascination with curses and witches and horror stories.  

One girl introduced the legend of Bloody Mary and it only took a couple of weeks before some poor little kindergarten kid went home in tears because a second grader poured ketchup all over her hand in the girl's bathroom. Soon it became a known fact that if you hadn't already chanted Bloody Mary with the lights off in the bathroom with the oddly shaped smudge on the mirror, you were a chicken. I never believed their stories, so I could perform their tasks without flinching.

I will never allow myself to be called a chicken.

So I play along with their games. Sometimes I can't help but laugh at their childish screams at the slightest "sign". Once a girl complained her finger hurt after performing the ritualistic Bloody Mary chant. Another girl soon created a horrifying legend to go with the strange smudge mark on the bathroom mirror. It's become a trend to see ghosts and witches every way you turn. 

With this trend came a new game. My friends didn't stop at Bloody Mary and Graffiti Ghosts. They created a new pretend game about the invisible witches that come to the school and leave signs of their visit. Often at recess, we'd go to the tennis court and attribute the cracks and pieces of string in some obscure way to the witches. According to my friends, the witches are evil, and you can only ever see them with a special pair of invisible binoculars. 

One day I decided to mess with my friends. Since I thought the game was boring and in no way scary, I decided to take it into my own hands. As I passed off the "invisible binoculars" to my other friends I began to scratch ominous messages into the concrete with a rock. Behind their backs and without being noticed, I also threw in a penny or a piece of yarn or two and called for their attention. 

Perhaps they were shocked at the clear warning the witches had left with their claws, or maybe they were just excited to find so much evidence in their game, real or fake. Either way their belief in the witches had strengthened. It sickened me.  After all, I was the one who created all the corny evidence.

Now, as long as they play their game, I play mine. Now, I am the witch leaving concrete messages with her sharp talons. I am the Concrete Witch, and I've learned that it's fun being the villain sometimes if the heroes are dolts.  

The End

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