“Here. You can go here. RA-CY,” she reads from the sign. “Racy. You are allowed.”
“Thank you chaperone!”
—–
“The legs are too long,” she says, looking over the body stretched out on the couch in the burg office center’s 3rd and final floor, hands behind head. Like Bigfoot. Like her feet, she might opine, if she were actually, truly alive.
“I know. But I tried to change them and it didn’t work.” 10 to 9, I thought to myself but not bringing it up out loud. I was just astonished we had gotten this far. She continued…
“What of this, er, wound to the belly. Explain.”
After a pause: “Just to add to the realism. A different texture… with the masking tape and all.” Later addition, I then thought to myself again.
“Let’s get into the more delicate matters,” she quickly continued, as if wanting to get this over.
“Alright.”
“The pipe.”
It was here I had to bring up the witch.
——
“There’s no one in there,” she attempted to clarify later, trying to stay as level headed as possible. The thing was actually *breathing*, she thought.
“No,” I said.
“Never ever?”
“No,” I said as firmly as before. It starts with her, it ends with her. The Body. Receptacle, yes, but never anyone inside.”
“Not [delete name].”
No again.
“You’re sure.”
“Yes.”
“Just you.”
A pause. “Yes.”
In everyone involved.
Another pause. “Right.” Pause. “Everyone.”
“This… witch,” she returned to that subject.
“New Island witch, yes,” I said. “Mid-Hazel,” I named her.
She shook her head. We had had enough for this morning. TBC?
Sunklands 