Everyone knew to take the high road when dealing with the old woman, reckless as she was. Kamdi knew it herself sometimes. It didn’t matter what time of the day you passed; she was out front, heckling or tossing something your way.
Yes, most people knew to take the high road with her and just move on quickly but the moment the streak of mud struck Kamdi’s white winnie-the-pooh shirt, she knew whatever was on the other side of the high road was her final destination today. Revenge, perhaps.
She turned to the direction she suspected the mud came from, she didn’t have to look too far. The old woman bared her teeth, shrieking in laughter. The debate was out there on whether she was old or just mad but Kamdi didn’t care at this moment.
“You this mad woman! Look at my shirt now!” Kamdi yelled. The woman only laughed louder.
“I was just waiting for my friend!” the woman cackled.
Kamdi glared at her shirt, stained and ruined. She stomped her 12-year-old feet as hard as she could. “Now I have to go home and change because of you?!”
The woman was pointing now, still laughing. Kamdi’s anger boiled over. She marched closer to the house.
Typically her mother’s warnings to never go into there would echo in her head but today, she wasn’t thinking. Today, she wanted revenge.
She grasped the rusted gate and swung it backwards. The old woman stopped laughing. Kamdi hesitated for a second, the sudden silence unnerving her. She stepped into the compound, the old woman wasn’t in her usual chair anymore. Kamdi looked at the overgrown yard, and the air felt heavier here, as if the space itself was holding its breath.
Thinking the woman had run away, Kamdi turned to leave. Her time was better spent finding another shirt for this party. But as she reached the gate, she froze. Standing there was another girl, about her age. Kamdi instantly recognized her.
It was Jane.
Jane, who had been missing for months. The entire neighbourhood had searched. Something seemed off—Kamdi opened her mouth to call out to her, but instead of her voice, a shrieking laugh escaped. Startled, she clamped her hand over her mouth. The laugh sounded just like the old woman’s.
She tried again. The same laugh spilled out, wild and unhinged. Desperate, she ran to the cracked mirror the old woman often held to laugh into. What she saw made her stumble back. Her face was no longer her own. The lines, the wrinkles, the wild eyes—she had become the old woman. A wave of disbelief gripped her, the dread settled deep in her chest. Her now roughened fingers traced features that felt foreign and horrifying. She wasn’t Kamdi anymore.
Kamdi turned to Jane, who mouthed two words: “I’m sorry.” Then, without another word, walked away.
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