Thirteen Bells at Midnight

At midnight, the village bells rang thirteen times. Eliza woke to scratching beneath her floorboards—slow,

patient, knowing her name. Her grandmother’s old mirror fogged on its own.

We’re home, the reflection mouthed, smiling with Eliza’s teeth. Outside,

women stood barefoot in the snow, shadows stitched together, eyes glowing like

embers. They raised their hands—and Eliza felt her bones answer. By dawn,

the village was quiet. One more witch walked among them.