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"Ever hear of the Witch of Sixkill?" |
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His brother's face twisted into a look of disbelief. "Witch? You mean like spooks and goblins?" |
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Charlie set the container down beside him in the dried grass and resumed his seat on the gravestone next to his brother. The sky had yielded to darkness, and the chill was even more pronounced. The nearly empty boughs of the trees rattled like weary sabers. |
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"That's exactly the type of witch I'm talking about. I heard about one just before I rotated back to the States when I was finishing my tour in Saint Johns. She lived in a little village called Sixkill. A few of the people I knew had gone to her and believed in her; some of them claimed she could bridge time and space and death." |
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"You mean like bring the dead back to life?" his brother snickered. |
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"Exactly," Charlie admitted. |
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This time his brother laughed out loud. "Come on, Charlie, you don't actually believe in that stuff, do you?" |
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Charlie lowered his eyes and worked his foot back and forth in the dried leaves. "I know how it must sound, but desperate men do desperate things." |
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"So what's the big secret? What's the stuff in the jar supposed to do? Bring back the dead?" |
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Charlie tried to appear as though he was |
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