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“May your soul burn in hell,” I spit and shove him off my bed with all my might before he crushes me. His body hits the floor with a thud, and blood pours out of his wound, adding to the bloodstains on the floor of this tainted, evil place.

My muscles are weak, and my bones are brittle, and I barely have anything left of my soul, but somehow, I find my strength with pure adrenaline.

Tears sting my eyes as I twist my head and see the final shimmer of the girl standing over his body. In those final seconds, I swear she’s smiling.

It’s still the darkest part of the night as I slide out of my bed and my toes hit the circle of salt he placed around me.

Salt. How silly. Like salt would prohibit me from leaving.

I step over the threshold, wondering if I might get struck down by the Lord Himself, but nothing happens.

I grab a fresh nightdress and a few other clothes and tiptoe to the hallway, leaving bloody footprints in my wake. Glancing one last time at Father Malcolm, I peek into Mama’s room, where she is still sleeping soundly with her cup of tea on her nightstand.

I stare at her longer than I should. She’s wearing one of her lace nightdresses she still has from when she was married, her hair splayed out on the pillow. She looks restful, pretty.

Rest now, Mama. You will need it.

Her time of reckoning is upon her. The Lord shall decide if she has a place in His kingdom of light.

My hand finds my tiny cross around my neck, my other fingers still curled around the knife. My knuckles turn white as I grasp it. I walk toward her, my heart barely beating as I glide over to her sleeping body. My hair is falling over my face as I stand over her. Even in her sleep, she fans herself, her hand resting over her heart.

My body is not my own, my hand moving as if possessed.

I slit her throat—painless and quick. She opens her eyes for only one second, as recognition flashes through her eyes before blood seeps out of her throat, pooling all around her. She dies instantly.

I stare at her before silently closing the door, tiptoeing outside, meandering my way to the well to wash myself with the small amount of water left in the bucket that I took out a few days ago, sucking it dry. My scarecrow, a distant figure among the grass, dances and smiles at me, shimmering under the moon. A blessing to my dark deeds.

After cleaning myself, I exhale slowly and twist back at the house, toward Mama’s window, and weep.

In the moment of darkness and light, the sun crests the sky and casts a golden light upon me, blinding me but helping me see. I fall to my knees, and that’s when I feel Him. He pulls every essence of my soul from the empty depths of hell.

A piece of me is missing, and a new sensation is taking root, filling the space with a dark, festering presence. Something powerful. Something real, and it gives me new strength. Basking in the sunlight, my knife gleams, the blade impossibly sharp, and my vision clears. I take a chunk of hair, gripping it near the root, and slice through the ends, watching the long, lovely strands fall.

I don’t stop until it’s all gone.

Gentle hands wake me as a soft breeze covers my skin. “Come on now, Miss Diana. Time to get up.” My eyes pop open. I’m lying on the ground by the well. My face is pressed against the scratchy grass and dirt. The last of the daylight trickles down the sky, and Marty peers down at me with his eyebrows etched together.

I press myself up with my arms and peer up at him, catching my bearings. I must have passed out.

He reaches down and pulls me up, and I stare back at him, guilty as sin. I wipe the dirt from my face, and we stare at each other for a long moment, each assessing whether we are friend or foe. His bushy mustache twitches as he takes in the situation, and the monster lying before him. If he already checked the house, then he would know what I’ve done.

“Mama’s gone,” I choke out as my words cause my emotion to bubble into my chest.

“I know, Miss Diana. I saw her…and Father Malcolm, too.”

My lip trembles, and he just stands there, sighs, and runs his hands to his temples as if he too is tired. To my surprise, he opens his arms, and I crumble into him.

He’s a good one.

“I didn’t mean to do it,” I sob, and he pats my back. “They hurt me. Mama gave me lashes and then called Father Malcolm. He was trying to get rid of my demons, but he just…” I can’t even say it. My eyes dart to the knife lying a few feet away, and I remember I cut all my hair off. I pull away and reach up to feel it, and my fingers brush against the remnants, splintered, as they tumble onto my face.

“I believe you, Miss Diana,” he says. “This town makes people do bad things. I told you I’ve seen a lot of things in my time here. I warned you when you got here. Father Malcolm is one of them. He was a bad man.”

He did warn me…so did Remy, and many others. I was just too stubborn to listen or heed their warnings.

I suck in a short breath. “She’s in the bedroom. Can…can you help me hide her body? I need to bury her.”

He sighs and heads into the house, and a few minutes later, he returns with Mama’s lifeless body slumped over his shoulder. Her eyes are still open as he walks by me and throws her into the dried-up well.