The Woods, Pt III
Paisley Horne knew she was running out of time.
It had all seemed so simple when she went over the plan at home.
Under the light of a new moon, prepare a token using a personal item and some of the plants in the area.
She’d gotten a token from a random lady in a mechanic shop.
Sure, she hadn’t left the doll in the mining town, but she’d left it in their campsite.
All they had to do was finish the ritual.
Light a fire, throw in some plants, say a few things from a spell book. It was so easy. It was so goddamn easy.
Twenty-four hours from the start of the ritual to the end.
The moon had to be in the same cycle. They didn’t have any time to spare, yet Paisley was the one setting the rocks in a circle to start a fire.
Paisley was the one with the lighter in her pocket, the only one who wasn’t afraid of the fire.
She’d set her phone up to film, and what a pathetic sight it was seeing.
It was always her doing all the work. She should’ve known that from the moment she tugged Harlow and Opal out of their loser shells freshman year.
They were the perfect insecure little ducklings, better actresses than sometimes even Paisley thought she was herself.
It was obvious to her when she saw them, people who faked enthusiasm because it suited them.
It was one of the only things she gave Emma credit for.
She clearly didn’t care about what Paisley dragged the group around to do, but she couldn’t fake the enthusiasm.
Paisley hated not having Emma here. It left her to interpret her friends’ lies.
Although, to be fair, they weren’t trying very hard to hide their dislike. Right when it mattered most.
“What’s the point of being out here?” Harlow moaned from a few yards away, her back against one of the crumbling buildings.
Paisley imagined the house collapsing on her like they were in a cartoon.
It was the only thing keeping Paisley’s hands on task.
“We could’ve built a fucking fire back at the campsite. ”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Paisley snapped back. “Did you drink too much because you had to impress some loser guy you’ll never see again? This was supposed to be a girls’ trip. Anything you did to fuck that up isn’t going to get you sympathy from me.”
“Guys,” Opal said, pulling her knees into her chest as she sat by Paisley’s growing firepit. “Can we please not fight?”
“Then Paisley can tell us why we needed to come out here so badly.”
Paisley wanted it to be the kind of situation where Harlow and Opal didn’t ask questions.
They never did before this. Besides, it wasn’t anything they’d understand.
What did Harlow Spielman and Opal Bushida have to wish for, anyway?
Harlow had a loving family who’d financially support any fashion college she wanted to attend.
Opal’s dad was an active filmmaker, she had enough money to buy her way anywhere, and she even had the grades to back it up.
Nothing in their lives was difficult. They didn’t need any more luck.
No need to bring in anything to do with faith beyond what they could see right in front of them.
But Paisley needed that.
“I told you,” Paisley said. “There’s a special energy tonight. We’re doing a good luck ritual. Something powerful that’ll carry through for years.” Paisley glared down at the spitting flames. “Literally all we have to do is put in a hair and say some words. Can’t you guys just have a little fun?”
She could feel Harlow’s burning gaze as she finished with the last of the kindling. Harlow made her way over to the firepit right as Paisley lit it, the orange dancing against Harlow’s eyes.
“Is it gonna manifest the witch too?” Harlow asked, her tone sickly sweet.
“No!” Opal said. “No witch! We’re not messing with that!”
“It’s not the witch,” Paisley said.
She didn’t intend to involve any witch, anyway.
She didn’t even believe in witches; the magical unknown of the universe was more nebulous than that.
It was why the afterlife always felt like both a comforting concept to her and one that everyone got wrong.
It wasn’t paradise in the clouds; it wasn’t even people lingering as poltergeists in houses or ghost towns.
It was just the continuation of energy that could never die.
Something people didn’t have the capacity to understand.
That’s what her mom had always told her.
But if that was what had to be tapped into to get the power of this spell, then so be it.
“Let’s not do a ritual,” Opal continued. “Why mess with things? Can’t you just wish on a shooting star?”
Wish on a shooting star. God, she could punch Opal right about now.
“We can’t do that,” Paisley said between gritted teeth with clenched fists. “The ritual started yesterday. If we don’t complete it, it has the opposite effect. I’m not fucking up my whole future because you two are too lazy to say a few words.”
Harlow stepped closer to Paisley. “What are you even trying to do here? Go do your stupid fucking incantation yourself. I’m Jewish, not Wiccan. Where did you even get this idea? From your woo-woo mom you make fun of every day?”
Heat burned under Paisley’s skin. “This is serious. I already started the ritual.”
Harlow threw her hands up. “When? What are you talking about?”
Harlow and Opal were never her real friends. They cut out at the first sign of who Paisley really was. Emma lasted through a few discussions of witches and spells, but deep down, she knew Emma would’ve run too.
But at least Emma would’ve gone through with the ritual. At least Emma had a little imagination.
“I have to spend the rest of my life in an industry where all but a select few fail,” Paisley said as she got right back in Harlow’s face.
Close enough to smell the alcohol on her breath.
“And it’s already been so shitty. So yeah, I’m going to do everything in my power to turn the universe in my favor.
I’d think,” she shot a glance over at Opal, who had her hands covering her mouth, “my friends would do everything they could too.”
For a moment, Harlow’s expression was blank, processing. Paisley could picture it, the way Harlow’s expression crumbled when she realized it wasn’t worth fighting over.
But Harlow’s mouth went stiff in a scowl. “When did you start this ritual?” Harlow asked.
“Last night!” Paisley screeched. “I came here early! Is that what you want to hear?”
Silence ripped through the group.
Then Harlow started laughing.
“Wait,” Harlow said, her voice suddenly high.
Nails on a chalkboard. “You drove out here twice for some stupid ritual?” Harlow put a hand on Paisley’s shoulder.
“You’ve totally lost it, Pais. Get a fucking grip.
So you didn’t get some TV role. You don’t need to go all maniac over it.
” Harlow turned to Opal. “Come on, Opal. Let’s go back to the campsite. I’m exhausted.”
Paisley needed to finish this ritual tonight.
If Paisley didn’t finish this ritual tonight, her fortune would go belly-up.
All her ambition met with a lifetime’s worth of failure.
She wouldn’t even make it in one film role like her mom.
She’d fail before she even started, losing any chance of ever continuing her mom’s legacy, of making it better.
She couldn’t be like Beck. She couldn’t be a failure in her mother’s eyes.
She couldn’t let the universe keep doing this to her.
When Harlow tried to step away, Paisley grabbed her by the hair. “You’re not leaving.”
“What the fuck?” Harlow screamed back. “Let me go!”
“We’re doing this whether you like it or not.”
She held Harlow down with a strength she didn’t know she even had, ignoring her squirming. She was too drunk to do anything but flop like a dying fish, anyway.
Paisley ripped a strand of hair out.
“You’re insane!” Harlow yammered on. “I’m going to tell everyone at school what you did here! Opal, help me!”
But poor Opal was too focused on plucking out her own couple hairs and offering them to Paisley. “Here,” Opal said, tears glistening in her eyes. “Do the ritual. We don’t want this to get ugly.”
But now that the adrenaline was running red-hot through her, there was nowhere for the energy to go but out. She dropped Harlow, her body falling to the ground with a satisfying thud.
“Do you get why I’m doing it?” Paisley growled, eyes on Opal. “Do you think I’m insane too?”
Opal cowered. “Of course I get it. Life sucks and we need all the luck we can get.”
She was lying.
Paisley looked back over at Harlow only to find Harlow’s hands coming toward her chest. Paisley flew backward, hitting the ground with enough force for her to bite her own tongue.
As blood filled her mouth and Harlow tried to hold Paisley down, suddenly all she could see was red.
She should’ve never listened to Harlow. She shouldn’t have let Harlow get this drunk or talk back as much as she had.
Paisley had made Harlow, and it was time to remind her who was boss. Paisley always won.
Paisley grabbed Harlow by the shoulders, pushing her as hard as she could. Enough for Harlow to stumble back onto her ass.
She wasn’t going to get up until Paisley said she could.
Paisley grabbed a piece of firewood, a thick old plank of wood she hadn’t thrown into the pit.
She swung it as hard as she could against Harlow’s head.
“Harlow!” Opal screamed.
But there wasn’t going to be a Harlow to answer.
Paisley swung again, marveling as Harlow’s hair soaked with blood, as her struggling body went still.
She wasn’t sure how many times she hit her, only that her muscles ached when she finished and the world was so silent it felt like every woodland creature was watching.
Her face was warm and sticky from the blood, but she didn’t reach to wipe it off.
She felt every nerve of hers pulsing with energy, yet somehow she also felt outside of herself.
“Harlow!” Opal cried. “Oh my god, Paisley. What did you do?”
Harlow’s blood might’ve been on Paisley’s face, but she finally felt her own behind her skin.
The pulsing wasn’t adrenaline anymore, but fear.
What did she do?
Harlow wasn’t moving. Harlow was dead.
She killed Harlow.
(She still had to finish her ritual.)
She—
She turned to Opal. “I’m sorry,” Paisley said.
“It’s okay. Let’s just…go back to the campsite,” Opal said.
Opal was lying.
Paisley didn’t remember how long it took to reach Opal, couldn’t recall if she’d ever been this physically close to her. Paisley felt her knees over Opal’s torso as her ribs shifted and kept her lungs from expanding. She felt the thud of Opal’s heartbeat reverberate off her skin like an instrument.
She raised the bloody wood again.
She thought about the witch. She thought about bloodlust. It suddenly seemed so possible.
Maybe the witch was real after all.
Maybe she was here right now.
If she were, she felt so good.
Then Opal was still.
And once Opal went still, Paisley took a strand of Opal’s hair and a strand of Harlow’s hair and dropped them into the fire. She said the phrases she needed to. She completed the ritual.
Then, sitting alone with the spitting fire, two bodies, and a backpack full of camping tools, Paisley realized just how fucked she was.