The Witch's Chamber

She held her breath, trying to remain perfectly still. Her heart raced, creating a feedback loop of anxiety, as she wondered if the monster could hear it. The old wardrobe smelled of mothballs and dust. The cramped space quickly felt stuffy, as she pressed against a long fur coat—the lush surface brushing against her cheek.

Why?, she thought.

But she knew why. She was told this would happen, but she didn't listen. Of course, few people ever heeded such warnings; despite the sincerity of the old woman in the market earlier that day. She remembered complimenting the older lady on her headscarf. Its swirls of blues and yellows kept the woman's wispy hair from blowing in the chill breeze.

"Don't go to the manor today, child," the old woman said sternly.

Today, as it turned out, was Friday the 13th.

A soft thump—something hard hitting thick carpet, rattled the boards beneath her feet—just beyond the paneled wardrobe door. It was in the bedroom!