The hunt of the witch

         “I knew a witch once; very tragic story. I mean, I’ve met a bad witch or two in my life, but by far she was in all likelihood the worst.” He took a swig from a pint of beer, and slammed it down on the somewhat dirty bar counter, looking at his friend. He looked down at a half of a peanut lying on the counter, and flicked it at a bottle of liquor on the shelf across from him. He then wiped the heavy foam off of his bushy mustache with one swift and careless swipe of the back of his hand. “Yeah, that was one cruel witch.”

         “What exactly happened Flint?” his friend asked him. “I’ve had plenty experiences with witches and wizards.”

         “Oh have you then, Cubert?”

         “Yessir, I’m afraid I have. I had an encounter with an upset wizard once; terrible business. I couldn’t taste anything for weeks.”

         “Really?” Flint asked Cubert.

         “Yessir,” Cubert said smoothly. “What happened to you?”

         “Well,” the man with the bushy mustache said. “There’s not much to it.” His voice suddenly lowered, and he stared at his pint of beer which had foam spilling from the sides. “I was sent into this town; strictly business. You see, I used to hunt witches; that was my job. I had heard about this witch who had once put a spell on a mountain, so that no traveler could climb it and live to tell the tale, and then she began to terrorize this town. I’ve never been to the mountain. If I did, I wouldn’t be here. As I was saying, I went looking for this witch; I went door to door, and I’d spend a lot of my time in the town bar, asking locals what they knew about the witch.

         “No one seemed to know much. I was skeptical that they were too afraid of the witch to tell me anything; or maybe she placed a spell upon the town’s people, so that they couldn’t speak of her. Many witches and wizards are bound to certain places, but I couldn’t use that to my advantage, because most of the people in that town had always lived there. After about three months of searching for this witch, I went to the market to buy potatoes and a few other vegetables and some fruit. I noticed a young woman who had spilled all of her groceries onto the ground, and no one had helped her. So I ran over to offer my aide. Then she looked up into my eyes, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of hers.”

         “What happened?” Cubert asked.

         “She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my entire life. She was perfect, if ever there were true perfection. I knew I had to have her.”

         “You slept with her?”

         “Eventually I did,” Flint said, and took another gulp from his pint. “Yup, she was something.” He stared at the pint of beer again.

         “You fell in love with her. “Cubert said.

         “What? No, it was the other way around. She loved me; she wanted me to stay and marry her. She wanted to settle down; she wanted to raise a family. I couldn’t though. I told her I had to finish a job; she didn’t care, she just wanted me.”

         “But you couldn’t be with her.”

         “I couldn’t,” Flint said. He began to chug down the remains of his beer while Cubert watched in silence as he thought to himself.

         “You got her pregnant,” Cubert said. “Surely she didn’t keep it, did she?”

         “I’m not sure. I told her I couldn’t stay there with her; I said I had to finish my job. I even asked her to come back with me after I found the witch, I asked her to come back to this town and live with me here.” Cubert’s eyes widened as he had just came to a dark realization.

         “She couldn’t leave the town.” Cubert said.

         “Some witches can only live in certain areas in order to keep their power and continue to live. She wanted me to stay even though I couldn’t, and she didn’t want to leave the town. She became hysterical when I refused to stay. It began to rain and thunder outside, and the clouds blocked all of the sunlight, it got darker.”

         “I knew it.”

         “The lights in the house started to flicker on and off. She stopped crying; well, I couldn’t see her eyes anymore. They turned black. It was like staring into a deep abyss of sorrow that I’d never escape from.”

         “The witch you were hunting fell in love with you.”

         “And she would be having my child, and I couldn’t stay.”

         “So what happened?” Cubert asked. Flint sat up straight and faced Cubert directly.

         “Well; I took her love for granted, and she took something of mines in return.” He pulled the hem of his collar all the way down, revealing a dark burn spot at the place where his heart would be.

         “She took your heart.” Cubert said.

         “I’m unable to love, hate, I’m unable to feel anything, Cubert, for the rest of my life unless she gives my heart back; unless I go back to her, but I can’t. Do you know what the worst part about all of this?” Cubert shook his head, and Flint leaned forward slightly. “I could care less,” he said, leaning back. “I don’t feel a thing about any of it; nothing. Not an inch of sadness or curiosity about my child I’ve never met. I never feel anything; I will never love a woman.”

         Later that night, when the streets were soundless, and when all the children slept comfortably in their beds, and the town rested under the drifty moonlight and the fog, Cubert lay in his bed next to his wife who had been fast asleep. His children; his son and daughter, lie in their bedrooms sleeping as well. He stood up and went over to the window to stare out into the town. Not a faint sound could be heard other than an occasional cricket moving its hind legs about, or an alley cat stirring up mischief. The town maintained a quiet state of tranquility like this almost every night. Cubert closed his curtains, and went back to bed to cuddle with his wife, who he was still madly in love with.

         Many years later, the town had remained quite the same, and the only thing that seemed to change were the citizens who populated it. Many buildings stayed the same; they never changed either. The young were now older; they were grown. Some moved out, while others stayed. Things like the bar never changed, up to the smallest detail; even the poor condition of the bar counter remained the same over time. Cubert Worthington, would come by the bar very often to treat himself to a drink or two and to occasionally discuss the times and important matters with his old friends.

         His children were now grown and gone; they were among the few who chose to leave and go out to voyage, with an aching desire to explore the world. He received letters every week, and wrote some in return. He and his wife would live out their days in the town, with the same peacefully tranquil nights as they’ve always had.

         A very strange man began coming into the bar quite often. Cubert had not recognized this man, but he knew he had a familiar face. He began to watch this man every time he came in, and noticed that the man sat in a dark corner of the bar, and when asked what he’d like to drink, he’d order a glass of water. When he’d leave in about an hour, his glass would still be full. The man had a mysterious look about him, and he seemed to be looking for someone. On the fourth visit to the bar, Cubert had decided to speak with the young man.

         “Mind if I sit here, young man?” Cubert asked, staring at the young mans face, which seemed to be emotionless. His eyes looked dark and his face looked sunken, as though he hadn’t had any sleep in a long time. He had a short buzz cut, with small dark ink tattoos at certain spots with intricate designs that trialed up to his scalp. He had on a cloak with the same complex designs that his tattoos had, and the designs seemed to glow a little.

         “Suit yourself.” The cloaked man said simply, and Cubert sat down.

         “What is your name?” Cubert asked.

         “What is yours?”

         “My name is Cubert Worthington.” He said.

         “It is my pleasure to meet your acquaintance.” The cloaked man said.

         “I’ve seen you here a few times, and I couldn’t help but notice that you look extremely familiar; like a man I knew a long time ago.”

         “Who might that be?”

         “It was an old companion of mines; we haven’t spoken in years. May I ask you what has brought you to this town?”

         “I am here on behalf of a favor my mother has bestowed upon me,” the cloaked man said. “I am looking for someone.”

         “Oh,” said Cubert. “And who might this person be?”

         “It is my father, although I do not know his name. Upon her death bed, my mother requested I find my father, and give him this,” he reached into his cloak, and pulled out a small dark blue silk bag with a glowing ribbon with intricate designs embedded in it. He laid the bag onto the table. “She told me he lived here, and so I have come to find him, so that I can fulfill my mother’s last wishes.”

         “What is it?” Cubert asked, staring fixatedly at the bag. The cloaked man grabbed it, and put it away.

         “I cannot tell you,” the cloaked man said; Cubert could see sadness beneath those dark eyes. The cloaked man stood up, and placed several coins onto the table next to his full cup of water. “Well, Mr. Worthington, it is getting late, and as I know you are not my father, I must leave now; goodnight to you.”

         He walked out of the bar without a single word, leaving Cubert with the thought of a dark blue silk bag with a glowing ribbon embedded with complex designs. He could have sworn he saw a pulse inside of it.