Barbara Devil «Secure • 2024»

Not to punish.

The tapping the journalist heard was Barbara’s carving knife. In her basement, under the glare of a bare bulb, she wasn’t stuffing squirrels. She was carving contracts. Not on paper, but on bone.

It was infinite. It was unbearable.

By morning, Cole was gone. His side of the bed was empty. In his place, curled on the pillow, was a small, brown rat with a terrified look in its eyes. Leo’s mother screamed. Leo did not. He simply walked to the cage in the corner, opened the door, and watched the rat scurry into the walls.

“I want you to make him stop,” Leo said. “I’ll pay you.” barbara devil

Barbara Devil smiled her terrible smile. “I’m not a witch,” she said, her voice a low hum that rattled the windows. “A witch still has a soul to save. I have nothing of the kind.”

Cole laughed. “The old witch? Get out of here, you crazy bitch.” Not to punish

“The bargain is already made,” Barbara said. “Not with me. With every living thing you’ve ever broken.”

The legend began forty years ago, on the night the Henderson boy vanished. He had been a mean child, the kind who pulled the wings off dragonflies and threw rocks at stray cats. On a dare, he’d thrown a stone through Barbara’s shop window. The next morning, the window was repaired, but the boy was gone. His parents found only a single, polished rabbit skull on his pillow. She was carving contracts