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The day after my birthday was my swing shift. Our boss had thought he was doing me a favor by having me start at three in the afternoon instead of eight in the morning. He'd probably figured I'd be out all night drinking and would enjoy sleeping in. Little did he know Dad and I had spent a quiet evening in, eating cupcakes he'd picked up from Frodo's and watching old movies.
It had been nice, but it had also been... routine. We always watched old movies and ate junk food. That was my dad's definition of a great time. Every celebration. Every Friday night. Old movies and junk food. I was twenty-one and acted like I was forty-one. Sometimes I felt like the most boring person alive.
I'd had so few friends growing up. Dad had always treated me like I was an egg that could crack at any second. I think one of the reasons I'd been so enamored with witches when I was little was because they could fly away on their brooms and go wherever they wanted. Do whatever they wanted. I touched the necklace around my neck and wished, not for the first time, that my mother was here.
When Dad left for his morning shift, I took the rare opportunity of being alone in the apartment to sit outside on our balcony with a cup of coffee. Eight floors up, we had a lovely view of the park across the street. I liked to watch the people in it. I tried to imagine where they were going or what their lives were like.
The sun was shining brightly. Summer was just getting started. A robin fluttered through the air past our balcony. I watched it swoop down from the sky and set itself on a low tree branch. Just below the tree branch, something caught my eye. I blinked to make sure I wasn't seeing things.
The pumpkin ladies from the diner stood there. They were looking up at me. The younger one grinned and waved broadly as if trying to get my attention. Her sister's eyes widened in disbelief. She pinched the younger woman's arm and raised her pointer finger at her. A puff of blue smoke flew from her fingertip.
My jaw dropped open and hot coffee dribbled over my chin. I dropped my mug. The cup toppled to the ground and broke into four large pieces. I wiped myself off with a napkin and picked up the pieces. When I looked up again, the women were gone.
I kept looking out of my window the rest of the morning. Part of me hoped I'd see them again. There was something just a little off about them. Something strange yet... fascinating.
On my way to work, I kept looking behind me, certain the pumpkin ladies were there. I replayed what I'd seen over and over in my mind and convinced myself I'd imagined the blue smoke. People didn't shoot smoke or anything else from their fingertips. That was impossible.
I hadn't imagined them though. The pumpkin ladies had definitely been there. And they'd been looking for me.
When I got to work, we were swamped with the late afternoon rush. I barely had time to say hi to my dad before jumping on my first table. Every time the door chimed I looked up, half hoping, half expecting to see those women. Every time I was disappointed.
When four o'clock hit, my dad clocked out.
"I'll keep dinner warm for you," he said and got out of there before the dinner rush could hit.
I hadn't worked swing shift in a while. I think the last time had been when I was sixteen and had started at the diner part time. The second I turned eighteen and didn't have school anymore, my dad had secured me a spot on the morning crew. He'd worked at Stuffed for years and was a favorite of our boss, who was more than happy to oblige. Mostly because my dad never took time off, never came in late, and never once in his fifteen years there had he asked for a raise.
When I was fourteen, I'd realized most of the kids I went to school with had parents who were teachers or lawyers or nurses or... something more than just a line cook. I'd asked my dad why he didn't try to get ahead. Maybe become head chef at a fancy restaurant. Or better yet, open his own diner.
"Flying under the radar is the only way to stay safe," he'd told me. I thought that about summed up his life. Safe. Boring. Tiresome.
I sighed as the last of the evening rush filed out of the restaurant. Three more hours to go. The diner closed at eleven and by midnight we'd all be gone. By one, I could be in bed. And tomorrow I would start all over again.
The pancake ladies didn't show themselves all night. But around the time we turned the diner's lights off, I began to feel someone watching me. It was the icky, creepy feeling that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. I kept looking around, thinking maybe Lance was checking me out—it had happened before—but he was busy sweeping the floors.
I shook the feeling off and grabbed the last of the trash. The alley was dark and stinky. Only a sliver of light made its way between the buildings, casting strange shadows on the side of the trash can. It was the type of place location scouts noted for use in horror movies. The type of alley where dead bodies were likely to turn up and ghosts were likely to make their first but not last appearance.
I threw the trash bags into the bins and spun quickly back toward the door. It was locked.
"Crud," I said, banging on it from the outside. As if anyone could hear me through the brick walls and heavy metal door.
There was only one way out of the darkness. I turned toward the only opening the alley offered and began trekking toward it. A pinpoint of light at the end of a long, dark tunnel. I could go around to the front doors and Judy or someone would let me in.
I was halfway down the alley when two figures stepped out of the shadows, blocking my only exit.
I stopped walking. Zillions of slasher flicks ran through my mind. I knew better than to wait and see if Jason Voorhees would brandish his machete at me. I reversed toward the locked door. Maybe if I banged hard enough someone would hear me after all.
"Hello," one the figures said, coming toward me. The lone sliver of light fell on her face, and I recognized the older pancake lady. She was coming straight at me. Her sister was beside her, holding something in her hand.
Suddenly, I wanted nothing to do with these strange women. The idea that they were following me no longer seemed exciting. It just seemed creepy.
"Ava, it's us," the younger one said.
How did they know my name? My heart raced. I turned and ran... straight into a brick wall. I'd gotten so freaked out I'd run right past the back door and didn't see the end of the alley in front of me. I bounced off the brick and fell back onto the pavement, my face already hurting.
"Ava," the women cried together, running toward me.
I held up my hands in self-defense, expecting them to grab me or try to rob me. Something. But all I felt was a soothing hand reach out and stroke my hair. Hair that was the same color as theirs.
"Calmnetico... calmnetico..." I opened my eyes and saw the older pumpkin lady looking at me with soft, worried eyes. Her finger extended toward my forehead and a soft orange glow was emanating from it. "Ava," she said again. I felt my nerves soothing, despite the strangeness of the situation.
The younger woman squealed, clapping her hands together and doing some kind of jig. She looked like a drunken Irishman.
"Who are you?" I asked. The strange orange glow grew duller than faded away. "What are you?"
The women smiled. The older one spoke first.
"We're your aunts, Ava. And we're witches. Just like you."
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