The Witching Hour

Setting my bag down on the marbled kitchen island I head into the lounge and slump onto the double recliner.
A stack of mail occupies the oak side table, all bound together by a large elastic band.
I needn’t take a closer inspection to understand there meaning.
I knew that with my ascending, would come the ‘Congratulations’ of all my relatives, including those who branched far out of our town of Brentwood. As well as being yet another generation of Carter’s to carry the bloodline of Witchery, there was a celebration to be had; which truth be told, I wasn’t looking forward to.
The others of my family had all had their appearances changed drastically when they reached sixteen and took on their full powers. The structures of their face would change along with the colour of their hair and height; effectively making them appear like entirely different people to who they had been known previously. It was due to this that each of us would have to re-locate towns, schools and jobs in order to prevent any suspicion. To them, it all seemed like a new start, with excitement and danger ahead of them; I obviously didn’t see it in the same perspective; I hadn’t been blessed with the luxury of taking on a new identity.
Taking a deep sigh, I drop the envelopes back to the table and lay back on the plump cushions.
“Bad day?” A voice asks, as I hear the footings of someone enter the room.
“More like a bad life,” I reply, closing my eyes.
Maggie, my older sister, perches next to me, pulling my hair from my face. “You haven’t changed at all, have you?” she asks in bewilderment.
“Oh I have,” I say, opening my new profound eyes which study her face curiously.
With no offence to Maggie, she used to behold the resemblance to a scruffy, unkempt dog. Her hair was a wild brown; untamed and free. Her face, more on the round side, held much of her baby fat.
I recall the day after her sixteenth birthday when I entered the bathroom to prepare for school. I thought someone had broken in and was dressing their self with the assistance of Maggie’s wardrobe. Wavy blonde hair hung low over her favourite Chanel dress. Dark shadowed eyes and full rouge lips completed the fashion with high cheek bones which blushed giving the impression of a porcelain doll.
“How do I look?” The familiar voice of my sister asked, as the stranger that inhabited Maggie’s clothes presented a 360 degree twirl in front of the mirror.
“Magz? Is that you?”
“Yep,” she grinned, “Just look at me. Who would have ever thought that I of all people could look like this? I love being a witch!”
Sitting up I wait for Maggie’s comments, but she gives none. Her face remains set in place; expression hard, gaze confused.
“Is it that bad that not only am I the only one in the family that hasn’t changed, but also that you can’t even notice my eyes?”
The skin around her jaw tightens as she stands and walks little by little toward the staircase. “I can’t believe it,” she whispers inwardly, continuously repeating the words.
She mumbles something under her breath, making it hard for me to decipher what she says, although, I believe it to sound something like, ‘Only ever one’. She looks back at me every few seconds as to make sure that the sight of me isn’t in fact false, leaving me puzzled in her departure.

A few hours later, my eyes flicker open to the sound of my mobile phone ringing. I pull it out from under my pillow, studying the screen in a cloudy gaze as I make out Thora’s name.
“What?” I moan, raising the phone to my ear.
“Get on that black ruffled dress I bought you,” Thora’s voice announces in a high pitch squeal. “We’re so going to the fairground.”
I glance to my clock, surely she can’t be serious. “It’s ten forty-five.”
“But it’s Saturday.”
“So?”
“I’m bored, and as my best friend it’s your responsibility to ensure that entertainment is provided at all times,” she whines as she uses her famous guilt trick – a habit of hers which has yet to fail.
“Sorry but I’m too tired, maybe some other time.”
“You’re such a party pooper,” she moans, clicking her tongue against the inside of her mouth. “So... I’ll pick you up in half an hour,” she laughs, hanging up, giving me no chance to object any further.
Precisely an hour later, we pull into the hectic parking lot of Brentwood’s Amusement Ground. The place is packed with energy and the liveliness of students who scramble through the groups of people who admire and delight in the enthusiasm of the rides.
After parking her black Trans Am, Thora drags me along as she rushes in the direction of the newest feature of the park.
“Hurry up!” She moans, scowling at my sluggishness.
I didn’t understand what she had to be angry about. She wasn’t the one who had been forcefully pulled from her bed against her free will. She wasn’t the one who had clothes thrown at her like darts to a target as she fell tiredly to the carpet. I hadn’t wanted to come here anyway. Logically it was I who had every right to be angry.
“KC, if we are not the first people to go on the ride when it first opens, I will never forgive you, and I am not waiting for another chance!”
“Whatever,” I mumble, picking up the pace.
From what I understood of Thora’s excited screams in the car, the ride was called Death Spell. We start by travelling through a dungeon accommodated with super-natural creatures which reach out in the dim red glow to ‘take your soul’. Statues of angels with their wings being torn off by demon were near to the top, just before a drop of one-hundred foot, with numerous loops, sharp turns and upside down gliding along the way.
We finally reach the long line of amusement park lovers on the opposite end of the entrance. They cheer wildly as a countdown timer ticks down the seconds until the gate finally open.
Three... Two.... everybody shouts, in fits of thrill. One.
Floods of people swim through the entrance, filling into the seats one-by-one as they exchange their booking tickets with the maintenance staff.
As Thora and I start to the last of the remaining carriages, she whispers in my ear, “Hey isn’t that the guy you knocked into at school earlier?” I focus my gaze to where Thora points, my stare setting upon a boy of no more than seventeen who plays intently on a computer game in the Arcade.
I take the moment to study him. I take in his black tousled hair that waves around his high cheekbones and sits just above his shoulders. The pale planes of his face contrasts with his almond-shaped eyes – a forest green – defined with a thick border of lashes.
His neck directs my gaze to his navy blue buttoned shirt which hangs over the belt of his black jeans, completed with smart work shoes.
“Kala move!” Thora commands from behind me. From the corner of my vision I see a member of staff adjust the safety bars over her body. “Kala!”
I turn round to the sight of the rollercoaster jolting forward. “Wait!” I exclaim to the staff, “I’m supposed to be on there.”
“I’m sorry miss,” the attendant says. “You’ll have to wait your turn in line. The wait is two hours.”
I was definitely not going to hang around for two hours, twiddling my thumbs, to go on a ride I didn’t want to go on in the first place. I would just wait at the exit for Thora and tell her that I was going to get a cab home.
I spin round to head for the exit, slamming into someone for the second time today. You have got to be kidding! I scream at my thoughts. Tightening my fists in fury I look up to make the apology. Instead giving a startled impression to the person who stands before me.
“Two times in one day, you really do live in a world of your own, don’t you?” the male asks, looking down at me with sharp eyes.
“Sorry,” is all I was willing to say. As I start round him to approach the departure area I am stopped by a hand which grasps at my leather jacket.
“Wait,” he says. “Didn’t you want to go on the ride?”