The Witches

Wish I Were Here


*This is an excerpt from the memoir, much abridged for internet attention spans. It is darker than my usual posts. Mental illness, people on the perimeter of society. Readers who find these subjects uncomfortable might want to skip this one.*

San Diego, California – Summer 1989

“Are you a good witch or a bad witch?” He holds out a bony hand. Death’s head grin on his gaunt face. He emits a dank, organic odor. Ancient soil entombed in a cellar.

“Why do you think I’m a witch?” I push open the door and enter my apartment. He hovers in the doorway until I beckon him inside. I haven’t had a conversation in over a week. “You’re the manager’s roommate, aren’t you?”

He bats his eyelashes. “Houseboy. I’m his houseboy. My name’s Karl. Your name’s Julie, isn’t it?” He giggles. “I looked on the rental agreement.”

I grimace. “Sorry. Not a…

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