The Witch's Price
1980 Words
Three weeks had passed since the night in the forest.
Alisha's body had healed—mostly. The bruises had faded to pale yellow ghosts of themselves. The scratches had become thin white lines, barely visible against her skin. But the word "CLAIMED" still glowed on her ribs, a constant reminder that she would never truly be free.
Not unless she fought back.
Maya had come through. Her cousin's roommate's aunt—or something equally convoluted—knew a woman who lived in the hills outside the city. A woman who dealt in things that normal people whispered about but never spoke aloud.
A witch.
---
The drive took two hours.
Jake gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white, his jaw tight. He hadn't let Alisha out of his sight since the hospital. He'd slept on her floor, brought her meals, held her when the nightmares came.
He was trying so hard.
And Alisha loved him for it—but love, she was learning, wasn't always enough.
"Almost there," Jake said, glancing at the GPS. "The address is... well, it's in the middle of nowhere."
"I know," Alisha said quietly. "That's the point."
They pulled up to a crumbling farmhouse at the end of a dirt road. The building looked abandoned—weeds overtaking the porch, windows boarded up, paint peeling from the walls.
But smoke curled from the chimney.
And Alisha could feel something watching her from the shadows.
---
The woman who opened the door was nothing like Alisha had expected.
She was young—maybe thirty—with sharp cheekbones and dark eyes that seemed to look right through you. Her hair was cropped short, dyed an unnatural shade of violet. She wore ripped jeans and a band t-shirt.
She looked like she belonged in a coffee shop, not a haunted farmhouse.
"I've been expecting you," the woman said, stepping aside. "Come in. But leave the boyfriend outside."
Jake bristled. "I'm not leaving her—"
"She'll be fine," the woman cut him off. "If I wanted to hurt her, I wouldn't need you gone to do it. But this conversation is for her ears only. You'll just get in the way."
Alisha squeezed Jake's hand. "It's okay. I'll be fine."
He looked at her with those worried brown eyes, but he nodded. "I'll be right here. Scream if you need me."
"Always."
---
The inside of the farmhouse was surprisingly warm.
Candles flickered on every surface. Bundles of dried herbs hung from the ceiling. The walls were covered in symbols Alisha didn't recognize—curving lines and sharp angles that seemed to shift when she looked at them directly.
"Sit," the woman said, gesturing to a worn armchair. "Tea?"
"I didn't come for tea."
"No," the woman agreed, settling into a chair across from her. "You came because something has claimed you. And you want to know how to break the bond."
Alisha's breath caught. "How did you—"
"I can see it." The woman's eyes glowed faintly—just for a moment. "Written all over you. Silver marks. Ancient magic. A ghost with a hunger that's been festering for centuries."
She leaned forward, studying Alisha's face.
"His name is Kael," Alisha said, her voice barely above a whisper. "He's been haunting me for months. I tried to marry someone else to escape him, and he—" She choked on the words.
"I know," the woman said softly. "I can see the damage too. Not just to your body. To your soul. He took something from you that night. Something you'll never get back."
Alisha's eyes burned with tears. "Can you help me?"
The woman was quiet for a long moment.
"Breaking a ghost bond isn't like breaking a spell," she finally said. "It's not something I can do with a potion or a chant. He's connected to you on a level that goes beyond magic. He's bound to your essence. Your soul. Your very existence."
"So there's nothing I can do?"
"I didn't say that." The woman's eyes sharpened. "There's always something. But the price is high. Higher than you might be willing to pay."
"Name it."
The woman studied her for a long moment, then rose and crossed to a cabinet against the far wall. She pulled out a small wooden box, carved with symbols that seemed to writhe in the candlelight.
Inside was a knife.
Obsidian blade. Silver handle. Ancient and terrible and beautiful.
"This is a soul-knife," the woman said, holding it up. "It can sever any bond. Any connection. Any claim."
Alisha felt her pulse quicken. "And I use it on Kael?"
"You use it on yourself." The woman's voice was flat. "To break the bond, you have to sever the part of your soul that he's attached to. You'll survive—but you'll never be whole again. A piece of you will be gone forever. Like cutting off your own arm to escape a trap."
Alisha stared at the knife, her mind racing.
She thought about Kael's silver eyes. His cold hands. The way he'd whispered "mine" as he'd destroyed her.
She thought about Jake's warm embrace. His patient love. The way he'd held her while she sobbed.
She thought about the girl she used to be—bright, hopeful, full of light.
That girl was already gone.
What was one more piece?
"I'll do it," she said, reaching for the knife.
But the witch pulled it back.
"Not so fast," she said. "There's more. The knife will sever the bond—but it won't banish him. He'll still exist. He'll still be able to find you. He'll just... be unable to claim you again."
"Then what's the point?" Alisha demanded, frustration bleeding into her voice.
"The point is that without the bond, he'll weaken," the woman explained. "Ghosts like him—they feed on connection. On obsession. If you sever that, he'll start to fade. Not quickly. It'll take years, maybe decades. But eventually, he'll become nothing more than a whisper."
Alisha's heart pounded.
Years. Decades.
That meant she'd never truly be free. Not while she was alive. Not while Kael still existed in any form.
But it was better than this. Better than being owned. Better than being claimed.
"Show me how to use it," she said.
---
The ritual took place at midnight.
The witch had drawn a circle of salt and ash in the center of the farmhouse floor. Candles burned at each of the four cardinal points. The air was thick with the smell of sage and something darker—something that smelled like old blood and older secrets.
Alisha stood in the center of the circle, the obsidian knife in her trembling hands.
"Are you sure about this?" the witch asked. "Once you do this, there's no going back. You'll never be the same."
"I'm already not the same," Alisha said. "He made sure of that."
The witch nodded. "Then repeat after me."
And Alisha did.
The words were ancient—a language she'd never heard, syllables that felt wrong in her mouth. As she spoke them, the candle flames flickered. The temperature dropped. The shadows in the corner of the room began to writhe.
And then Kael appeared.
He was furious.
His silver eyes burned like twin stars, his form flickering with barely contained rage. His face was twisted into something monstrous, something that barely resembled the man she'd once pitied.
"YOU DARE?" his voice thundered through the room. "YOU WOULD DARE TO SEVER WHAT IS MINE?"
He lunged for her—but the salt circle flared bright, throwing him back.
"You can't touch me anymore," Alisha said, her voice steady despite the terror coursing through her veins. "You lost that right when you tried to own me."
"You are MINE," he snarled. "You were always mine. From the first moment I saw you—"
"I belong to no one," she cut him off. "Not you. Not anyone. I belong to myself."
She raised the knife.
Kael's eyes widened with something she'd never seen before—genuine fear.
"Alisha, please," he said, his voice suddenly soft, suddenly broken. "I love you. I know I didn't show it the right way, but I love you. Don't do this. Don't destroy what we could have been."
"We never could have been anything," she said. "Because you never saw me as a person. You only ever saw a thing to be claimed."
She pressed the blade to her chest, right over the glowing word "CLAIMED."
"Alisha—" Jake's voice, from somewhere behind her.
"I love you," she whispered, closing her eyes.
And she sliced.
---
Pain.
White-hot, blinding, shattering pain.
Alisha felt something tear inside her—something deep and fundamental, something that had been part of her for longer than she'd known. It felt like dying. It felt like being reborn.
She screamed.
And through the haze of agony, she heard Kael scream too.
His form flickered violently, the silver glow around him dimming to almost nothing. He reached for her—one last time, one desperate attempt—but his hand passed through her like smoke.
"NO!" he howled. "NO, NO, NO—"
And then he was gone.
The room went silent.
The candles burned steady. The shadows settled. The air warmed.
And Alisha collapsed to the floor, the knife falling from her fingers, the bleeding wound on her chest already beginning to close.
---
When she woke, she was in Jake's arms.
He was crying—silent tears streaming down his face as he held her against his chest.
"You're okay," he kept saying, over and over. "You're okay. You're safe. You're okay."
Alisha tried to sit up, but her body felt strange. Lighter. Hollow. Like something vital had been carved out of her and she'd never get it back.
"Did it work?" she whispered.
The witch knelt beside her, examining the wound on her chest.
"It worked," she confirmed. "The bond is severed. You're free."
Alisha looked down at her ribs.
The word "CLAIMED" was gone.
In its place was a thin, silvery scar—the only reminder that any of this had ever happened.
"He'll come back," Alisha said quietly. "You said he'll weaken, but he'll come back."
"Yes," the witch agreed. "But when he does, you'll be ready. You'll have the knife. You'll have the knowledge. And most importantly—you'll have the strength."
Alisha leaned into Jake's embrace, feeling his warmth seep into her cold body.
"I don't feel strong," she admitted.
"You will," Jake said. "You already are. You survived him. You fought back. That's more than most people could ever do."
Alisha closed her eyes.
She thought about Kael's silver eyes, blazing with fury and desperation.
She thought about the word "CLAIMED" burning on her skin.
She thought about the night in the forest—the pain, the fear, the helplessness.
She thought about the girl she used to be.
That girl was gone.
But maybe—just maybe—she could become something else.
Something stronger.
Something unbreakable.
---
Three months later, Alisha stood in her studio, paintbrush in hand.
She was painting again—not canvases filled with shadows and silver eyes, but bright, vibrant scenes. Sunsets. Flowers. Laughing faces. The world as it should be, not as Kael had made it.
Jake sat in the corner, watching her with a smile.
"You're happy," he observed.
"I'm learning," she corrected. "There's a difference."
He laughed. "Same thing, isn't it?"
Alisha set down her brush and crossed to him, settling into his lap.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For everything. For believing me. For staying. For—"
He silenced her with a kiss.
"Always," he said. "I'll always stay."
And for the first time in months, Alisha believed it.
She was free.
She was whole.
She was finally, truly, her own.
- Writer
