48 CAMERON CAITIFF
November 7
I pulled my truck into the dirt driveway of the old Victorian house, and though I needed to talk to Charlotte, the young boy in me (the one who would walk on the opposite side of the sidewalk to keep a safe distance from the witch’s house) was hesitant. It was early evening, and the windows flickered with the soft glow of a T.V. The lights were on in the kitchen at the back of the house, and I figured Charlotte was fixing her dinner. Everything looked perfectly normal, but being here still made my hair stand on end. I thought about the last time I'd come, and how Charlotte complained about finding Isra Kawn on her lawn. I shuddered. That old crone and this awful house were a match made in hell. Maybe Charlotte should sell the thing to her. And maybe it would
