13 Queer Ghost Stories

The Witch of the Winter Woods-3

SHE WAS IN AND OUT of sleep on the couch, guarded by the Christmas tree, Darla seating on the floor, never away. The doctor came and went. His voice sounded like the trumpeting teacher from Charlie Brown, but Darla’s parents seemed to understand and take heed.

The word concussion reared its ugly head. She was sure of nothing else.

Hazy days blinked by. She wasn’t sure if she’d eaten anything, had water, even gone to the bathroom. Darla’s dad did mention her van had been removed from the road, but what could she do? It was damaged beyond repair.

And then Christmas Day arrived.

How did Nicole know it was Christmas? That, she couldn’t say, but she woke up Christmas morning feeling clear-headed. Finally!

Her body remained weak, but not so weak she couldn’t rise and shine, wander the main floor of the house while Darla slept in the chair across the room, parents upstairs.

Nicole felt famished, found chocolate shortbread in the kitchen, snapped on the kettle. Tea in the canister. The kitchen was easy to navigate.

When she sat at the island with her tea and her cookies, she could look out the picture window, across the snowy expanse. She’d never been anywhere as beautiful as this property where Darla lived with her parents. A twinge of jealous panged in the pit of her stomach. Her apartment back home didn’t have a scenic view, didn’t have this comfy furniture, this cozy ambiance, this spacious kitchen, this family.

As she watched the peaceful calm of a Christmas morning, a pair of deer made their way across the clearing. The sight brought tears to Nicole’s eyes. She wanted to rush to Darla, wake her from sleep, tell her to come look, but she couldn’t budge. Not an inch. She just watched the pair prance daintily through the snow, finding fallen apples under the blanket of snow.

It was the most beautiful thing Nicole had seen since she didn’t know when.

“Morning deer,” said a sleepy voice from across the island.

Nicole smiled. “Same to you.”

Darla giggled dreamily, pointing out the window. “No, it’s the morning deer. We also have evening deer.”

“Well, aren’t you lucky?”

Darla wrapped her arms around Nicole from behind, kissed her head, then immediately apologized. “Sorry, did that hurt?”

“No,” Nicole replied, wrapping her hands around Darla’s forearms. “Felt nice.”

As they watched the morning deer prance in the snow, Darla said, “You’re feeling a little better today?”

“A lot better.”

“It’s a Christmas miracle.” Darla kissed her again, side of her head this time. “We were so worried about you. Mom and Pop are going to be over the moon when they see you up and about.”

Nicole felt warm all over, hearing that. Someone cared. Darla did, of course. But her mother and her father. They cared so much Nicole could feel it swirling around her heart, such a beautiful feeling. She never wanted it to end.

Darla started cracking eggs for breakfast. When her parents crept downstairs and found Nicole in a seated position, conscious and alert, they asked if it would be okay to give her a hug. The question itself brought tears to her eyes, and when she welcomed their hugs and they wished her a Merry Christmas, those tears streamed down her cheeks. They apologized for upsetting her, but she assured them it wasn’t that. This was just the best Christmas she’d ever had.

“Already?” Darla’s dad asked. “Christmas hasn’t even started yet.”

The whole family participated in preparing breakfast. They wouldn’t let Nicole lift a finger. She needed to take it easy, get up her strength. Oh, was that tea? The doctor said no caffeine. But no worries, Darla’s mother would heat her up some apple cider. Did she like apple cider? What?! She’d never tried it? Well, she’d have to. It was a Christmas tradition in their household.

Breakfast was delicious: sausages, eggs, bacon, French toast with berries and real maple syrup, whipped cream on top, and not even the kind from a can! And apple cider. Delicious. Nicole knew for a fact that Darla usually drank coffee in the morning, but the family didn’t want to introduce that tempting aroma into the air if Nicole couldn’t have any.

Nobody had ever taken care of her like this, not in all her years on earth. They made her feel so special, so cared for.

After breakfast, they opened stockings. There was one for Nicole too, full of odds and ends: socks, tangerines, a toothbrush and toothpaste, a notepad with her name at the top and a pencil with a rainbow eraser.

“I feel so bad,” Nicole told the family as they moved on to the neatly wrapped gifts under the tree. “All the presents I brought went up in flames.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” Darla’s father said, and he really seemed to mean it.

Grabbing Nicole’s thigh, Darla added, “That’s right. You can tell us what you bought us and we’ll ooh and ahhh.”

With a smirk, Nicole said, “In that case, Pop, I bought you a helicopter...”

“Wow, my very own helicopter?” he asked, all jokey and kidding around. “How’d you manage to fit that in a minivan?”

“I tell ya, it wasn’t easy. Especially since I had to make room for the yacht I bought you, Mom.”

“Well, color me impressed!” Darla’s mother said. “And Pop only got me pajamas.”

“Only the best for my beloved wife,” he said, sitting on the arm rest of Mom’s chair and cuddling up to her.

They were so cute together, Darla’s parents.

“What about me?” Darla asked. “What’d you get me?”

A sudden memory sprang to mind, and Nicole struggled to speed toward the front door.

“What is it?” Darla’s father called after her. “What’s wrong?”

Nicole found her winter jacket hanging on the hook, felt around in the pockets. “Nothing,” she said. “Nothing’s wrong. Nothing at all.”

She pulled out the small box she’d wrapped to the best of her ability, though it looked nowhere near as nice as the rest of the gifts. She’d kept it in her pocket to make sure she wouldn’t lose it.

And she hadn’t, through all the trials of the past few days.

She hadn’t lost it. Here it was.

Did she still have the courage to give it to Darla?

Oh, who was she kidding? After the couple of days she’d just spent with Darla and her parents, Nicole knew now more than ever what she wanted in life. It could all come crashing down at any moment. Best to spend your hours with the people you love, and who love you back.

“It’s not the best or the most expensive,” Nicole explained. “But it’s the best I can afford right now. Anyway, it’s only a promise ring. The engagement ring will be much, much nicer.”

Darla’s face dropped as Nicole handed her the box. She just sat there on the floor beside the Christmas tree, staring as Nicole sat at the end of the couch, close to the fire.

“Well?” Nicole prodded. “Go ahead and open it.”

At first, Darla didn’t react at all. Then she tore off the foil paper and cracked open the jewelry case.

Nicole couldn’t read Darla’s expression as she stared at the ring. Did she like it? Did she hate it?

Did she want it?

“It’s a promise ring,” Nicole repeated. “You don’t have to say yes to anything, not just yet. It’s only a way for me to show you how much you mean to me, and that I don’t want anyone else in my life. Just you. And I know we’re still young, but I think one day I’d like to get married. Get married... to you.”

Darla’s parents whimpered like kittens while Darla s slipped the ring on her finger. The Christmas lights competed with the fire to illuminate those tiny diamonds inset in the white gold band.

“I saved up,” Nicole went on, since Darla wasn’t saying anything. “I wanted to get you the best that I could.”

“It’s beautiful,” Darla said, and Nicole could tell she was trying not to cry. She walked over to the couch on her knees and said, “I want to hug you so hard, but I don’t want to hurt you. So I’m just going to put my hands in your hands and...”

Darla strained up for a kiss, and for a second Nicole felt self-conscious because her parents were sitting right there. But when she looked over, she saw that Mom and Pop were beaning back at them, clutching each other, so happy for their daughter.

So Nicole leaned forward and kissed Darla sweetly, and the second their lips touched she knew they’d be together forever.

When Darla leaned back, tears were streaming down her cheeks. She said, “I was so worried, so scared, when we found you on the doorstep and you weren’t moving and you couldn’t speak. The past few days I really thought I’d never see the old Nicole again. I thought I’d lost you.”

“No,” Nicole said. “Never. I’m here. I’m yours.”

“Speaking of you being here,” Darla’s mother cut in.

Her father shook his head, said, “Honey, I don’t think this is the time.”

“Time for what?” Nicole asked.

They exchanged another meaningful look, like they were having an entire conversation without words. Then Darla’s mother said, “Without your van, you’re going to have trouble getting back home. We could drive you, of course, but...”

When Darla’s mother trailed off, her dad picked up her line of thought. “We know you have an apartment and a job and a life back home. We don’t mean to diminish that in any way. But we were thinking... you’re concussed. That could be very serious. You’ll need care in coping, and we were just thinking... just hoping...”

Nicole looked to Darla. “What?”

With a shy smile, Darla said, “They want you to stay here. Live here. With us.”

Nicole’s heart palpitated. She tried to hide her glee, but it wasn’t easy. “For how long?”

“For as long as you want,” Darla’s father said. “Like I mentioned, we know you have an apartment—”

“I can sublet!” Nicole cried, so loudly Darla jumped, then laughed.

“But you still have all your things back home, all your clothes...”

“I can buy new things, new clothes! I’m not that attached to my belongings.”

“Someone’s eager to move in,” said Darla’s father.

“Who wouldn’t be?” Nicole asked. “You’ve got deer—morning and evening! I would love to live here with all of you.”

“You could take the guest room,” Darla’s mother offered. “Or sleep with Darla. It’s all the same to us. We’re not prudes. But we want to give you your own space, if that’s what’d like. We could even look at fixing up the basement, making it into a little apartment for the two of you.”

Nicole couldn’t even think what to say. How to react. Nobody had ever been this kind to her, showed her this quantity of mercy and care. It was unreal.

And to think: if her van hadn’t burned to a shell, they probably wouldn’t have asked her to relocate, live here with them. It was true, when people said trying times can lead to the greatest happiness. She’d never believed that before now.

The day went on, one blissful moment after another, until Nicole caught the three of them whispering among themselves as they prepared Christmas dinner. The conversation seemed serious. And she heard her name mentioned.

That’s why she burst into the kitchen, asking, “Were you just talking about me?”

Darla’s mother said no while her dad said yes.

It was Darla who whispered, “It’s not what you think.” Looking beseechingly to her mother, she said, “I think we should tell her.”

“Tell me what?” Nicole begged. “If you don’t really want me living here, it’s okay. I’ll find my way home. You don’t have to let me live here just because you feel bad for me.”

“No, no, no,” Mom said, leaving the cranberries to bubble while she wrapped both arms around Nicole. “It’s nothing like that, honey. It’s... it’s... complicated.”

“You’ll think we’re crazy,” Darla added.

“Try me.”

Darla’s mother sat Nicole at one of the stools by the island, and said, “The night of the accident, you said there was an old woman.”

Nicole nodded. “I saw her in the street first. I swerved because of her.”

“And she said to call her Ma?” Darla’s father asked.

“Yes.” Nicole knew not to nod. She was learning what her head could and couldn’t do these days. “Ma. She said to call her Ma.”

The cranberries were spurting redness all over the stovetop, so Darla took over stirring as she asked, “Is it possible she said to call her Moll?”

“Mall?”

Darla’s dad spelled it out: M-O-L-L.

“Oh, like Moll Flanders?”

“Like Moll Dyer,” Darla replied quickly, like she didn’t want the name sitting on her tongue too long.

Nicole had never heard the name before, but it gave her a frisson and she didn’t know why. Nobody was talking, or even looking at her. The only sound in the kitchen was the gloopy popping noise of cranberries and the lid on the potato pot simmering away.

“Who is Moll Dyer?” Nicole asked anyone willing to answer.

Darla’s dad stepped up, telling the tale as he shaped rolls and set them on a baking tray. “Moll Dyer lived around here in the late 17th century. She lived alone, kept to herself for the most part. Lived very near here, in fact.”

“In that stone house we showed you,” Darla’s mom added. “The one in the woods.”

Nicole had a sinking feeling, and she wished she had something to do with her hands. She felt fidgety, couldn’t sit still.

It was Darla herself who continued the story, saying, “Moll Dyer was really into plant-based medicine, so naturally all the jerkwads in town here called her a witch.”

“Naturally,” Nicole replied.

“And when a harsh winter came along, who do you think the townsfolk blamed?”

The answer was obvious.

“Lots of people were dying,” Darla went on. “They weren’t used to temperatures like this. There was disease and famine, all that stuff, but Moll Dyer seemed to be doing okay. The townsfolk were not cool with that. The took up their torches and their pitchforks—”

“Literally,” Pop cut in.

“—and they set Moll’s house on fire. That house in the woods. They burned it down.”

The image of her crisp black minivan flashed across Nicole’s field of vision. The vehicle that had once been her home. Clearly, it had been set ablaze. But how, why? These were questions she couldn’t answer.

“Do you think the ghost of Moll Dyer set my van on fire?”

Darla’s dad said, “Moll is said to have put a curse on this town.”

“And there have been a strange number of accidents along that stretch of road,” Darla’s mom added.

Darla didn’t seem to like this line of reasoning. “After all these centuries, people still think she’s evil. That’s what happens when you’re accused of being a witch: even hundreds of years later, the label sticks. Just because she made medicines didn’t mean she was a witch. Just because it was a cold winter didn’t mean she was to blame. And just because she lived on the fringes of society doesn’t make her a bad person.”

Nicole slipped off her stool, skidded around the kitchen, and wrapped Darla in a heartfelt hug.

“Watch out,” Darla warned her. “You don’t to get splashed by cranberries—those stains never come out.”

“I don’t care,” Nicole said. “I want to be near you, stains or no stains!”

Darla’s father said, “You’re right, kiddo. We talk about the witch’s curse, blame Moll for accidents and such, but she was the one who was ostracized. She’s the one whose house was burned down. Why don’t we ever blame the townsfolk for their atrocities? They set an old woman’s house on fire, for goodness’ sake!”

“Exactly, Pop. If you ask me, bad stuff happens around here because their hatred poisoned the land. Their actions replay themselves over time, again and again. But nobody wants to hear that version of the story. It’s more exciting to say a witch cursed the place.”

Is that what set Nicole’s van on fire? The ages-old malice remaining on this land? The hatred still held against those who lived on the margins of society? Those who’d been homeless, who’d lived in a van? Those who were rejected by their families? Those who dared to love according to their hearts’ desires?

“Do you think that’s why she stepped in out in front of me?” Nicole asked. “Moll Dyer, her ghost, her spirit, whatever that was. Gosh, she looked so real. I could have sworn she was real...”

“Why?” asked Darla’s father. “Why do you think she stepped out in front of you?”

“Maybe she knew my van was going to blow. Maybe there are dual forces at work here, dueling forces: hatred and help. Maybe she knew the hateful force would set fire to my van. So she got me out of it. She drew me into the woods. It all seemed so real, the house, and Moll herself. I remember hearing voices, crackling fire. And she picked me up, lifted me. I felt her bony shoulder digging into me. I really felt it.”

The kitchen went quiet again, aside from the pots burbling away on the stove.

Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble...

Setting her head gently against Darla’s shoulder, Nicole asked, “Do you think I’m crazy?”

“No,” Darla replied immediately. “I think you’re the best. I’m so glad you’re staying here with us. One big happy family.”

Darla’s parents replied in kind, making her feel more welcome and at home in their house than she’d felt anywhere else she’d ever been.

And that’s when Nicole’s mind started to construct an alternate theory about the van, about the fire. Maybe it had been set ablaze to keep her close. But close to what? To Darla, she would hope.

Or was it Moll Dyer who wanted her around? Moll Dyer who wasn’t done with her yet?

For better, or for worse...