Brianna

The night was colder than it should’ve been, and Brian’s flashlight sputtered as he cut through the woods. He hadn’t meant to wander so far from the trail—just chasing a flicker of light, maybe a lantern, maybe his imagination. The house rose before him, crooked and wrong, its roof sagging, windows glowing a rotten green. Against all instinct, Brian pushed the door open. Inside, the air reeked of ash and iron. Bottles rattled, a cauldron bubbled though no fire burned beneath it. “You dare step into my den?” The voice lashed through the dark. The witch emerged—tall, skeletal, her tangled hair dripping shadows. Her eyes burned like coals. “I—I didn’t mean to—” Brian stammered. “Didn’t mean to?” Her mouth curled into something between a sneer and a wound. “You broke my threshold. You belong to me.” She raised her hand, and the air thickened like glass about to shatter. “Please! I’ll go, I swear” Her laugh was jagged. “You’ll never leave as you came.” The spell struck. His body convulsed, bones grinding, muscles twisting. His voice cracked high, chest tightening, waist narrowing, hair spilling past his collar. He staggered to a warped mirror. A stranger stared back: a girl—Brianna—wide-eyed, trembling, lips parted in horror. The witch leaned close, her breath sour. “Now you’ll know what it is to be fragile, hunted, doubted. You’ll wear fear like skin, and it will remind you of me.” Brianna clutched at her oversized clothes, shrinking inside the fabric. No scream came, only a broken whimper. “Go,” the witch snarled. “The forest will finish what I began.” The witch turned away, vanishing into the shadows. The door creaked open behind Brianna as though urging her out. The night air felt different now, colder, sharper against her skin. And as she stumbled back into the forest, she knew nothing would ever feel the same again.