Zoe lived alone in a violet house away from violent people. She and her violet house were settled near the outskirts of a plaid town. The house was violet with yellow trim around the windows and blue curtains. She had a barn where she kept her cows. She had a coop where she kept her chickens. It was settled on a hill overlooking the village. The hill was alled Mt. Molehill and had many legends about it among the villagers. The villagers were common folk with common jobs and all had common looks. Any one who looked extraordinarily beautiful quickly left and those who were extraordinarily ugly (such as Zoe) were forced into a kind of small town exile.
So the plaid townspeople all looked about the same and each doggie paddled into each other’s gene pools time after time. So roughly the entire town (named Briarsburg) was related to each other. Kurt Townsend was 2nd cousins with his wife Camille Townsend nee Frankfurt. Camille Townsend nee Frankfurt was the daughter of Kevin Frankfurt and Charlene Frankfurt nee Lowman. And Charlene Frankfurt nee Lowman was the cousin of Bill Townsend father of Kurt Townsend. And so on and so on.
So Zoe was a hideous spinster. She was exiled from an early age due to the fact that she had no suitors growing up. She wasn’t asked to any dances or any social gatherings. Her face was misshapen with a jutting chin that She did not mind being exiled from Briarsburgian life. She found solace in her farming and every once in a while she would gaze over her hill and look down on the citizens living their lives below. She felt like God on a mountain top. So every once in awhile she would make her hand into a gun and shoot the townspeople like a Dirty Harry Jesus Christ.
“Bam. Gotcha.”
Naturally she became a local legend. She became to the townspeople a sort of witch on the mountaintop. It started as a teasing tale to children so they could make fun of Zoe the Ugly Witch. Kids played Catch Zoe. It was like tag except instead of a child being called “it,” they were called “Zoe”. Soon even the parents became believers in their own stories about Zoe. She was a natural fit for a witch, with her snaggleteeth, her wandering eyes, her pasty-white skin, the large boil on her nose, and her cackling laugh. The cackle actually did seal the deal. Zoe used to sell vegetables to the plaid people for a while. The laugh scared away business.
“Hey Zoe.”
“Hey Peter.”
“Are these tomatos fresh?”
“Fresh? Kawkawkawkawkaw. They’re so fresh they ought to have a vine attached.”
“I think I’ll pass.”
So the townspeople transformed there teasing view of Zoe into a true fear of her. They would gaze up at her violet house in fear and revulsion. They forbid their children from playing Catch Zoe, for fear of her powers. The forests turned into nightmare places, where Zoe had agents that hid as trees. Anytime a child got the flu or an animal collapsed from heat exhaustion, Zoe was blamed. She turned from a unattractive, unfortunate spinster, into a cackling sorceress with a gee cauldron in her barn. Tensions came to a head in the local tavern, where alcohol makes fear into a conversible subject. Some Townsends, Frankfurts, and Lowmans were talking about the local sports.
“I think they’ll go all the way this year?”
“Do ya now?”
“Yep. I bet they’ll win too.”
“You bet?”
“Yeah.”
“How much are ya willing to bet?”
“50.”
“50?”
“Yeah.”
“Dollars?”
“No. Candy bars.”
“Don’t be a jerk.”
“Well what else is there?”
“Why only 50?”
“Because that’s all I want to win.”
“Well 50 dollars it is. I bet they’ll lose.”
“You have a bet.”
A Lowman turns to the two and asks:
“What are you guys talking about?”
“He’s going to give me 50 dollars.”
“Really? You’re just handing out money now, Bill?”
“No. He’s going to give me 50 when his team loses.”
“Ah.”
“They aren’t going to lose. They’re going to be champs.”
“Whatever. You’ll see that you’re wrong when I spend your money.”
“Whatever.”
Door opens. Another plaid man comes in looking angry. He sits down next to the three talkers. He gets a drink and broods. He sits there boiling for a few minutes before one of them asks:
“What’s wrong, Frank?”
“You look pissed.”
“Lady troubles?”
“I am pissed.”
“That sucks.”
“Is it lady troubles?”
“No.”
“Yeah.”
“What is it?”
“What kind of lady troubles, Frank?”
“Can I have another drink please?”
“Zoe.”
“Zoe?”
“What about Zoe?”
“Um…I think I’ll just have a coke, now. Thanks.”
“My last customer died.”
“Who was it?”
“Zoe was your last customer?”
“No. It was Old Man Lowman?”
“My dad died?!”
“No. The other old man Lowman.”
“It wasn’t Zoe?”
“The service in here is terrible.”
“Oh thank God.”
“What does this have to do with Zoe?”
“Don’t you see it?”
“Where’s that waitress with my coke?”
“See what?”
“What should we see?”
“Zoe killed old man Lowman.”
“She’s not getting a tip. I tell you that now.”
“What?”
“What?”
“The waitress isn’t getting a tip.”
“No. Not you. What are you talking about Frank?”
“Why do you think Zoe killed old man Lowman?”
“Zoe killed old man Lowman?!”
“Yeah.”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Don’t you see it? Zoe’s been terrorizing this town for years.”
“Don’t you see it? Zoe’s been terrorizing this town for years.”
“What?”
“He said he’s been terrorizing this town for years.”
“Thank you.”
“I heard what he said.”
“I wonder if she spat in here.”
“How could Zoe kill old man Lowman? She never leaves her house on the hill?”
“She cast a spell.”
“A spell?”
“Hey. Can I have a sip of that coke?”
“No. Get your own.”
“Yeah. A spell.”
“She a magician?”
“No. That’s ridiculous. She’s a witch. Duh.”
“How is she a witch?”
“Have you seen the way she looks?”
“She’s just a helpless…ugly…woman.”
“Then why did old man Lowman die? He was in tip top shape.”
“Maybe because he was 87.”
“Well…explain why my kid got the whooping cough?”
“Because he just got sick. It happens.”
“She’s a witch, dammit! There’s proof!”
“What is it?”
“I saw her walking in the woods the other day singing to herself.”
“Wow. That’s scary.”
“Shutup. It was clear that she was casting a spell.”
“Was it a ‘country’ spell or was it ‘classic’ rock?”
“Don’t mock me! She’s a witch!”
“No. She isn’t.”
“She has you under her spell doesn’t she?”
“What?”
“She has you under her spell. You aren’t really Bill. You’re just her zombie.”
“What?!”
“What’s going on?”
“Bill is a Zoe zombie.”
“A Zoe zombie?”
“A zombie for Zoe.”
“Are you insane?!”
“Are you a zombie?”
“No.”
“Exactly what a Zoe zombie would say.”
“Did you watch a crappy B-movie last night or something?”
“No. I just know a zombie when I see one.”
“Bill’s a zombie?”
“Yeah, man.”
“No, I’m not!”
“Prove it.”
“Yeah. Prove it.”
“You’re a zombie?”
“No. I don’t have to prove anything. You know what? I’m tired of this stupidity. I’m leaving. I’ll drink with ya’ll again when you get back to sanity.”
“Fine. Go back to your master, zombie.”
Bill leaves and the three sit with their drinks. They order some more alcohol aqnd sip quietly until one says:
“Wow. A zombie.”
“So really think Zoe’s a witch?”
“No doubt in my mind.”
He takes a drink from his glass. He says in a stupor to Bill:
“You wanna kill her?”
“What?”
“You wanna kill Zoe the witch?”
“Sure.”
“Then why are we sitting around here fer? Let’s go kill a witch.”
“You really wants to kill her, man?”
“Hells yeah. C’mon. Let’s go kill her now before my wife calls.”
“Ok.”
“Wait you guys. Don’t you think Zombie Bill will tell her if we go up there?”
“Oh shoot. I forgot bout dat.”
“I guess we’ll just have to kill him too.”
“We’ll kill him first.”
“Let’s go.”
The three stagger out of the bar drunkenly and go to the direction of Bill’s house. When they arrive, one of them cups his hands over the over the front window and looks inside. He slurs:
“Shoot. He ain’t home.”
“Where you think he is?”
“Prolly with his girlfriend.”
“Who’s his girlfriend?”
“Zoe, stupid.”
“Oh yeah.”
“Well let’s go get some stuff to kill them with. I got some at my house.”
They walk to Frank’s house to get their mob gear.
Meanwhile, Bill walks up the stone-step path to Zoe’s house. He knocks on the door and looks at his feet nervously. She opens the door. Bill looks up and smiles. Zoe smiles back. They embrace and kiss passionately. They go into the house and close the door. Noises are heard.
Frank and his dynamic duo walk up the stone-step pathway. One holds a Molotov cocktail, the other holds a pitchfork, and Bill has a double barrel shotgun with one slug in the chamber. They walk slowly. The Molotov man holds a lighter with the flame on in his other hand. The pitchfork man holds his weapon like one would a spear. And Frank’s hands shake like palsy while holding his shotgun. The flame moves closer to the wick of the Molotov. The Pitchforker’s hands get sweaty. The shotgun shakes. They’re at the door. They each look at each other to see who will knock. Frank points his shotgun to the door to tell them that a member of the duo should. Molotov shakes his head. Pitchforker pushes his ass with the fork. The flame catches the wick. So Molotov walks up to the door. He doesn’t know that’s he’s burning. He gulps as he stands in front f the door. He turns off the lighter and puts it in his pocket. His hand trembles as he lifts it to the door in a fist. He motions to knock but looks back at Frank and Pitchfork. The nod for him to do it. The wick burns. Molotov turns around. He moves his hand to the door. He knocks. As soon as he knocks. He catches on fire. The Molotov exploded on him. He screams and scrams down the path. He tries to outrun the flames but he fails miserably.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
“Oh shit!”
“Oh shit!”
“She really is a witch!”
He runs around the purple house and he falls down the hill down to the town below. Frank and his friend look at one another. They run back to the tavern as if they had wings made from fear.
Zoe said:
“You hear anything?”
Bill replied:
“Nope.”
“I swear I heard something.”
“Prolly just the wind.”
They continued to make love.
Bill and Pitchfork throw their stuff in a dumpster and go back to the tavern. They sit in there same seats. Waitress asks:
“Where ya’ll go?”
“Nowhere.”
“Where’s your friend?”
“Somewhere.”
“Oh. Well…want a drink.”
“No thanks.”
Great job, Lucas! My classmate response this week was about this story (http://nanatsuike.blogspot.com/2011/04/classmate-response-week-of-4311.html).
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