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Weekly Contest #358
The hag, the children had called her. I’d heard stories about her since I was little. From other children, the tales were spun with fear, ever-expanding acts of a pagan nature. Child sacrifices, devil deals, the conjuring of old spirits for new evils. If one believed the stories, there never lived a more monstrous figure in the village. But when I saw her this morning, I did not see a monster, but an old woman. She wore an apron over a high-collared red blouse. A black skirt flowed down to a pair of leather boots befitting a morning after an...
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