The Legacy Of The Witch

“Come on diamond! You know how good it would feel to use your powers on him?”

“No, I can't, that's wrong he does not deserve to have this done to him.”

“Oh, don't be afraid, I am here to help you, together we could control the world.”

“Damien no, I don't want to rule the world, I want to be normal and do good in the world.”

“Haha normal, diamond you are a witch. What is normal about that? Witches are evil, they are selfish and unable to be good.”

“You are wrong Damien, I am good I can't be evil.”

“Oh, poor diamond, do you really believe you are good?”

Beep, beep, beep came the shrill noise of her alarm. Startling Calleigh awake she sat up and looked around before thinking to herself. It’s okay, it’s just a dream. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to press the lingering shadows of the nightmare out of her mind. The voice of Damien still echoed in the corners of her head, cold and mocking, sending a shiver straight down to her bones. Why did it feel so real? It felt less like a trick of her imagination and more like a memory waiting to be uncovered.

“Calleigh, are you awake?” Calleigh blinks the sleep from her eyes, her heart still hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

“Hmmm? Yes mom, I am awake.” She responded, the grogginess in her voice showing she had just woken up from a deep sleep. She wiped a hand over her forehead, surprised to find a thin layer of cold sweat coating her skin. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths as she tried to calm herself down.

“Barely,” She mutters to herself, her voice scratchy as she looks around her room. The familiar posters on the walls and the neat stacks of books on her desk did little to ease the strange, heavy tension in her chest.

“Ok! Honey get dressed and come downstairs for breakfast.” Her mother’s voice was smooth like honey as she spoke to her daughter from the bottom of the stairs, warming the cool morning air.

“Yes! Mother I will be right down,” Calleigh quickly responds. Calleigh stands up and walks over to her closet and stares into her closet aimlessly. She could not seem to shake the dream from her mind. It was just a dream she reminded herself. There is no such thing as magic and I am a normal plain kid. She repeated the words like a shield against the creeping dark. I am good, I am normal. She grabbed a pair of jeans and a simple green shirt to go with. She pulled her dark chestnut brown hair back, trying to tame the curls that refused to cooperate, and pushed her round glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“Calleigh Jo Callahan! Get your behind down here for breakfast,” her father yelled. She knew it was business when he used her full name. He has always called her CJ. The booming sound of his voice vibrated through the floorboards, pulling her completely out of her daze.

“Good morning, mom and dad,” Calleigh spoke as she sat down at the table across from her father. She peeked over at her mother who was pouring coffee into her father's cup. Her mother was a woman with dark complexion, she had black hair with gray streaks throughout and piercing green eyes. She was not tall but was not quite short either. Calleigh then looked at her father, a man who stood at 6-foot 1 inch. He had dirty blonde hair and dark chocolate brown eyes. Looking at him you would be scared and intimidated at the sight of him. However, he was a cuddly teddy bear. He was a college professor, although she was not quite sure exactly what he taught in college. He smiled warmly at her, the stern expression he used when calling her full name vanishing instantly.

“Calleigh?” her father asked with a concerned look, resting his large hands on the wooden table.

“Did you hear me?” Calleigh shook her head before responding to him. Her mind was still half-stuck in that dark, shadowy place with Damien, struggling to anchor itself to the bright kitchen and the smell of sizzling bacon.

“Sorry? No dad I did not hear you, what did you say?” Calleigh asked, perplexed. She offered a small, apologetic smile, hoping they would not see how hard her hands were trembling under the table.

“Are you excited to be starting middle school?” Her father repeated, the worry creased in between his eyebrows still evident. He leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes searching her face for any sign of what was troubling her.

“Oh yeah, I guess.” She responded half-heartedly. In all honesty, she was nervous to be starting middle school. She had a strange feeling that something was going to happen. Ever since she could remember, she would have these feelings or dreams and then she would see it out in real life. Her parents always told her “the mind sees what it wants to see.” Even today, she still doesn't know what that means exactly. It felt like a polite way of telling her she had an overactive imagination, but the bone-deep certainty of her premonitions felt far too heavy to be simple daydreaming.

Greta set a plate of buttered toast and eggs in front of her daughter, her piercing green eyes softening with maternal warmth. “You are going to do wonderful, sweetie. Seventh grade is a big step, but you are smart and capable. Just be yourself.”

“Thanks, mom,” Calleigh said, forcing herself to take a bite of the toast even though her stomach was tied in tight, anxious knots. She chewed slowly, the food tasting like cardboard. She wanted to tell them about the dream, about the cold voice that called her Diamond, and the terrifying promise of power. But looking at her parents, so normal and loving, she couldn't bear to worry them. They wanted a normal daughter, and she wanted desperately to be exactly that.

Lenny took a sip of his coffee, his brow furrowing as he watched her pick at her food. “If anyone gives you a hard time, CJ, you let us know. Middle school can be a bit of a jungle, but you’ve got a good head on your shoulders.”

“I know, Dad. I’ll be fine, really,” Calleigh said, putting her fork down. She tried to project a confidence she did not feel. The air in the kitchen suddenly felt incredibly thick, vibrating with a subtle, invisible tension that made the tiny hairs on her arms stand up. She rubbed her forearms, wondering if a storm was brewing outside, but a glance through the window showed only a clear, crisp morning.

The loud, jarring blare of the bus horn snapped her out of her thoughts. The sound echoed through the quiet neighborhood, a stark reminder that reality was waiting.

“That’s my cue,” Calleigh said, almost relieved for the distraction. She grabbed her heavy backpack, slinging it over one shoulder, and quickly kissed her mother’s soft cheek. She gave her father a quick hug, burying her face for a second in his flannel shirt that smelled of cedar and coffee.

“Have a great first day, buttercup!” Lenny called out as she pulled away.

“Do your best, honey! We love you!” Greta added, waving from the kitchen doorway.

“Love you guys too!” Calleigh bolted out the door, her sneakers thudding against the front porch steps. As she ran down the concrete path to get on the bus, she had a sharp, icy tingle that ran straight up her spine. It was the distinct feeling as though someone was watching her, a pair of heavy, unseen eyes boring into the back of her neck. The sensation was so intense that she froze mid-stride. She turned around quickly, her eyes sweeping over the empty driveway, the quiet street, and the shadows of the trees. Nobody was there. The yard was completely empty, yet the air felt charged, humming with a static electricity that made her skin itch.

She shook her head violently, trying to dismiss the fright. It is just my mind playing tricks on me, she thought. I am good, I am normal. She forced her feet to move again, running the remaining distance to the yellow school bus idling at the curb.

The doors folded open with a loud hiss, releasing a gust of warm air that smelled of vinyl seats and diesel exhaust. Calleigh stepped up the high metal stairs, her heart still hammering in her throat.

“Morning, suga!” Vee, the friendly bus driver, greeted her with a wide, sweet smile that instantly made the world feel a little bit safer. Vee had her usual colorful scarf wrapped around her hair, her eyes crinkling with genuine warmth. “Ready for the big first day of seventh grade? You look like you’ve grown a whole foot over the summer!”

“Good morning, Ms. Vee,” Calleigh said, offering her first real smile of the day. “I don’t know about growing a foot, but I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

“That’s the spirit, peaches! Go on and find a seat. It’s going to be a wonderful year, you’ll see,” Vee said cheerily, shifting the bus into gear as Calleigh walked down the narrow aisle.

The bus was already half-full of students, their loud chatter and laughter filling the cramped space. Friends were shouting across aisles, sharing stories of their summer adventures, and comparing schedules. Calleigh walked past them, feeling a strange sense of detachment, as if she were moving through a thick pane of glass. She found an empty seat near the middle of the bus, sliding in next to the window and resting her forehead against the cool glass.

As the bus lurched forward and began its familiar route toward McArthur High, Calleigh tried to focus on the passing houses and manicured lawns of Silver Lake. But the heavy, anxious feeling in her chest refused to dissolve. If anything, it was growing stronger. The air inside the bus felt incredibly thick, carrying a strange, metallic taste that made her swallow hard. She looked around at the other kids, but none of them seemed to notice anything unusual. They were all completely absorbed in their normal, everyday conversations.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing mind. I am good, I am normal, she repeated silently, clutching the straps of her backpack like a lifeline. There is no such thing as magic. It was just a bad dream.

But then, beneath the loud, roaring rumble of the bus engine and the chaotic noise of the student chatter, she heard it. It was a faint, rhythmic whispering. It didn't sound like the voices of the kids around her. This sound was low, ancient, and seemed to vibrate directly inside her ears rather than coming from the air. She couldn't make out the exact words, but the cadence of the whisper was steady and pulsing, matching the rhythm of her own heartbeat.

Calleigh sat up straight, her eyes snapping open as she looked around the bus in sheer panic. Her hands gripped the edge of the vinyl seat so tightly her knuckles turned white. “Did you hear that?” she whispered under her breath, but the girl in the seat across from her was busy applying lip gloss, completely oblivious to the world. The whispering continued, a soft, persistent murmur that felt like a cold finger tracing the edge of her mind, reminding her of the shadow named Damien. She pressed her hands over her ears, but the sound remained, echoing from the inside out, shifting the very ground beneath her feet as the bus rolled on toward the school.