All Silent on the Flint

The sheriff lit another cigarette and sighed. “Did you recognize her, Bobby?”

“Yes, sir. That was Sarah Franks. Now that I’m thinking about it, ain’t no wonder she rose up like that.”

“Why’s that?”

“She’s a witch, sheriff.”

Jones lowered the motor in the water and tugged on the cord. It sputtered to life.

“Bobby, that ain’t nothin but a religion. She ain’t got no magical powers. She just likes to wear all black and worship the moon. That’s all that is. She’s just one of the many fruitcakes livin down this way.”

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