I expected the morning to be a bit rough.
A headache and a blurry recollection of the night before are standard rites of passage when you turn 21.
I woke up feeling oddly refreshed—well rested, even. As I stretched and let out a deep yawn, I remembered being disappointed I had no headache.
Had I done it wrong?
I’d never drank before. I come from a long line of pot smokers and devoted alcohol haters.
I’d never had any desire to drink, but for the milestone it was mandatory.
I walked through the kitchen, poured a glass of water, took a drink, then set it down and paused. A chair lay on its side in the hallway. Scorch marks traced the floor, as if someone had dragged a burning log across the linoleum.
It was too quiet. A thick silence that felt… wrong.
“What the—?” I frowned, stepping over a singed pillow. Nothing about this felt normal, but I shrugged it off. Since when did we start bonfires inside?
Was everyone passed out still?
From the kitchen sink, I could see the sun rising.
“Anyone up?” I half yelled.
Maybe they were still drinking, I thought. “Hello,” I called as I stepped to the bathroom. Then I stopped, took a step back and erupted in laughter.
“What the hell are you guys doing?” I stood in the threshold of the living room. My four best friends—Jaime, Liz, Olga, and Matthew—were huddled together in the corner, all in their underwear, wide-eyed like trapped animals.
Olga stood in front of the others, she had a knife in hand.
I stepped forward, arms raised in a half-laugh. “Is this a prank?”
They stared at me in absolute terror.
“Quit fucking around you guys,” I moved to them again and they all compressed as tight as they could.
Olga tightened her grip on the knife, trembling. “Just… don’t come any closer, Sam.”
I’d never felt such authentic fear.
“Just stay where you are, Sam,” Olga said. I noticed her foot creep out from the huddle and she pulled it back. That was when I noticed the salt circle for the first time, etched stark white on the floor.
Everything felt weighted. “This isn’t funny guys, cut the shit—”
“—is she her again?” Jaime asked.
“Looks like it passed,” Liz said.
Matthew scowled. “I don’t trust this bitch.”
“What’s your name?” Olga’s voice was timid.
“Samantha Harrington. Jesus, can someone tell me what happened?”
“She doesn’t remember,” Liz said softly.
A tightness coiled in my chest, adrenaline flooding my veins. My friends never looked at me like this—like I was the monster under their bed.
“Seriously, guys…” I tried to laugh but it caught in my throat. “What is going on?” I stepped towards them; their eyes widened, and they recoiled in unison, a collective gasp escaping their lips.
Olga’s voice trembled with a mix of fear and pity: ‘You… turned into a witch last night.
I paused. “This is all elaborate, but you got me. Well done.”
“Look in the mirror, crazy!” Matthew said—patient as ever.
As I turned, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror on the wall.
I was naked—but I always slept naked.
My hair—pitch black. “You bastards dyed my hair!” I whirled back at them. “This better wash out!”
“Look at your stomach,” Olga said
And I did. There was a mesmerizing circle within a circle within a circle – pulsating out from my belly button. It was a detailed black tattoo at first glance—but it was alive. The ink flowed and moved as if animated by magic.
“Okay,” I studied it. “This is new.”
“You were covered in that design last night,” Jaime said.
“Looks like it’s almost out of your system,” Olga said.
“Still don’t trust this bitch,” Matthew whispered.
“What’s out of my system?” I asked.
“Look at your right hand,” Olga said. So I did. “And think about fire coming out of your fingertips,” she said.
“That’s insane—” my left palm had tiny arcs of black lines branching up my wrist—like creeping vines. They moved when I breathed, writhing in time with my pulse, and it happened. I yelped and shook my hand, but the flames just danced there, like five flickering candles. “—holy shitballs… What… is this?” I stammered. “What’s happening to me?!”
Matthew moved forward a bit. “When you get drunk, you turn into a bitch.”
Everyone eyed him.
“A witch,” Olga corrected.
“We’re goth right?” Matthew asked. “It’s bitch.”
“What do we do now?” I waved my fingers frantically, trying to extinguish them.
“We should call your mom,” Jaime said.
“Yes,” Liz agreed.
“She has to know something,” Olga said.
“But first get some coffee, because I’m not coming out of this circle until your living tattoos go away,” Matthew said.
The rest of the group nodded in agreement.
“That’s fair,” I said. “I guess witches need caffeine too.”
Liz exhaled in relief. “And maybe some pants?”
I stared at my blackened fingertips. “Yeah, pants. Definitely pants.”