The Hex Signs

The first time I saw Stephen, he painted a hex sign on my right arm, and I couldn’t move my fingers for three hours. When I found him again the next day, I asked how he had done it. He just gave me a lopsided smile, the kind when someone knows something you don’t, and I decided right then that I was going to become his friend no matter what. I wanted to be in on his secrets.

I agreed to let him practice his symbols on me, simply to have an opportunity to observe him work. Sometimes it was fun, like the time he turned my hair purple. Other times it wasn’t, like when my nose swelled up so big that I couldn’t see around it. He had to lead me out of the woods where we practiced, and I tripped four times. The swelling went away by the time I had to go in for dinner, but the scraped knees and scratched arms didn’t.

But every time I would rethink my agreement to be Stephen’s guinea pig, he would offer to teach me a new hex. He knew he had me that way. I was a curious girl and desperate to learn such a rare skill. What he didn’t realize was that I was also a lonely girl and desperate for a friend. So our hex experiments continued throughout the spring and into the start of summer.
Until Brittany moved in down the street. She showed interest in Stephen, and he showed interest in her blonde hair and curves. That’s when he decided he couldn’t be seen with me, and he definitely couldn’t be seen doing hexes. He needed to be normal.

I wasn’t done with him though. I had so much more to learn. I’d had a taste of the hexes and I couldn’t just give up on them. I wasn’t ready to go back to my old life, my old helpless lonely self. I knew it would be easy to win him back. He would feel the pull of the hexes’ power eventually, especially if I helped him along.

At first, I painted the symbols on myself. I made my hair blonde and swelled up some of the features I wanted to enhance. I wanted to show him that anyone could make themselves beautiful, but not everyone could share in his secret. I could tell it caught his attention at first, but then Brittany and her friends mocked me. And I got tired of having to repaint the symbols every time I went to the bathroom.

I was trying to think of ways I could use the hexes to win Stephen back, when Brittany fell asleep in class. I carefully drew a hex sign on her right shoulder blade. When the bell rang, she found that most of her arm had gone numb and she couldn’t carry her bag. Stephen offered to help her and cast a glare over his shoulder at me. That was the first time I became angry with him.

Before that I just saw him as lost, entranced by a fading beauty, soon to see the error of his ways. I knew he would eventually long for the hexes, and me. But that cruel look he gave me sent rage bubbling up from my stomach to my throat. How dare he act that way towards me for doing something he had done a hundred times? He is the one that started this, but now he judged me?

That night I stood underneath the old oak tree in my back yard and looked up. The branches arched over me and the moss hung around me like a protective shroud. Although I knew they were there, I couldn’t see the stars. I lowered my gaze and with the snap of branches and the crunch of leaves my feet moved on, the sounds reassuring me that they would alert me of any intruders on my night stroll. I followed the worn path through the woods we practiced in, needing no light for guidance.

Soon I saw Stephens front door. It didn’t take long to paint the hex sign there. When I was done, I returned home to wait for morning.

I left early for school the next day and stopped just inside the woods across from Stephen’s house. I heard the creak of hinges first. Next came his foot, stepping across the door frame before giving out beneath him. His head came across next as he fell, his neck oddly stiff. He reached his arms out to brace the fall, but as they crossed the threshold they froze only halfway up. When he landed, his outstretched arms gave an audible snap and his head cracked the pavement.

When Stephen’s eyes found mine from down on the ground, I felt like he was looking at someone else. Without the help of his facial expressions I couldn’t read his mood, but I didn’t think I saw anger there, just pain. The sight of his blood snapped me from my efforts at interpretation. I ran toward him as the realization of what I had done landed on me like a boulder.

I flung myself on the ground next to him and cradled his head on my lap. He was fine; he had to be fine. I knew he would fall and become paralyzed, but I didn’t realize how hard the fall would be. I just wanted to get his attention and have him all to myself until the hex wore off. I didn’t want this.

What if he never forgave me, never came back to the hexes? The thought had never crossed my mind before. If I couldn’t resist them, how could he? I didn’t know what I would do without him. I wouldn’t be able to learn any new signs. I would be alone.

For a moment it occurred to me to swear never to use the hexes again, if only he would be ok. I could send that out to the universe and seal it with a promise sign. But I couldn’t swear off the hexes, not even for the boy who gave them to me. So I just sat there with him bleeding in my arms, waiting for someone to come. Not knowing if anyone could save him.

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