A breeze flew through my wavy hair, making me shiver once again. I hoped that Emerson wouldn’t notice. But she did.

“Will you stop that? I can’t believe you’re actually scared,” Emerson retorted.

“You’re not scared of this mysterious well that just appeared out of nowhere? On Friday the 13th?”

“Of course not,” Emerson replied. “They’re just superstitions, Adeline. Not real. Friday the 13th doesn’t mean anything.”

Emerson was my best friend, but she just didn’t understand me sometimes. I’ve always believed and read about luck and superstitions since I was little. Emerson was always more interested in science. She’d always say superstitions aren’t scientific. If they aren’t scientific, they aren’t real.

“Can we leave? It’s getting cold,” I lied.

“What? It’s warm outside. You are just scared of this well. Like witches are going to jump out of it! Not a wishing well, a witching well!” Emerson cackled. I know she meant that to be sarcastic (I wouldn’t expect anything non-scientific from her), but I didn’t believe it as sarcasm.

We were strolling home from school, through the woods, and came upon this well. We’ve never seen it before and Emerson wanted to investigate it for a science experiment.

“I’m going to bring some of this moss home. It would be the perfect addition to my science project!” Emerson exclaimed.

“I don’t know if you should do that,” I warned. Witches would rage about someone stealing from their property.  As Emerson picked up the moss, she fumbled with it and dropped it behind her. Instead of turning around to pick it up, she bent over and put her head and arms through her legs, reaching to get the moss.

“Don’t do that!” I shouted. It was an African superstition. If you bend over and put your head through your legs, you may see witches. Emerson immediately jolted up and screamed. “Are you okay?” I asked nervously.

“I-I…It was all dark and I caught a glimpse of something! Through my legs! We have to leave!” she wailed between heavy breaths.

“I told you!” I exclaimed.

“Let’s get out of here before they find us.” We started sprinting through the forest ahead, having that tingle that something was chasing us. Soon, the path led to a dead stop.

“I don’t remember this happening,” I stated. “We’re taking the same path, this isn’t making sense.”

“We’ll just have to weave around the trees, then,” Emerson declared.

“Okay, let’s stay together.” We started dashing through the trees, but then we approached a grand oak tree, covered in moss. I took the right side, making room for Emerson to follow. However, she took the left side. When I realized this, I started panicking.

“Em, what are you doing!?”

“Running,” she replied. “Duh.”

“We’re supposed to stay on the same side of the tree! Otherwise our friendship will end!” I shouted, remembering the European superstition.

I took off my evil eye necklace, which protected me from bad luck. I couldn’t let anything bad happen to Emerson. “Em, you need this more than I do right now,” I told her.

She gratefully accepted, putting the long necklace over her head. “You know, I’m getting tired. We should stop soon,” Emerson sighed.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“But aren’t we safe now?” she asked.

“We should keep going,” I suggested.

“It wouldn’t hurt to rest,” Emerson argued back. She crouched down on a log, crossing her legs. Her eyes gleamed a purple color.

“I’m going to go home. I don’t want the…well, whatever it is, to get any closer,” I sighed.

“Okay, I’ll catch up to you.”

As I jogged home, I heard an owl hoot. That couldn’t be any good. An owl hooting meant that someone was going to die, according to another African superstition.

The next morning, I was at home, glancing at my four-leaf clover collection, when I heard a knock on the door. It was Emerson’s mom.

“Hello? What happened?” I asked, concerned. “Is Emerson okay?” Emerson’s mom shook her head, and out of her pocket, she pulled out my evil eye necklace that I gave to Emerson.

“She's missing,” her mom sobbed gently. “I wanted to return this to you.”

I gasped, stunned and astonished. 

“Well thank you,” I said blankly. “I should never have left her alone.”

“It’s not your fault,” croaked Emerson’s mom. “It’s mine.”

“What? Why?”

At that moment, she transformed into a witch. “Because I was the one took her,” she whispered cheerfully and creepily.

“Who are you talking to?” asked my sister from another room. And then the witch was gone, leaving me standing there, clutching my necklace.