Devil | Barbara

“Does he?” she said softly.

Barbara Devil smiled her terrible smile. “I’m not a witch,” she said, her voice a low hum that rattled the windows. “A witch still has a soul to save. I have nothing of the kind.” barbara devil

She put the whistle in her apron pocket. “Does he

“Miss Devil,” he said, using the town’s name for her without a tremor. “My stepdad. He hurts my mom.” ” she said

The tapping the journalist heard was Barbara’s carving knife. In her basement, under the glare of a bare bulb, she wasn’t stuffing squirrels. She was carving contracts. Not on paper, but on bone.

The name stuck. Barbara Devil.