My neighbor is a witch!
Or so my fertile imagination forewarned me.
She was pretty. Pretty stunning that is.
She was tall. Rather.

And she had long straight hair. And round, curvy curves. Like a perfectly rounded female form. Young and lustworthy. And she walked alone in my building garden every night. Rather late.

Initially, it was my youthful loins that stirred. Later, my equally fertile over-analysis of situations. I was convinced she was up to no good. Probably stirring up a brew of lizard’s tails and frogs’ intestines and newts’ eyeballs. But that was much later. Initially, my curiosity was piqued By her sexiness. And her low-waisted sarees and her plunging blouses. Later by her story. She was apparently a young widowed working professional from Delhi. With a US based data analytics company. Her husband had passed away in a highway pile up and she couldn’t bear to live in California alone.

“Yeah right” I thought to myself. “She must’ve sacrificed him to the dark side herself. And now lives alone, right next to me?” A shudder went up and down my spine. “What if I was her next target?”

I became a curious cat. Looking through my peephole, whenever I heard the click of her heels, to see if she passed my corridors and opened her door that was bang opposite mine. I saw her sometimes. Walk by. I swear there were times I thought she looked towards the peephole as if she knew I was there, looking. I began standing in my balcony, watching her do her post dinner walking. In her shorts and tee shirts. I almost sprayed my own shorts in my vision of lust.

That night I went home and prayed and sought forgiveness for my sinful thoughts, but I was back to fantasizing by the time my hormone chamber had recharged. I began jerking off to her, in my eyes-wide-shut fantasy. She became the object of my lust. I imagined her, I dreamt of her, I came off on her. I guess that’s how witches entice first. By a sexual awakening.

She seemed to know that she aroused me. And somehow she was always opening her door at the precise time that I was leaving for school or returning. I could swear that the negligees got skimpier. The necklines plunged more. And the hemlines seemed to rise as if by my wishing it. Exposing more and more of fair flesh. Soft mounds of flesh. I was going crazy. I began opening my door at every doorbell, however unearthly the hour. For the milkman, the newpaperwallah, the guy who washes the family car. To get a glimpse of her. She would open her door too. And bend over ever so seductively, revealing those soft mounds of feminity. Ooo! I could burst.

She began smiling at me. Her black pet kitten would stare at me mournfully too. As if she’d witnessed many boys like me at the altar of her mistress. One day I was home early and that was the day I was damned. It was Halloween October the 31st. My house keys seemed to have vanished out of my pockets. I was fumbling, looking for them. As if on cue, the neighbor’s door opened. “Locked out? Oh no. It happens to me all the time.” She was wearing a negligee that was so transparent that she might not have worn anything at all.
“Why don’t you come in and wait?” her tongue moved over her lips. I could swear she was smacking them. Fear overcame me. But lust subdued it. I said yes. And I walked in. The cat looked at me morosely. The door shut behind me.

The curtains were drawn and some scented candles were lit.

She came and sat beside me, one breast slipping out as if on will. I gulped.

“Have a cola?” She asked. “Don’t worry, I won’t eat you up. I’m not a witch” … She laughed aloud. It rang round and loud.

That was the last thing I remember…

(to be continued…)


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