The cart came up a small hill where a foreboding house stood. Each window had a candle that was still lit. Old Clancy spat and muttered a curse. "Them damned witches be up t'no good."
Alice had heard the stories for as long as she had lived in town. The three sisters were said to have sold their souls to the devil in return for dark powers. But other stories said they were secretly native women who could pass for white folk and they would drink blood in secret native rituals.
Alice had seen them on the street from time to time and they all looked like regular women. They would be dressed in dark colors and one wore a veil, but maybe she was in mourning. Alice knew how the people would spread wild tales when they didn't have any facts.
Clancy launched into his own tale about the supposed witches. He claimed one night, much like this one, as he rode past their house the three sisters were outside. He said they were stark naked dancing around a fire. They chanted some foreign language. He said they cursed his knee when they saw him and it had been giving him trouble ever since. "Damned witches..."
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