She was a witch alright. I knew this because I was eight. Eight going on sixteen.

My family lived in apartment number forty-two; and she lived in number thirty-five, with a bird's eye view of my comings and goings.

It wasn't really a street, per se, it was more like an oversized red-brick driveway. Uniform apartments lined both sides of the cul-de-sac, each one adorned with potted plants and maple trees.

Our 60s style apartment had a large living room, with two bedrooms and one bath. The eat-in kitchen was a decent size, beautiful pine wood floors throughout, and a floor heater the length of the hallway.

The antique floor heater was a beastly thing, with a metal grid on top; and if we forgot to wear slippers in the winter, it singed our feet. (You only did that once.)

A cubbyhole was fashioned near the bathroom, and had a place for a telephone. (Not that we could have afforded phone service on my mother's slim paycheck.) However, I gave it a second purpose for reading and daydreaming.

My single mother, June, worked one city away as a bookkeeper, and was gone from our residence at first light. At a young age, I had learned to manage the daily schedule, chores, school, and care for my younger sister. My mother trusted and depended on me, implicitly.

She arrived home on most evenings between six and seven o'clock, closer to seven if her bus was running late. There was always a rainy night in Georgia during the week to contend with.

Before supper, in the remaining moments of sunlight, I enjoyed riding my blue Schwinn bicycle around the complex. Usually by this time, the street parking was filled with cars, and the streetlamps, glowing. It was in the twilight of fall, I first noticed the witch.

I said hello as I always did to our neighbors. She stared at me with evil eyes that seemed to bore through the back of my head. Chills went up my spine, and I was so shaken, I almost steered into her shiny new car.

The sorceress divined my identity right away. "You're the oldest of the tow-headed Dupree girls, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm in third grade."

"Huh. Well, you better steer clear of my car! There's a scratch right here," she said, pointing her long witchy fingers. "Did you do this?"

"No, I did not!" I wheeled around and peddled as fast as I could, my heart beating out of my chest. I wouldn't allow myself to turn around and look until I was safely inside my apartment with the latch bolted. My mother saw my upset as she was serving up my dinner plate.

"Sal, what's bothering you? Did you wreck your bike?"

"No, but we have a witch across the street who accused me of scratching her car. I didn't do it!"

"A witch, aye? What makes you think she's a witch?"

"I just do. I know about these things."

"Well, you are grown up for your age. Go on... eat your supper while I feed your sister."

I forgot about my witch troubles for the moment, and joined in our quiet meal, balancing Suzanne on my knees. We were interrupted by a loud, Tap, Tap, Tap of the door knocker.

"Who could that be at this hour?" Mom peeked through the drawn curtains, then boldly flung open the door.

I recognized the crotchety voice. "Mrs. Dupree, your daughter scraped my car and refuses to admit it!"

Mom folded her arms across her waist. "You saw Sally do it?"

"Well... yes...no, not exactly. Who else could have left a blue mark?"

I was called to the door. "Sally, did you scrape this lady's car?"

"No, ma'am, I didn't."

"There's your answer," said my protector. "Excuse us, we still have homework and dishes to attend. Goodnight!"

As the door closed, I heard the witch's last words: "I will call the sheriff and report you!"

Not to be outdone, Mom re-opened the door and hollered, "You do that!" The slamming door rocked the complex after the heated retort.

My mother searched my eyes, offering comfort. "You're right, my darling, she's definitely a witch."

Things calmed down until Halloween. As I suspected, the witch wasn't in the candy-giving mood that night, and still looked at me with accusing eyes. I couldn't help but notice the one piece of taffy she put into my bag of treats while everyone else received three. No matter. I hated taffy and threw it away. Too chewy.

Not long after on a Saturday afternoon, it happened. I was riding my bike and avoiding the witch's car as I typically did. Suddenly, I hit a loose brick and lost control of my bike, crashing into the witch's car.

Fear gripped me as I recalled her threats. Now, I had done what she accused me of, and in the exact spot of the other scrape.

Visions of the sheriff appeared in my imagination along with her pointing fingers. She would be cackling now, savoring her just deserts.

No sooner than I burst through the door of my apartment, the doorbell rang, followed by a hammering knock. This is it. I'm a goner, I thought.

My countenance spoke volumes to my mother, as hot tears drenched my cheeks. "I... don't... know... how!"

"It's going to be okay," Mom said, shushing me with her hand. " I will handle this once and for all." She opened the door confidently. "What seems to be the problem?"

"Your careless brat has scraped my car, that's what!"

I buried my head in my mother's apron, unable to look at my accuser.

"Come and see what she's done... it's ruined, I tell you," she reported.

I felt it coming--like an avalanche. "You can take your car, and shove it where the sun doesn't shine, lady! The only thing ruined here... is my daughter!! Get off my steps, or I'm calling the sheriff... you... you... evil witch!"

It was then, the Witch of Renee Court flew away--not on a broom, but on my mother's command.