Iuy

As he headed up his walk, he stole a glance over his shoulder and almost stopped dead in his tracks. Old Lady Winters was looking right at him. He tried to turn away nonchalantly as though he had nothing to hide. He could feel her eyes trained on his back, boring holes into it. It was as though she were looking into his very soul. He rationalized that it was impossible for her to do since there was no such thing as magic. He had already chalked the rumors about her to be just that, rumors. He continued on into his house and tried to settle back down to his work. For the rest of the morning, he couldn't shake the feeling ofrestlessness. He just couldn't seem to settle down and concentrate on what he was doing. His mind just kept going back to the beautiful statue that he had single handedly disfigured. By mid-afternoon, he had given up on trying to get anything accomplished and decided to go out for a walk to try to calm himself. It was much warmer now that the sun at reached its. Possibly she had run out to the edge of the field—maybe to pick wildflowers or wild berries. As she had run back to the safety of—he assumed—her mother at the road side, her young limb had been snared by one of the many woodchuck holes which always became apparent when a crop was harvested. The grisly enormity of what would happen in a few more seconds caused his heart to race uncontrollably. The little girl would die in less than ten seconds. It would be a horrible and terribly painful demise as the giant farm implement tore her young frame apart, eviscerating her with its sharp blades. He prayed that she would die quickly—not suffer—but he feared that prayer was in vain. He had once, as a child, viewed the end result of a collision between human flesh and a similar machine. The victim had not appeared remotely human as he was pulled from the machine—still horribly alive—screaming in agony and begging God to take his life. God had done so but not soon enough to spare the poor man.
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