I

As I sat in my room, I ended the conversation with Layla Anderson, a girl from 1950’s, who was brutally murdered by her next-door neighbour, who was actually a serial killer targeting teen girls. I was talking to her ghost, obviously, about her murder and how we could possibly get justice for her death, because her murderer is still out there; he isn’t behind bars and goes unnoticed by the general public.

But, how do I have this skill of talking to the dead? I also know magic and the dark arts, but I prefer to not use my ability of black magic unless it’s an emergency. I mean, this defies all human logic, normal ability and science. The truth is, I’m a witch. And no, I am not an old hag with gross skin that wears a black dress, a dumb pointy black hat that flies on a broomstick with a black cat. I look like any normal 16-year-old girl and I hate black cats. They just give me the creeps. In fact, I don’t have a familiar at all. My name is Raven Bridleston.

I go to Madame Lilith’s Private Academy for Talented Occultists, a private school for people with skills to do with the paranormal. Witches, wizards, black magicians, voodooists, you name it, here it is. I’m currently in Year 10, halfway going to the next year. I’m an intermediate skilled witch, according to the school reports. My school is hidden underground, as in this stupid town, those with knowledge or skill in magic, the occult or the paranormal are persecuted. Everyone makes this town so idyllic, but, in reality, it’s a hellhole that hasn’t caught up to the 21^st century. Slavery, torture and persecution still continues here. Magicians fetch for a high price in the slave trade.

My parents were murdered when I was about 5, tortured and beaten to death. Why? Because of their skill. My mother was a white witch and my father was a voodooist. That’s why this school is a boarding school. Hardly anyone has an intact family; most people’s families were persecuted because of their ability in magic or some parents abandoned their child or children when they found out that they were born with powers that couldn’t be explained with simple logic.

I look at the clock. It’s 11.30pm. In a few minutes, the teachers would come in to check if we’re still in our dorms and if we are in them, they check if we’re sleeping. I hear footsteps. Damn it! I was just getting the hang of my Ouija board. My best friend, Gillian Jones, gave it to me as my birthday present last year. She’s my dorm mate and we both hear the footsteps come closer to our dorm’s door. We both pretended to fall asleep when the doorknob clicked open. Thank goodness the teacher didn’t see what we were previously doing.

They then left, closing the door behind them. After that, Gillian and I went back to our previous activities. I was practising with my Ouija board and she was snacking on a packet of chips, food maniac that she is, while watching me.

“You really love that thing, don’t you?” she said softly from the top bunk, so that we wouldn’t be heard. I was sitting on the bottom bunk.

“Ahaha... yeah. Thanks for giving it to me!” I replied. I could see she was obviously pleased with herself, because, her previous presents kinda sucked. Well, ‘sucked’ is a strong word. Maybe ‘weren’t so good’ is a better description.

“I’m glad” Gillian said. She then continued eating the chips and watching me. The chewing was a bit loud and distracting, but I didn’t mind. We continued until midnight and both fell asleep at approximately 3.00am.