Content warning: Historical representation of the American South in the 1960s. Some racist speech.

TENNESSEE, USA, 1960

Ten-year-old Fiddleford McGucket tore down the dirt road. Where he was going, he didn't know, as long as it was away from his pursuers.

A small mob of adolescent boys chased after him. As they ran, they yelled at Fidds, showering him in insults and threats. "Don't try to run from us, Biddy Boy!" they shouted, using one of their cruel nicknames for their prey. "We're gonna getcha, and then we're gonna teach you the meaning of pain!"

Fidds had no idea why these bullies targeted him. All he knew was that he needed to get away from them. His lungs burned with a needling pain as he ran. Go away! he shouted in his mind; he had no breath with which to voice his thoughts. Leave me alone!

The bullies did not hear his mental pleas. So Fidds continued to run.

Where could he go? What could he do? He was faster than the bullies, but not by much. They'd catch up to him eventually. He pushed his glasses up on his nose, tears squeezing from his eyes. He tried to blink them away — he had to be able to see if he was going to get out of this — but there was no stopping them. They just came.

The road sloped up into a hill. Fidds took it without much thought. In the back of his mind, he thought desperately that he may be able to hide once he got over the hill. In practicality, though, the upward climb only served to tire him more.

The bullies behind him didn't seem to be winded all. Not based on their continued jeers.

How did these boys still have energy?! Why would they expend it chasing after someone as insignificant as Fidds? Didn't they have better things to be doing?

Finally, Fidds crested the hill. By then, he'd managed to stop crying, and the tears in his eyes no longer obstructed his vision. He could make out what lay on the other side of the hill in near-perfect clarity.

His heart sank.

At the base of the incline lay a secluded shack. Its walls were filled with rotting planks; brightly colored cloth hung down over the entrances. This was a shack Fidds had only heard about in legend: the lair of the local witch.

With a quick glance over his shoulder, Fidds made a split-second decision. He dashed down the hill.

Straight to the shack below.

"Hey, McSuckit!" one of the bullies yelled. "You gonna go hide out with the witch?"

Someone else laughed. "Maybe he's a witch too!"

When Fidds didn't stop, the yells became a bit more concerned. "Biddy, you know who's down there, don't you? The witch is gonna eat you!" They kept chasing him, but their resolve seemed to be failing.

Fidds tried to ignore them, tried not to take hope in their faltering. He kept his eyes trained on his feet as he ran, so he wouldn't trip over rocks, but his eyes kept flicking up to the shack in the distance. His heart raced, and not just because he was exerting himself. Was he really going to do this? Was he really going to gamble his safety on a fabled witch?

His ears trained on the running feet behind him. Yes. He had to. It was either the possibility of a witch eating him, or the surety of these boys beating him up.

Please, please don't let there be an actual witch in there.

He made it to the base of the hill. The witch's shack was only a few yards away. Fidds took as big a breath as his tired lungs would allow—

And plunged through the drapery.

Immediately, dust filled his lungs. He stopped running, and his body concerned itself with both recovering his breath and attempting to purge the dust that had traveled down his trachea. He stood there, wheezing, wondering if this was the end. Had he come this far only to be defeated by miniscule dust particles?

Thankfully, after a few moments, he found himself able to breathe again. He gave a few more hacking coughs to clear the last of the dust from his windpipe, then huddled on the ground near the walls, waiting in the dark, praying that his plan would work.

The bullies circled up outside. But none of them dared follow Fidds through the cloth barrier. From the sound of their shouting, they didn't get very close to the shack at all.

"Come outta there! You can't hide from us!"

"You're dead, McSuckit!"

"Witch is gonna eat Widdsey, witch is gonna eat Widdsey!"

Fidds covered his ears and waited for them to go away. With each passing moment the tension in his shoulders lessened. The shack seemed to be entirely abandoned, and the bullies weren't following after him. It seemed that his harebrained plan would actually work.

"C'mon, let's go."

"Biddy Boy can get eaten by the witch, but not me. I'm outta here."

"Don't think this means you're safe, Widdsey! You're gonna pay for this tomorrow!"

"Yeah, if you survive the witch's shack!"

The bullies' footsteps faded. Fidds was finally alone.

He breathed a musty sigh of relief. It. . . it had worked! It had really worked! There wasn't a witch in here, but the boys' own fear had chased them away. Fidds grinned. Take that, you dumb-heads! There ain't no witch in—

"Them boys chasin' you?"

Fidds screamed and jumped to his feet. His eyes raked the scene, showing a vague figure in the darkness. He — he thought he was alone!

"Ain't nothin' to be afraid of, boy."

Run, whispered something in Fidds' brain. Run, while you still can!

Instead, he froze, and stuttered words fell from his mouth.

"Y-y-y-y-y-you're the w-w-witch."

A low chuckle. "I ain't no witch."

"Are you gonna—" Fidds swallowed. "Are you g-gonna eat m-m-me?"

"No, boy, I said I ain't no witch." The voice sounded impatient, but not. . . not evil. It was female, of a low timbre, rusty with age yet still vibrant. Fidds squinted. The woman — the not-witch — sat in a chair across the room, her posture relaxed. Fidds' heart still hammered in his chest from being startled, but he didn't feel such an urgency to run anymore.

"Besides, you'd be way too stringy," the not-witch added.

Fidds went silent, struck again with fear, the doubts and worries rushing back. Was. . . was she joking? Or was she really going to eat him?

The woman thumped the side of her chair. "Lighten up, boy! I just made a joke. Polite behavior would be to laugh."

Fidds forced out a weak laugh. He tried to think of what he should do, besides just standing there like some idiot, but his thoughts moved as quickly as his grandmama's famous molasses. It was futile.

The woman hummed in satisfaction. "Sounds good. Been a long time since I heard a human laugh. Come closer, boy, open that there window — let me take a look at ya."

Fidds tensed up again, then swallowed, forcing himself not to stutter. He failed. "P-pardon me, ma'am. My m-m-mama told me not to talk to s-strangers."

"Then you already broke your mama's rule, ain't ya?" the woman replied. "You been talkin' to me for at least a minute, ain't ya? Besides, you gotta wait for them boys to get far away from here. Might as well stay here and keep poor old Lilith company." When Fidds didn't move, she tilted her head. "Come on now, I ain't gonna hurt ya." She tapped her chair again. "Ya got nothin' to fear. Open them drapes and you'll see."

She waved an arm at a nearby window, which had heavy cloth drawn over it, blocking out most of the light from outside. Fidds cautiously made his way over to the window, still wary.

"Just shove those curtains out of the way," the woman — Lilith, apparently — instructed. "I usually keep 'em closed — don't need much sunlight for what I do — but this infernal lighting is no way to entertain guests, hmm?"

Fidds reached up for the curtains and gave them a little tug. They didn't move.

"Oh, harder than that, boy!" said Lilith. "Give 'em a nice firm pull."

Embarrassed, Fidds yanked on the drapes.

And tore them from the window entirely.

He whirled around as they fell to the ground, turning wide eyes on the not-witch. His mouth opened to admit a stuttered apology, but the words caught in his throat when he got a good look at the woman for the first time.

Strangely, she didn't look angry that Fidds had just destroyed her property. In fact, she was laughing. The dark skin around her eyes crinkled with mirth as she grinned at Fidds. "There ya go! You got more strength than it appears, dontcha?"

She sat in a simple folding chair, but her posture was so lazily confident that she looked like a queen. The only skin visible — the same color as Grandmama's molasses — was that of her face and her hands. And even those were bedecked with jewelry. Bangles, earrings, rings, of all sizes and colors, glinted in the newly unearthed sunlight. The hoops and studs in her ears formed hypnotizing spiral shapes, and Fidds had to consciously keep his eyes away from them.

"Get a good look?"

Fidds' eyes widened as he realized he was staring. "I — um — yes — I mean — I'm sorry—"

"You're fine, boy," Lilith said. "I'm quite the sight to behold, ain't I?" She leaned over and held up an object — long and thin, like a teacher's paddle. Fidds instinctively flinched, but Lilith didn't seem to notice. "See this cane? I can't get up outta this chair without lotsa effort. So you ain't in no danger."

"Oh," Fidds said lamely.

Lilith looked him up and down with a critical eye. Fidds squirmed, torn between being polite and high-tailing it outta there. His mama always drilled into him the importance of eye contact, of deference, of stand still you little menace. But his mama would also probably be horrified by this crippled colored woman with her gaudy fashion.

That was probably why Fidds was so fascinated by her.

"What's your name, boy?" Lilith asked. "And you was runnin' from them boys, yes?"

Fidds nodded. "Y-yeah. They was tryna b-beat me up." He swallowed. "My name, uh, my name is F-F-Fidds. I-I mean Fiddleford. Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, ma'am." He'd been taught to offer his hand for a handshake when he introduced himself, but he was so shaken by this whole experience that he just stood there like his dumb pet goat, Gompers.

"Fiddleford," Lilith said, trying the name out on her tongue. "Fiddleford. I like it. It sounds like a name destined for great things."

"R-really?" Fidds didn't think his name sounded like great things at all. To him, it sounded like someone scolding him when he couldn't sit still.

"Really," Lilith said. She was silent for a long moment — a long, awkward moment in which Fidds had to figure numbers in his head to keep from fidgeting. "Listen, boy, d'ya wanna get rid of them bullies?"

Fidds blinked. "Um — uh — Yes'm, b-but. . . well, didn't I already get rid of them? Th-they're gone, right?"

"For now," Lilith said with a slow nod. "Too afraid to face me like men, I s'pose. But I heard their threats. They just gonna getcha tomorrow, hmm?"

Fidds flinched. Yeah. Yeah they were.

Lilith nodded sagely. "So, boy. D'ya wanna get rid of them bullies? Permanently?"

"I just—" Fidds swallowed. "I j-just want 'em to leave me alone."

"So would I, young Fiddleford, so would I," Lilith said. "And I can teach ya. Come back another day and I'll—"

"But!" interrupted Fidds. He immediately blushed at his outburst, but Lilith motioned for him to go on. "Well, m-ma'am — ain't they gon git me t'morrow?"

Lilith tapped her temple with a long fingernail. "You're sharp, aintcha," she said. "I can't teach it to you all right now, though. Takes time. 'Morrow, just skip school. Thain't teachin' ya anything useful anyways."

Fidds couldn't argue with that. Seemed like they spent more time punishing him than actually teaching him, anyway. But. . . there was something else. He coughed. "Ma'am," he said slowly, "you ain't gonna teach me witchcraft, are you?"

"No, boy, I ain't gon teach you no witchcraft," Lilith said impatiently. "Mayhaps ignorant folks would call it that, but it ain't that."

"How d'ya know?" Fidds certainly had no idea.

"'Cause I ain't never seen the devil, that's how," she replied. "He don't bother with a sad black cripple like Lilith Crypt, no sir."

Lilith Crypt. That was. . . an interesting name. Though with a name like Fiddleford McGucket, he supposed he was in no place to judge.

"So what are you gonna teach me?" Fidds asked cautiously.

"The powers of the mind, boy," Lilith replied. "The powers of the mind."

Fidds frowned. Well that didn't sound helpful at all. How would knowing a couple mind tricks save him from the bullies? Shouldn't she teach him something defensive? Some kind of fighting routine?

"What is it," Lilith said flatly. Fidds jumped, realizing that his emotions must've been written out all over his face. His face grew red as Lilith watched him cynically.

"Well?" she said when he didn't answer. "Spit it out, boy, I ain't got all day."

Actually, you're stuck in that chair, and it sure looks like you've been there all day, Fidds thought. But he didn't dare say that out loud, not even to a colored woman. "Well," he said, "I dunno, aintcha gonna teach me somethin'. . ." He paused, looking up at her with worried eyes. She waved her hand impatiently, telling him to go on. ". . . well, somethin' useful?"

She screeched so loudly that Fidds thought a gunshot had gone off or something. His hands flew up to protect his head, and he squeezed his eyes shut. But then the screeching kept going, and no bullets appeared, and. . . was that laughter?

"Somethin' useful!" Lilith crowed. "Somethin' useful! Oh, boy, you ain't neva heard of the powers of the mind, have ya!"

Fidds wished, not for the first time, that he was a turtle: that way, he could hide in his shell whenever someone yelled at him. "No'm," he said meekly.

"Well." She shook her head. "Well, you've got a lot to learn then. I promise ya — it be useful stuff. Now you run along, ya hear? Think about how the mind could be powerful — avoid them boys as best ya can — then come back some other day when you're ready to learn." She gave him a sly smile. "If you want to learn."

Did Fidds want to learn? He honestly didn't know.

But that didn't matter right now. What mattered was that the witch — or, the not-witch — or, whatever she was — had given him an out. He could leave.

"O-okay," he said, taking backwards steps for the door.

Just as he turned, ready to bolt, she called after him. "Oh! Young Fiddleford!"

He flinched and peered over his shoulder. "Y-yes'm?"

Lilith grinned, her velvety skin gleaming in the patchy sunlight that bounced in through the window. "Start payin' attention to your dreams," she said. "They's important, ya hear?"

Fidds' head bobbed on his neck like an apple in a bucket of water. "Yes'm," he said.

He pushed back the curtains to the shack, stepping out into the sunlight.

Then he high-tailed it away from there.

AN: This minisode is a little different from other GR stuff that I've written, but I hope you like it! Lilith Crypt was a character I created in high school; GR Lilith is pretty much entirely different except the name. And this is the first time we really get to see GR Fidds, too!

Friendly reminder that, should you choose to swear in the comments (including st*rred-out words and the Lord's name in vain), I will delete your comment. If it becomes a habit, I'll probably just block you :)