I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference.

-Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken.

1621 – Northern Ireland

The world turned as it often did, inexorably marching towards tomorrow with no sign of slowing. The sun would soon set and rise once again, not that she would be there to see it.

Tomorrow, Emily would be dead.

Water rushed beneath her feet, swirling in hypnotic eddies that teased her, threatening to suck her in. Further downstream, the river roared, crashing against rocks and frothing up. Looking down at her own grave left Emily with a strange sense of confusion. It was all so... surreal.

“Emily Doyle, you stand accused of witchcraft!”

‘Here he goes,’ She rolled her eyes, looking at the pompous little man beneath her. He truly was beneath her in every sense of the word. She was more intelligent than he was, taller than he was, kinder than he was. But. He had an order from the church. A tiny scrap of paper that decided whether she lived or died.

“Just get on with it,” She grumbled, tapping her foot impatiently.

“Ah, Ha! So, you do not refute the claims!” The vicar screamed, spittle flying from his crooked mouth, where rotten yellow teeth stuck out at uncomfortable angles.

Emily sighed, “Even if I did, it wouldn’t matter,” She gazed down at the crowd. Behind the mob mentality and religious fury, there was a tinge of sorrow on the people’s faces.

A young boy, barely six years of age, looked up at her, his eyes watering, “Why must doctor Emily die? She saved Mary when she-“

“Shh, hush, child. Speak not of that witch lest we join her in the river,” A tart woman hissed, placing her bony hand over the boy’s mouth.

Emily smiled at the boy. She didn’t blame him; she didn’t blame any of them, not really. To be frank, it wasn’t their fault. The vicar was a whole other story, but the people of this village were helpless, and she couldn’t resent them for that.

“It is time, Heathen!” The vicar screeched, clutching his bible the same way a child holds a stuffed toy at night, praying it would ward off the scary things hiding in the dark.

“Took you long enough,” Emily muttered, feeling rough hands pushing against her back. It was John, a man she had saved from dysentery two winters past.

“I’m sorry, lady Emily, but my daughter….” John whispered his tone pleading.

“It’s alright, John. I left the medicine in a hidden spot, up by the devil’s rise,” Emily said, her voice calm and measured.

John paused, his expression grim, “You know we aren’t supposed to go to the devil’s rise, it’s cursed,”

“That’s exactly why the church won’t look there; they’re too afraid. Now stop delaying and get it over with. Or am I going to have to drown myself?” Emily spat.

John pushed, his big hands shaking slightly, “Yes, lady Emily,”

With that, she was falling, plunging down into the dark waters below. They had strapped a rock around her waist, and if she floated back up, she was a witch. If not, she wasn’t. But by then, it would be too late.

Emily didn’t float back up. Not that she couldn’t have if she wanted.

But she knew that if I witch was found here, the whole town would burn. There wouldn’t be a single person left by spring.

As the water closed in and darkness clouded her vision, Emily drifted off into forever, her soul becoming one with the river itself.

***

2021 – Northern Ireland

Matthew was worried. He had spent all day waiting for someone who never showed up. Clare didn’t come to school. Neither did Jason, for that matter, although as far as Matthew was concerned, Jason could get fucked.

Neither were answering their phones or replying to messages. Even the teachers had no clue where the pair were.

Matthew might have an idea, though, a hunch that sat in his stomach like a block of lead. It made the already miserable math lessons even more of a slog. Last night, Jason had gone out with Clare. They went rogue, not telling anyone where they were going, but he was pretty sure he had seen them on someone’s story near the Glenn.

Matthew racked his brain, trying to remember whose story it had been. He had a hunch it was someone from their area, and the Four Winds was a pretty small place. Chances were, he knew them.

“What’s wrong?” Max asked, poking Matthew’s elbow with a pen. He was grinning that big, toothy grin of his, looking like a cat that had just caught a mouse.

“Nothing,” Matthew spat, turning around.

“Really? Because it looks like you’re mad Jason didn’t invite you out last night,” Max chuckled, revelling in Matthew’s scowl.

“So what if I am? The party was near my fucking house, and he didn’t mention anything to me. And he knew Clare would be there, Clare for god’s sake,”

“Right, I get it. We all know about your little crush on Clare. I’m sure it just slipped his mind. You know how Jason is,” Max mimed, smoking something, doing his best impression of a stoner.

“It’s not about my crush on Clare. She was my partner for the presentations. You saw how shit I did on my own,” Matthew grumbled, cringing at the memory. “Besides, I can’t get a hold of Jason today. It’s one thing to not invite me out, but now he’s completely ignoring me,”

Max frowned, “He’s not answering his phone? That’s not like Jason… Did he get hurt or something?”

“One second,” Matthew muttered, “I’ll call him again,”

***

Jason saw his phone ringing and didn’t pick up. He watched it with dull eyes, hands shaking as he clenched his bedsheets with white knuckles. He could hear his parents arguing in hushed whispers in the other room. They were worried about him… Everyone was.

He couldn’t blame them, really. He had stumbled in at a quarter past four in the morning, soaking wet and sobbing. But he just couldn’t bring himself to talk. If he talked about what happened, if he said something, it was real… All of it. He wouldn’t be able to force down the nausea and self-loathing if he talked. It was just too much.

His breathing started to come in short bursts, and his vision went spotty. In his chest, his heart beat erratically, sometimes fast, sometimes terrifyingly slow. With shaking hands, he gripped the end of his bed tightly, like a drowning man holding onto a life raft. This was his fifth panic attack since waking up, and they were getting worse.

‘I need to tell someone, anyone,’

Looking through all his missed calls, a name stood out. ‘Matthew, yeah, Matthew will understand. He’ll help me… Oh god, Clare, it was Clare. What have we done!?’

He collapsed to the floor, banging his shoulder hard against the wooden boards. As his parents’ footsteps rapidly climbed the stairs, he curled up into a ball, sobbing uncontrollably.

***

“Did he pick up?” Max asked.

“What do you think? Does It look like I’m on the phone with Jason right now?” Matthew rolled his eyes, putting the phone back in his pocket.

“Jeez, I get it. No need to be a bitch.” Max said defensively.

Matthew sighed, rolling his shoulders to let out the stress, “Yeah, you’re right, my bad. I shouldn’t take it out on you,”

“Nah, it’s okay. I know you’re stressed. I’ll check up on Jason tomorrow. Oh, yeah, do you have any plans for the weekend?”

Matthew frowned, scratching his chin, “None at the moment. Are you free?”

“I’ve got work, and I need to study for the mock exams.”

“Ugh, we never hang out anymore. Kashyap and Vincent are the same, always finding excuses not to go out,”

“They aren’t excuses, dude; this is our future. You know how hard it is to get into overseas universities,”

“Yeah…” Matthew looked down at his hands, fidgeting uncomfortably.

After class ended, they went their separate ways. Max went to the library, and Matthew went home. The bus journey wasn’t long, but as he watched the same scenery fly by for the umpteenth time, Matthew felt a heavy sense of malaise.

‘I understand why they’re going abroad for university… But the money,’ For the past few months, he often had this thought. Trying to think of how it would work out. If he just had enough money. If he was just a little smarter… he wouldn’t get left behind.

“Huh?” Matthew frowned, leaning closer to the bus window. ‘Was that Clare?’

He wasn’t sure, but it looked like her. The same blonde hair, glasses and freckles. She was even wearing the same outfit as last night. A pair of baggy ripped jeans and a white sweater covered in muck.

Checking that this stop was close enough to his house, Matthew pressed the button and got off the bus, running back towards Clare. He arrived beside her, watching as she stared transfixed at every car that passed. She was shaking slightly and looked almost terrified.

“Clare, are you okay?” he asked, heaving for breath as he walked over.

She didn’t react, watching the road as though possessed.

“Hey, Clare!” Matthew raised his voice, still to no avail. She staunchly ignored him. ‘Did I do something wrong?’

When he was close enough to reach out, he tapped her shoulder. “Clare, are you okay?”

She turned around slowly, scanning him. There was no recognition in her gaze. “Can I... help you?”

“Yes, actually. Where the hell were you today? I had to do our group presentation on my own.”

Frowning, Clare looked him up and down again, “You… Know me?”

“What is this, a joke? Of course, I know you. Seriously, Clare, you look like death,” Matthew noticed her bloody knees through the ripped jeans. “What happened?”

“Oh,” Clare mumbled, looking down at her knees, “I was just like this when I woke up,”

Matthew stared at her gormlessly, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing, “Don’t tell me you slept in a fucking field!”

Clare opened her mouth to reply, but Matthew shook his head, “No, this is ridiculous. Come back to mine, and I’ll get you a change of clothes. Don’t worry. It’s not too far from here,”

She nodded slowly, her gaze quizzical, “Are they clothes like yours?”

Matthew glanced down at his blazer and tie. The Methody school uniform was posh enough that you could wear it to a funeral and not look out of place. Black trousers, a navy blazer, with a white shirt, leather shoes and a striped navy tie.

“I don’t have a spare change of school uniform, no. I was just going to give you a hoodie or something,”

“School uniform…” Clare muttered, looking awed by the very idea of such a thing, “What… What year is it?”

Matthew froze, spinning around to face Clare. He leaned in close, checking if her pupils were dilated. “Did you hit your head last night? That would explain your spotty memory and why you woke up in a field,”

“What are you doing?” Clare asked, frowning at how close Matthew had gotten.

“Just checking your pupils. I heard that they get really wide whenever someone is concussed,” Seeing that Clare wasn’t registering what he was saying, he simplified it, “Your eyes will kind of bug out if you have hurt your head,”

“Fascinating…” Clare smiled, her whole face lighting up.

“C’mon,” Matthew grabbed her arm, worried she would wander onto the road if he left her be. “Let’s get you cleaned up,”