The Witch of the Mountain - Part 3 of 3

3

The pouring rain drummed against the windshield, a macabre rhythm falling into cadence with Irmak’s frantic heart as she gripped the steering wheel tight. A frown deepened between her brows at that moment. The wipers struggled to keep pace with the downpour, the view ahead dissolving into a blur and adding to the stress of going there, to Karakaya, against her better judgement. Yet these were not the thoughts occupying her mind at the time.

She could hardly make out the access road stretching before her. Not to mention that every shadow along the route seemed to distort in the corners of her eyes, merging with the heavy rain on purpose to slow her down and confuse her. She did not know what awaited her in the abandoned village, but she knew one thing for certain: she was no longer safe. Something was out there, something not made of flesh and bone like her, and it was waiting for an opportunity to strike.

Mehmet shifted in his seat beside her, the faint scent of cologne failing to mask the damp chill creeping in through one of the open windows. Though she never once looked his way, she could feel his stare, and it began to gnaw at her, raising a cold sweat along her skin. Why did he have to sit in the front with her? Especially after what had happened the other day. She had made her boundaries clear, at least she thought she had, but Mehmet seemed unwilling to accept them, as if persistence might change her mind. It would not. Never.

In the back, Dilara and Bilal were a literal mess, with their beers sloshing over the seats, foam spilling onto the floor mats, and their laughter rising above the howling wind as if nothing beyond the car existed. It was as though they had slipped into a world of their own and everything else had dulled to irrelevance.

Irmak had expected as much, given Dilara’s reckless nature, but something about it began to unsettle her still the same, stirring an odd sense of unease she could neither explain nor shake – a creeping sensation that something was about to happen. With that feeling rapidly spreading in the pit of her stomach, she glanced at the rear-view mirror, trying to catch Dilara’s eye, but the other would not notice no matter how hard and long she stared.

That was when she felt it, a hand creeping along her thigh. She went rigid at once, breath caught in her throat, while Mehmet’s grip tightened. For a split second she could not move, could not think, then she shoved his hand away. It returned almost instantly, more insistent this time, sliding higher despite her protests, and her hands instinctively clenched around the wheel. She was scared witless and panicking, but she could not afford to look at him, could not afford to lose focus.

The downpour had worsened, and the road ahead was barely visible through the windshield now. Even the car lurched beneath her as she fought to keep it steady, her attention torn between the blurred darkness ahead and the hand that refused to leave her alone. The fact that this car belonged to Bilal and she was not familiar with it only added to the dread, as well, making it harder and harder to steer, while being consistently distracted.

For the next few minutes, this repeated itself. She shoved his hand away, and it returned again and again, each time more insistent, more intrusive, until her patience thinned. She turned her head and glared at him, albeit only for a split second. That was when she caught it at the last moment, a figure standing dead in the middle of the road. Instinct took over and she jerked the wheel violently to the side; the tyres screeched against the wet asphalt as the car skidded to a stop and the world turned on its axis.

The impact was brutal. The car slammed into a nearby tree, and the airbags deployed with a loud hiss. For a few disorienting seconds, chaos swallowed everything before giving way to an overwhelming, absolute silence. When she came to, her ears rang and her head spun like a top, her neck aching from what she could only assume was a whiplash injury. Aside from that, she seemed to have sustained only minor injuries. Bilal and Dilara, however, were not as fortunate. The force of the collision had thrown them from their seats.

She scrambled to unbuckle herself, fingers trembling as the seatbelt jammed for a second before finally giving way. Her lungs burned from the sudden exertion, each breath painful and uneven as panic surged through her. She twisted in her seat, straining to look behind her, only to find one of the doors hanging open and Dilara nowhere in sight. Her heart dropped at once, and a cold realisation settled over her before she could fully process it.

Without hesitation, she pushed herself out of the car and into the darkness. The heavy rain lashed her face the moment she stepped outside, cold and relentless, swallowing light and sound alike. The ground was uneven beneath her feet, slick with water and debris, but she kept stumbling forwards into the night.

“Dilara!” She tried again, louder this time. “Dilara! Dilara!”

But her cries were drowned out by the moaning wind and the downpour. Still, she did not give up. She called again and again until her throat ached and her voice cracked, but no reply came from the darkness, as if her friend had been taken by it.

But how was this possible? She had not been unconscious for more than a few minutes at most, so how could Dilara have simply vanished in such a short time? It made no sense! Right then, a sudden thought struck her, and she glanced back at the narrow road where she thought she had seen someone. There was nothing there now. Had she imagined it? Was it the darkness and the rain playing tricks on her eyes, turning shadows into something that was never there? Or maybe—

She whipped around with a gasp, her chest rising and falling in frantic, uneven breaths as her eyes snapped open wider, straining into the dark. A sudden din had broken the silence. It came from the car. Reluctantly, she tore her gaze away from the route and turned back. Bilal was still in the back seat, blood trickling down his temple. His breathing was shallow and his pulse weak – barely there. At this rate, he would not make it through the night.

But it was not Bilal she had heard. Mehmet was awake too and had taken over the driver’s seat, fumbling with the ignition. The motor coughed weakly each time he tried, however, refusing to turn over. He cursed under his breath, tried again, then again, each attempt more violent, more frantic than the last.

“Come on! Come on!” he muttered, slamming his hand against the steering wheel. The car jolted slightly under the impact, making Irmak flinch back instinctively. His breathing grew harsher and frustration soon turned into panic as he twisted the key. But nothing happened this time, either.

“Fuck!” he snapped, striking the wheel harder this time. “Start, damn it!”

It was only then, as he twisted to take a look at Bilal, that he noticed her, and something in his expression shifted and the kind guy she thought she knew turned into someone she could hardly recognise. It was as though he was an entirely new person, worlds apart from the one she had seen up until this point.

“Hey, you okay?”

She staggered reflexively as he turned around completely to see her better. Something about his smile stirred something inside her, a growing sense that she was not safe near him. She had to do something, say something, but no words escaped from her dry lips. Only when he turned around completely, ready to get out of the car and draw closer to her, did she manage to break free from the spell.

“I-I need to go find Dilara!”

She sprinted into the darkness without waiting for him to get out of the car or respond. That, however, was a mistake. He gave a chase. Not to find Dilara with her but for another sinister reason she dared not speak. All she knew was that she had to get away from him, as far as was physically possible, even if it meant she got lost.

With these thoughts fresh in her mind, she passed through what she assumed was a woods connected to the access road, but it was not a complete desolate place. She could see the outline of a faded trail as her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, which meant it led somewhere – either out of the woods or somewhere deeper. She did not mind, either. Only, she did not expect that it would lead her there.

When the trail ended abruptly and the sound of footfall had somehow let up, she too came to a stop and looked ahead. Her brows knitted closer at once, before once again looking behind her with an alarmed look. How did she end up in Karakaya when it was supposed to be on the opposite side? Had she been mistaking, forgot her way around this place after having left it all those years ago? But those ruminations had to wait. The footsteps returned just as abruptly as they had disappeared, only for her to come face-to-face with Mehmet.

“Irmak—”

She stepped back before he could come any closer. His expression changed again. He was no longer trying to hide his true self behind a mask of deceit, and his expression gradually turned darker.

“Why are you running away from me? I thought you liked me.”

“I liked the guy I first met. Not the person speaking to me right now.”

“I’m the same person, Irmak. I’ve always been.” He stepped closer. “You don’t have to be afraid. I like you, too. That’s why I came here, to be with you.”

She shook her head. “I don’t like you anymore. Stay away from me!”

He ignored her, kept inching closer one step at a time. “That’s not what Dilara said, you know that?”

“What?”

“There’s no one here, Irmak, besides the two of us. You don’t have to pretend anymore.”

“P-Pretend?”

“Come on! You don’t think I know you were acting all prudently? I know you want me too, so why not just give into it?”

She staggered back, trying to keep her voice steady despite panic rising in her chest unchecked. She had get away. But the only exit was at that place, the village that had haunted her for so long. Once she stepped foot there, only god knew what would happen. At the same time, staying here was not an option. She could see by the way Mehmet looked at her that he meant every single word. If she did not move quick enough, she might—

They both looked upwards; a flock of crows stirred the trees above, cawing in a foreboding tune, before hovering and swarming overhead. It was the opportunity she needed, so she seized it, and entered the village before the other had time to catch up. She did not fully understand why the crows had suddenly come to her aid, all she knew was that she was fortunate enough to still be in one piece. But the relief was short-lived. She picked up the pace.

“Irmak! Wait! Let’s talk! Irmak!” Then, only seconds later, the soft tone nothing but a grotesque sneer. “Fucking bitch! You think you can just run away from me!? You think you can just—”

But Irmak was no longer listening, too focused on her steps and the path ahead shrouded in pitch darkness. Yet, somehow, her feet knew exactly where to go, which routes to take, as she navigated to the entrance of the village, and later to the very heart of it, until she came to a sudden stop in front of the mosque.

Her brain screamed at her to keep moving, to run, but her limbs would not listen, rooting her in place. Only when she once again became aware of the approaching footsteps did she break free from whatever has taken hold of her, and she sprinted past the derelict holy building, until she stood at the courtyard of her childhood home. All sort of memories flooded back to her at the time, memories she had long since suppressed and forgotten about. It was like opening Pandora’s Box. She did not know what kind of memories lay there, in the darkest chambers of her heart and soul, but she could not afford to look away or turn away now. The only safe place, despite the fragments of memories pressing on from all sides, was this place – and so she entered.

Everything felt different, much more different than she recalled. There was not much left behind from their time here, no photographs left behind, no mattress, furniture, or rugs. Just an empty and hollow space. She passed the living room and traced her steps to her bedroom, from where she had one looked outside in the witching hour and seen the witch. Even the dirty window was smaller than she recalled. For a brief moment, she stood in front of it and watched the world outside. There was no one there, no one that she could see nearby at the very least. Had Mehmet given up chasing after her and left?

As she was about to exit the house, however, an abrupt din broke her off. She turned around and then looked down at her feet, where a framed photograph lay, shattered into pieces. It had not been there earlier, she was certain. She picked it up and turned it around. It was a family portrait.

She frowned, her brows deepening at once. Something was off. Her father’s face was scratched off completely. But that was not as confusing as what her eyes now settled on. Another… person? All her life, she wished for a sibling, so who was this young woman standing next to her? Moreover, why was her face scratched off, as well? She turned the frame around again, taking note of the date. 2008. Only a year from the calamity that fell upon Karakaya. But why was her memories eluding her? Who was this child and why couldn’t she remember a thing about her? Also—she whipped around with a gasp, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Another noise. The sound of a marble rolling, slow and steady.

She followed the sound past the living room, past the small kitchenette where she had fond memories of baking with her mum, across the hallway, towards a door at the end of it she could not recall for the life of her, and her confusion only grew. Who lived here? Why couldn’t she—the door cracked open. She staggered back at first, her frantic heart thumping loudly in her chest, before starting for the mysterious door, one step at a time. Every step felt heavier than the last, each breath more laboured than the former, and something inside her twisted and turned, causing a pang of ache to rise within.

The room was different than from the rest of the decaying house, the only space which had not been emptied completely, like some sort of time capsule forever trapped in a time long since gone. Someone lived here once, with her family, someone not even worth remembering. Yet still, she racked her brain, trying to recall despite something telling her not to. How could a person just lose her memories like this, only remembering some parts of the past, while not the rest? Someone had tampered with her mind, made her forget! Was it that witch she helped? But… what for? What significance did a mere child have?

“Here you are…”

She snapped. But before she could even take flight, Mehmet lunged and tackled her to the only bed in the room, ripping her chest bare and forcing himself on her. She had never felt this humiliated and vulnerable before, not even once. Not to mention she had yet to get over the chock of her missing memories. But that did not mean she did not fight back. She threw at him whatever her hands clutched around, scratching his face, kicking and thrashing with all her might. But no matter how much she fought, no matter how hard she tried to resist, she could not overpower him.

What had got into him? Could she really have mistaken him for a decent guy? The Mehmet she knew, that she loved, was not someone who would deride and humiliate another person – not like this. Now that she thought it over, it all started back then, when they went to celebrate Dilara’s birthday at the bar. She had felt something heavy inside her, something burning and strange, then she felt something watch her in the shadows. It all happened so quickly that she could not help but dismiss it as her mind playing tricks on her, but then Mehmet started acting out of character. Could there be a connection or was she simply trying to come up with excuses for the other’s behaviour?

That was when another noise broke through, one that took both of them off guard, coming from the abandoned mosque.

“Allāhu akbar, Allāhu akbar. Ashhadu an lā ilāha illā Allāh…”

Yet it was not the call to player that should not exist that paralysed her. In Mehmet’s eyes, in the reflection, she saw another person instead of herself. A young woman. Her face seemed foreign at first but then another fragment of memory pressed on and took over her mind. She knew this child! It was—

Mehmet’s expression stiffened, and his eyes widened as he collapsed onto her. Behind him, Dilara shook – blood sprayed all over her. Irmak slid away from under him and noticed to her horror that Dilara had punctured right through his skull with an axe. They both looked at one another for a moment, their chest rising and falling in sync before Dilara, with shaking hands, covered her bare chest as much as was possible due to how ripped it was, buttoning her shirt up.

“Y-You okay?”

“I’m… fine. Where were you? I tried calling you, but you never replied! I thought—” you died.

“I’m not sure myself. One second I was on the ground, and then… I wasn’t.” She looked straight in Irmak eyes, the confusion in them as clear as day. “How is that possible, Irmak? How can a person just… just… disappear like that?”

“What happened to you? Dilara, look at me.”

“I saw someone. A woman. She kept saying your name, telling me to wake up and save you! Irmak. Why did she do that?”

“A… woman?”

“Uh-uh. She said you shouldn’t be here or something… something like that,” she said. “What does that mean?”

“A woman…” she repeated, briefly looking away as a realisation hit her. “The witch? But how is that possible?”

“W-Witch? What are you talking about? What witch?”

“Remember the witch I talked to you about?”

“You think that’s her I saw?”

“I think so. But I don’t get it. They found her body in the well and buried her, so why is she still here, not at peace?”

They both went silent, deep in their own dire thoughts, when suddenly Irmak recalled seeing a young woman in the reflection of Mehmet’s eyes.

“What if… it wasn’t her they found?”

“What?”

“What if that corpse they found did not belong to the witch?”

“You think it belonged to another person?”

Irmak cast another glance at the unconscious Mehmet before speaking up.

“Listen, I saw someone. A young woman. From what I understand, she used to live her, in this room… with my family. But I don’t remember her! She must have gone missing before the tragedy happened. Someone erased my memories of her. I think it was that witch’s doing.”

Dilara’s eyes sparkled as she realised what Irmak was getting to.

“You think someone else, not the witch, poisoned the villagers? To get away with murder and put all the blame on the witch? But what kind of deranged person would do such a horrendous thing? Killing a mere, helpless chid…”

 Irmak looked away, the words escaping her before she could understand or hinder them, spilling like a tide crashing in all directions within her.

“Dad.”

“Dad?” Dilara repeated before adding as a thought dawned on her. “Now that I think about it, this is the first time you ever mentioned your dad. Not even when you told me about that day, when the soldiers came, did you ever mention him. Why’s that?”

“Because—” Irmak looked up, her glassy eyes giving away her bewilderment. “—he was never there. That morning, when the soldiers came, he was not at home. We even thought he had died somewhere all alone. But then he returned home just hours later, or rather, when the soldiers left.”

Dilara gulped hard. “Not at home? That meant he had spent the whole night somewhere else, right? But you said you helped the witch that night. Shouldn’t you have seen him?”

“I should have. Unless…”

“Irmak?”

“Unless he went out much earlier, sometime after supper or the call to prayer. But he wouldn’t—my dad’s not that kind of person.”

“Was he acting strange the days before all of this happened? Irmak”

“No. I would’ve noticed if that were the—” Her eyes widened as a sudden realisation hit her, her statement turning into a question. “—case?”

The child in the photograph. The reflection in Mehmet’s eyes, his strange behaviour coming out of nowhere, yet coincidentally when she thought she saw something strange at the corner of her eyes at the bar… like something following her. She had to conform it.

Without an explanation, she brushed past Dilara and existed her childhood home, heading straight for the mosque. She did not know what for or what she hoped to find once she entered. All she could think of was that the call to prayer caused Mehmet to come to his senses, and something inside her told her this was not the first time it had come to her aid. In the deepest chambers of her heart, she recognised it. But from where? From which memory she no longer recalled? And what about that child? Who was she? Why couldn’t she remember her? Not even slightly?

As she pushed the gate open and entered, the smell of old wood greeted her. She had vague memories of this place. Her father was not a religious man and the times he took her with her to the mosque could be counted with one hand. How his mother, a devout woman, even put up with him was a mystery to her.

They were the complete opposite. Growing up, she thought that was just how things were, that her parents’ frequent fights were a normal thing couples did. But when her parents separated, she realised that only then did her mother truly find peace. She devoted all her waking hours to prayers and god, living a simple yet humble life until she passed away sometime during winter the preceding year.

She started living with her dad then, before leaving home to study, that is. He was not only cold towards her but also acted as if she was not even his child anymore, and he wore this… expression. It was hard to explain with just plain words, but she always felt like he saw someone else whenever he looked at her, someone that scared him witless. The funny thing about it all? During those years they were in no contact, he had become overly religious, to the point of surpassing her mother. He had even joined a cult, or in other words, a tarikat as the Turkish say. She could hardly recognise him. It almost felt as thought he was trying to absolve himself from a sin by going to the extreme, trying to make up for it by becoming the kind of person he once detested like the plague.

She stepped back without meaning to, her eyes widening at the damning spectacle unfolding before her. There, standing on the minbar, was a young woman. She looked about fifteen years old and not a day older. Her hair was covered loosely, her body turned towards the prayer hall, towards Irmak, while her feet was twisted completely to the side, like her body and limbs were wrongly pieced together, blood running between her bare legs. Irmak was about to follow where her toes pointed, when the young woman suddenly raised an arm and slowly moved it in circles. No, not circles! She was writing something using the Arabic alphabet, but the words were unmistakably Turkish. Irmak spoke the message aloud.

“Git… buradan…”

Get away from here.

She racked her brain, trying to recall. She knew this child, she was certain. But from where? From which memory!? She had to remember! She had to—

“Irmak!”

She turned around. It was Dilara. But the relief did not last. This place was as dangerous as the rest of Karakaya, if not more. Dilara should not be here.

“Return to the car. The sooner the—”

“What about Mehmet? I killed him.”

“I’ll—” she gulped hard, her frantic eyes shifting between the spectre and her antsy friend. “—figure something out. Now, hurry and leave! Dilara, please!”

But the other wouldn’t, instead she followed her anxious gaze to the minbar, the lines between her brows deepening as she suddenly lifted her arm and pointed at the young woman. “It’s her!”—Irmak cut in front of Dilara as the blonde girl was about to start for the minbar, seizing her arm tight and holding her back—”It’s that woman that saved me!”

“Don’t! It’s not…” safe. But she couldn’t finish her sentence, something stopped her. It was that ghost.

Dilara’s eyes narrowed. “What’s the matter? Don’t you want to know what happened that night? That girl can tell us!”

“It’s not that,” she whispered, her mind reeling and spinning. “She just… just told me to leave. We shouldn’t be here. We got to—”

The door slammed shut with a deafening bang, the world around them twisting and rocking in place, as the ghost suddenly burst into a shrill shriek. They both fell to their knees, clutching and covering their bleeding ears, as the whole place started to collapse and fall apart. They locked eyes then, both acutely alarmed and in panic, yet neither of them knew what to do or what was happening.

That was when the young woman started moving, descending the minbar, her mouth an open rictus, caught between screaming and crying, crimson blood spilling all over the place from between her legs and sockets. Her movements were jagged, too, like her joints were misplaced and malfunctioning, and her head cocked violently to the side, barely hanging from her neck – coming towards them. Before they could rise and take flight, however, the young woman charged with unprecedented speed, separating them, causing Dilara to fling across the collapsing mosque and hit her head against the wall, knocking her out.

Irmak stumbled back up seeing this happen, about to run towards her passed-out friend, when the girl suddenly lunged at her and held her in a chokehold, squeezing the air out of her with a force no living thing should ever possess, her feet slowly yet steadily leaving the ground. She fought still to push the spectre away, to survive whatever nightmare this was, when a once-missing memory let itself known to her. She saw a younger version of herself, barely seven years old, holding the hand of a young woman, smiling wide and picking flowers in a sun-kissed open field, and then—

A groan escaped her. Not from the chokehold but from a jarring pain taking hold of her from the inside, spreading violently as the missing memories pressed on and played on a loop in her distraught mind. Right then, a second flashback popped up. She saw a younger version of herself moving to that mysterious room, strange noises rising and falling, of a woman begging for mercy and crying, only for her cries to suddenly die out before returning more violently. Then she cracked the door open, just enough—

“Teyze?”

Hearing this word escape from her lips, the spectre’s expression softened briefly, before once again turning cold and dark, her ghostly fingers tightening around Irmak’s throat, determined to suffocate her. But Irmak did not fight back this time. She remembered now. Everything.

Her maternal aunt had come to stay with them after being kicked out by her grandparents for having a boyfriend, one she had spent the whole night with, only to be accused of being promiscuous and a bad influence for the other young women in their village. Irmak had been only seven years old back then.

Her aunt went missing months earlier the poisoning incident took place. Rumours circulated afterwards that she had visited a clinic with her mother and was with a child, that the identity of the father was unknown. Strangely, it was also during this period that her aunt, Safiye, and Irmak’s mother grew distant. She did not know these details back then, of course, not until she became an adult herself and overheard their relatives talk about her so called promiscuity.

But what was so wrong about a teenager falling in love and having a boyfriend of the same age? In a way, her aunt had suffered the same fate as the witch. Perhaps this was the reason the witch had lured her to the mountain path that night, to avenge another young woman who had perished untimely and whose reputation had been stained for nothing.

Now all those rumours she had heard growing up but forgotten made sense. Yet she couldn’t understand it. How could her father be so cruel? So savage and heartless!? He had not only raped a young, helpless woman seeking refuge at his home, but also forced his wife to turn against her own blood, manipulating her into thinking her sister was the one who had forced herself upon him, causing this vengeful spirit to come into existence!

As the reality of what really happened back then took more space in her mind, she turned her gaze to the spot where the spectre’s feet had pointed towards moments earlier, a lantern flickering on and off, swaying subtly to the absent wind as if to make her realise something. In that moment, the world stopped spinning and the mosque once again became still and abandoned, taking with it the spectre of her missing aunt.

She collapsed, gasping for air. Though she should be relieved the nightmare was over, somehow, something still bothered her and her mind was an utter mess – as were her heart and soul. Yet never once did she take her gaze away from the lantern, where the flickering flames changed shape and took the form of two women watching her, their grotesque faces turning into smiles, as if unbothered by the stain that had smeared their names and made the whole village persecute them. And, surely, had the poor witch and her aunt not intervened and brought Dilara here at the right time, she too would face the same cruel fate and forever be labelled as a promiscuous woman under the guise of preserving honour.

But she couldn’t help but feel there was more to this than what met the eye. Another spirit had possessed Mehmet back then, she could not have been mistaken. What spirit was that? And why did her aunt try to kill her only to give up halfway through? Not to mention the memories that the witch had erased on purpose. But before she could direct these question to the witch of the mountain, the two silhouettes started to perish. She rose to her feet in a panicked state at once, ready to run towards the flickering lantern, when a noise stopped her.

Dilara had stirred.

“I-Irmak?”

Thought reluctant, the questions in her mind too overwhelming to simply ignore, she went back to her friend’s side and helped her back up.

“Are you okay? Does your head hurt a lot?”

She let out a bitter smile. “It’s too obvious, huh?”

“Yeah, it is. Come, I’ll bring us home.”

She wrapped Dilara’s arms around her shoulders and they limped towards the gate. As they were about to exit, Irmak cast a glance at the minbar and then the strange lantern. Something was off. She was missing something, something crucial yet eluding. What was it?

“What about Mehmet? What do we say to Bilal?”

“He’s dead. Don’t look at me like that, I’ll think of something. Besides—” Irmak forced a smile. “—you didn’t do anything wrong. You saved me.”

Dilara returned her smile. “You think an attorney would see it that way? I killed a person, Irmak. There’s no turning back from that.”

“Who knows—” Irmak directed her eyes to the mountain peak, where another flicker of light arrested her. “—other than us two that we came here, anyway?”

“What do you mean?”

Irmak tore her gaze away from the mountain. “Listen, you said Bilal dug up old graves, right? Then there has to be a shovel in the trunk.”

Dilara couldn’t speak, at loss for words for a few seconds before the words blurted out. “What?”

“There’s no CCTV out here except the one that caught us at the intersection four miles back,” Irmak interrupted. “If the police ask, we tell them we drove here for fun but stayed in the car while those two went inside the village. Say that we waited but that they never came back, so we panicked and left.” Her tone remained calm as she continued. “Karakaya already has a reputation. People disappear here all the time. They’ll believe us.”

“What if they bring in cadaver dogs and realise we were lying?”

Irmak glanced at the mountain peak one final time.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “Even if they do, they won’t find them.”

“How can you be so sure? Maybe it’s better to come clean? Explain that we only tried to defend ourselves? No matter how hard I think this through—”

“No.”

Dilara flinched at how abrupt and sharp the word escaped her, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Irmak’s gaze remained fixed on the mountain peak, her expression unreadable in the dark, though her tone had softened subtly.

“We can’t tell the police the truth, they’ll just twist it into something else and pin it on us, say we whored ourselves out and should have seen it coming.”

Dilara wrapped her arms around herself, visibly shaken and in distress. “But hiding the bodies? That’s insane, Irmak!”

“There’s no other option.”

A cold wind swept through the trees as she said this and somewhere higher up the mountain, a faint light flickered again between the rain and the absolute darkness, pale and brief like a lantern moving through the woods.

Dilara noticed Irmak staring at it, and in that moment, she saw something cross Irmak’s eyes, turning them pitch black for hardly a second. It happened so quickly, however, that she wasn’t entirely sure she had seen right.

“You keep looking there,” she said in a hushed tone, swallowing. “Why? Do you…” She wetted her dry lips, the words sticking to her throat. “…see something?

Irmak did not answer right away; instead, she tilted her head slightly, as though she could hear things the other could not, before finally tearing her glassy eyes away and meeting Dilara’s confused ones. There was no blackness in them, albeit Dilara could sense that something wasn’t right. It was as though she was staring into the eyes of another being, someone other than her friend, but she could not explain those conflicting emotions rising within her.

“We should move before sunrise,” Irmak said, her voice devoid of emotions this time, like a shell without a soul, a fleeting smile playing on her lips, one that curdled Dilara’s blood. This wasn’t Irmak. Her gaze drifted instinctively towards the mountain just as the thought settled in her mind, and somewhere within the abandoned village, a shrill scream tore through the darkness. Dilara jolted. Before she could move toward the sound, however, Irmak’s hand clamped around her wrist.

“We don’t have much time.”

Dilara froze. Her quivering eyes meeting that of Irmak’s, now black as tart and crying crimson, a wicked grin tugging at her lip. Dilara knew at that moment that her friend was gone – that she had been absent from the moment the mosque stopped collapsing and the world returned to normal.

“Who…” Her voice trembled. “Who are you?” Where’s Irmak?

The black eyes vanished, the subtle grin, too.

“It’s me. What’s the matter with you?”

Dilara shook her head. “No…”

Irmak released her grip and for a brief second, all was well and whatever had possessed the other had disappeared. But she could tell nonetheless, that wasn’t the case. This wasn’t her friend. Not anymore. But someone pretending to be her. Was it that witch Irmak talked about, the one they saw in the mosque? Or was this someone else entirely?

“Stop acting all weird, dude!” Irmak drew closer. Dilara stepped back instinctively. “We don’t have time for this! It’s me! Irmak.”

Her breath caught.

She spun around, at least tried to, but before she could fully turn, icy fingers settled onto her shoulder from behind and pain exploded through her skull. At once, her memories twisted out of shape and faces and places all blurred together in a jumbled mess. Something was pulling at her thoughts, rearranging them, forcing them into places they did not belong, and with every laboured breath, the agony worsened until it finally drove her to the ground.

She convulsed violently, clutching at her head so hard her nails tore into her skin, thin trails of blood slipping between her fingers as a strangled cry escaped her throat. Then, suddenly, it all stopped. Just like that. When she opened her eyes again, her breathing shallow and chest falling and rising rapidly, she saw a hand stretched out towards her through the rain.

“Come,” Irmak said softly. “Help me check the trunk.”

Dilara stared at the hand for a long moment, her mind absent of thoughts, of memories, like a machine or puppet controlled by invisible strings.

Then, slowly, she took it, and the grin on Irmak’s face widened.

“Good girl.” 

The Witch of the Mountain - Part 2 of 3

2

The lecture hall emptied far too slowly, the murmur of chatter the only thing filling the prolonged silence. Irmak sat at one of the desks in the farthest row, her chin resting against her palm, staring at the chalkboard where her professor had just outlined the following week’s assignments. Several of her notes were laid neatly in a pile in front of her, ready to be packed into her leather bag, and that was that. She waited for her classmates, or the majority of them at least, to exit already so that she too could leave. But it took forever.

So, she shifted her gaze with a sigh. Outside, the dying sunlight slanted through the wall-length windows, catching the dust that floated into the warmth. At that moment, she daydreamed away, imagining a different course of life – one much different from the one she currently led. After all, she had always been somewhat of a dreamer, or a romantic if one could say that. Had she been a Disney princess, she’d be Belle. But daydreams were just that, dreams, and nothing else. Ghosts of the mind, in other words. Maybe she wanted to become a ghost too, live an invisible life far from the plain reality she lived through each and every day. She wanted more; worked harder than anyone else. Still, all she ever amounted to was being this sorry of a person she was.

In the backdrop, conversations about plans for the weekend took over and drowned out all other subjects. It wasn’t like she wanted to eavesdrop or something, only she heard everything by default – even from miles away – as though she was some sort of Wonder Woman. But she didn’t want to. Heck! she even tried not to! It did not work one bit.

She put her hand to rest and let her fingers drum over the desk, faster and faster, until she could no longer take it. Standing upright, she nimbly folded her notebooks and tucked her pens into her bag in a certain order only she knew, all while her mind wandered from the words on the board. She thought of home, of the familiar streets she had left behind two years ago to live in the dormitory, and a small knot of unease curled in her stomach.

“You’re coming, right?” Dilara’s booming voice reluctantly pulled her out of her thoughts. But she paid no attention to the blonde girl and kept packing her stuff. “Hey, do you even see me?”

“I told you, I’m going nowhere. Just hang out with—”

“Come on! You can’t just leave me hanging, can you? Pleeeaasse?”

 Irmak rolled her eyes, drawing a deep breath to steady her nerves.

Who’s Dilara, again? Her friend, or rather, the only person willing to talk to someone like her, an outsider from the rural parts of the country. Though not in the mood to entertain her, Irmak finally broke off and met the other’s pleading gaze. She was literally leaning against the desk, her bare legs crossed in a certain way to accentuate her shape, and her eyes sparkled with mischief, as they always did. Now that she thought it over, Dilara reminded her of a puppy, one that always needed attention. Or she would get all sulky. But Dilara was more than just that, she was what people would call a “hot girl”, the kind that turned heads just by existing.

“Come on! It’s Friday!” she insisted. “We’re going out for drinks to celebrate my birthday! You can’t just stay cooped up in your room like you always do.”

Irmak tugged her bag strap over her shoulder, ignoring her friend’s question, and started towards the exit. “You know I don’t like drinking, and it’s not like my allowance is—”

“It’s just one drink,” Dilara called, hurrying to catch up. “I promise – promise – it’ll be worth it! Besides, it’s on me! You won’t have to pay a penny! I swear!”

There was something in Dilara’s tone that made it impossible to refuse. Reluctantly, she nodded, letting Dilara steer her through the crowd of students and down the packed streets near their university. That silly girl even started dancing in the middle of the road as they crossed it to celebrate her hard-earned victory. Seeing her beam so widely, Irmak couldn’t help but smile, too. Dilara might be a “hot girl”, but she was definitely no “typical girl.”

By the time they arrived, the bar was packed, and the overwhelming mix of alcohol and sweat, together with the strong scent of perfume, made her regret her choices at once and wish she could disappear into the shadows and catch her breath. She wasn’t used to these kinds of places and felt sick already.

Dilara ordered some drinks not long afterwards, and Irmak sipped cautiously from hers, tasting the bitterness of the liquid without letting herself indulge too much. She preferred control, even here, even in the swirl of loud music. It was then that Bilal and Mehmet appeared, weaving through the crowd.

Bilal was one of Dilara’s many flings and was studying history at their university, while Mehmet was Irmak’s crush. When they approached and sat at their table, Dilara winked at her as soon as she sought her eyes, as if she had planned all this beforehand. She rolled her eyes in response. It wasn’t like she could flirt with Mehmet; he had a long-time girlfriend and was a decent guy. And for some reason, Dilara thought that was more of a reason as to why she had to steal Mehmet.

Although she felt out of place at first, as she drank more and more and the night deepened and music grew louder, they were laughing, sharing stories and joking around as though they were more than just acquaintances. Soon, she found herself drawn into the rhythm, tapping her foot to the beat, letting her body move without surrendering her thoughts entirely. From somewhere near the back of the bar, then, just out of reach, a shadow moved against the radiant light. Her gaze flicked towards it from where she stilled on the dancefloor, though she quickly dismissed it as a trick of her intoxicated mind. Yet there was a chill that ran along her spine, nonetheless. She tried to shake it off, focusing instead on Mehmet, who leaned in and brushed up against her, and then, suddenly, he wasn’t that decent guy she thought he was.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, his eyes settling on her lips. “Did anyone tell you that?”

Before she could withdraw, repulsed at having mistaken him for a good guy, he leaned in, his lips inches from hers when—she turned her flushed face away before they could touch lips. She retreated to their table without saying anything and was soon joined by Dilara and Bilal, who had just exited the bathroom after making out in one of the stalls. They were too caught up in one another that neither noticed the distorted look on Irmak’s face as Mehmet too sat down and downed a drink.

At one point, however, things took a drastic turn, one she did not see coming. It was Bilal who broke the ice, after noticing the rising tension that had suddenly fallen over their table for reasons he did not know.

“You guys know Professor Necmiye?”

“Yeah,” said Dilara, sipping from her drink. “What about her?”

“The bitch’s crazy!” he said. “She just assigned us a paper on local haunted towns or some shit. Fucking hag.”

“Haunted towns?” Dilara repeated. “What the fuck?”

“She wants us to prove that so-called “hauntings” are more about poverty, historical tragedy, and neglect than anything supernatural. Man, she’s a total nutjob! Like, how am I supposed to prove that, even?”

“I think it sounds fun, though. Better than our boring assignments on classical literature,” Dilara said, then turned to face Irmak with a glint in her eyes as a moment of acknowledgement passed between them. “Right, Irmak?”

“…Yeah, I guess so.”

“So?” she said, shifting her focus back to Bilal. “Have you found something, then? Maybe we can help.”

“Kind of. Apparently, there’s a village called Karakaya nearby, it’s said to be haunted. A total ghost town.”

The words hit Irmak like a punch to the gut, and her hand tightened around the glass, the cool liquid trembling against her fingers. Karakaya. She had not expected to hear that name, not here, not now.

Dilara’s eyes widened too as she turned to her, all excited.

“Hey, isn’t that… the place you told me about?”

Irmak hesitated. She could feel her heartbeat in her throat, the memories of the abandoned streets and corpses found all over the village. Finally, her voice came out but was quieter than she intended.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea—”

“She’s from that place, actually,” interrupted Dilara.

Bilal’s eyes went wide. “Oh, wow. Really?” he asked, leaning over the table to get closer to her. “Heard a lot about that place from a friend of mine. Are the rumours about the village true? Like, that the whole village had been found dead overnight?”

She paused, swallowing hard. The music, the lights, the laughter around her – all seemed to fade away in that moment and suffocate her. She took another sip from her glass, her hands trembling out of control, gathering enough courage to say the words that lingered on the tip of her tongue.

“…Hmm. But I do not want to—”

Bilal, “Well, if we’re all free this weekend, then why don’t we go see for ourselves? Find out if it’s really haunted or not?”

Dilara exchanged a glance with Irmak before responding.

“Sure! Why not?”

Mehmet, “Fine by me, too.”

The three of them then turned to face her, expecting her to say something. But just the thought of returning to that place twisted something in her gut and made the bile rise in her throat. She wanted to refuse, to retreat to her dorm and the safety of her solitude, but Dilara’s hand pressed gently against her shoulder.

“Please,” she said. “Come with us! We need someone who can take us there, after all. You’re the only one who knows. Right?”

“I-I can’t... I…”

Bilal, “Come on! What’s the worst that can happen?”

Irmak bit her lips. A lot of thoughts weighed her down and meddled with her senses, but in the end, she nodded and agreed to take them to Karakaya. Bilal was right. The soldiers had found the witch’s corpse in the well already, and the entire village had been a ghost town ever since. She had nothing to fear.

So… why did it feel like she couldn’t breathe?

The Witch of the Mountain - Part 1 of 3

1

That fateful night not only brought with it the hush of the undead waiting for Judgment Day still, but also unforgivable sins of the past, of the bygone yet to be paid. It was also that night that the village lay heavy under the guise of that pretentious silence, trapped beneath a force only a few truly understood with their senses. Hah! Even those abysmal stray dogs stopped barking for a change!

The derelict mosque had loomed high in the clear sky, casting the rural village located in the middle of nowhere into a deep and suffocating gloom, and out of that darkness a woman emerged though no one expected her. She walked down the centre of the road, her steps steady and gingerly – all alone yet not at the same time – her obscure face clouded with a sorrow so deep and gut-wrenching that it was nothing less of a sin to look into her misty, ancient eyes. It was as though she had fled something dreadful, as though she carried the weight of a vile curse upon her shoulders, one only a few had experienced – thank god.

Her hands, those wrinkly and fragile hands, were clenched together and trembling – mind, not from the biting cold but from fear in its purest form, somehow, anyhow. No one knew why, no one could say the reason without sounding mad, but one thing was certain: whatever horrors pursued her had driven her here, into the night, to this very town, just as an unknowing girl stirred from her slumber with a gasp, drenched in beads of cold sweat running along her brows and tiny neck.

This was the first time Irmak had ever seen the mysterious visitor, though she had heard rumours of her existence. You couldn’t exactly stop children from running their mouths, could you? But she didn’t know the strange lady would be there too, in that deep darkness, as sleep eluded her without as much as a warning and she found herself in front of the frosted, laced window. She loved to watch the world at night, watch life pass her by and reminisce of another time, one different from hers. Also, strangely enough, whenever darkness fell over their village, it was like it was breathing differently for some reason, pulling at her, drawing her into the depths of the secrets she had yet to uncover.

Sometimes she imagined the shadows carried the shadows of the past, the unforgivable sins of those still alive and kicking, and that if she listened closely enough, she might see the vicious shadows look back at her and whisper something wild back – heck, she wanted that to be the case! But they never quite did, as if they pretended she wasn’t there, lurking in the murk, watching their every move. Nevertheless, she would find herself there, at the window, whenever the call to evening prayer rang and brought with it the darkness that soothed her soul so. But that night, the suffocating silence she otherwise despised so, gave way to something else – something else entirely.

The woman’s feet were bare and her whole body was soaked wet. Her hair clung to her face, caked with dirt, and foul droplets traced her arms as though she had been dragged straight from a river. There was a smell about her too, of damp soil and something faintly metallic. It was clear at first sight that something terrible had happened to her.

Irmak’s first thought was to wake up her parents, tell them that an elderly woman might be needing their help, but then she remembered that they would only scold her for being awake at this late hour. Thus, she dismissed the thought just as quickly as it crossed her mind. Still, she could not leave the woman in such a pitiful and poor state, could she?

She opened the front door just enough to peer out. The woman was there, motionless, as though she knew Irmak was watching her all along. With her heart in her mouth, Irmak then stepped into the garden and onto the narrow, bumpy road, where the woman lingered still until she raised her head ever so slightly. Irmak’s eyes narrowed as she took a good look at the woman, but her wet hair veiled her face and obscured all hints of what the strange visitor might look like.

“Hi,” she gingerly said, waving her hand awkwardly, “I’m Irmak. Do you… need help?”

The woman did not answer. She only stared at the girl, then slowly lifted her arm and pointed into the distance – towards the mountains.

“Is that where you want to go?”

The woman gave a nod.

“Do you want me to help you go there?”

The woman, once again, nodded and confirmed her.

Though hesitant, Irmak stepped forwards and supported the woman, helping her down the bumpy road with her small build. Together they walked into the night, farther and farther away from the heart of the village and closer to the mountains where no sane soul dared to linger in the wee hours.

The woman’s arm felt icy under the touch, and though the night was still, the woman’s hair seemed to stir with a breeze that wasn’t really there. Irmak tried to hum a tune under her breath, to calm her nerves and convince herself that everything was under control – the way she did whenever she was frightened – but the sound was meant to die in her throat eventually.

From time to time, she tried to speak and break the silence with her childish questions, but the woman never replied, and so they walked on in silence until they reached the fork where the mountain path began. Well there, Irmak hesitated for good. Her mother warned her never to take the mountain road, though she never explained why. She knew only what she overheard from the kids in the village, that once, long ago, a witch lived in the mountains and practised black magic, cursing the women so they could no longer conceive and bear children. No one knew why she bore such a grudge against the villagers as far as she knew, but Ahmet, the village fool, said he knew why.

When she was only a child, Ahmet had said, the imam of that time raped her and demanded later that she get rid of the foetus since he planned not to take her as his second wife. The unfortunate thing, however, loved her unborn child so much that she wanted to keep it despite the imam’s threats. And when the imam’s wife and family got wind of what had happened at last, they presumed that poor child had seduced her abuser and forcibly took the infant from her, ripped it straight from her tomb prematurely and buried her alive to save their face and honour.

From that day forth, the witch swore an oath of vengeance; she conspired with the djinn and vowed to bring ruin to the village. The men, terrified, dragged her into the mountains and savagely violated her, hoping to shatter her power and resolve. Even Ahmet, that fool, was forced to take part, though he did not want to at first, out of fear of what the men would do to him should he refuse. Like that, they thought they had defeated her and forever silenced her. And not long after this happened, the women once again began to bear children. Six babies were born in total. Irmak was one of those six babies. But aside from her, no one else survived early childhood. The children who lived in the village as of writing these arcane words leading nowhere came from other, nearby villages in the hopes of keeping the population from shrinking any further.

 People came to believe it was the witch’s doing that too, and so they found her and killed her. No one knew where they had left her body, though, since she was never reported missing by her family, who fled the village overnight that same day. However, people claimed they could hear her cries in the witching hour still, mourning her child who had been buried alive and whispered curses, colliding with the djinn.

Irmak pulled her arm free as these thoughts resurfaced from the deepest corners of her subconsciousness telling her to be careful and not to take a step further than she already had.

“I-I should go home now, it’s getting late.”

The woman spoke at last. Her voice was heavy with sorrow, just like how Irmak imagined it would be, and a chill shot down her spine.

“I am your mother, child. Don’t you recognise me?”

Her eyes narrowed, deep wrinkles forming. She didn’t know this woman, yet the words pierced her heart like a wound torn open for reasons she couldn’t understand. The way she said them… as though she truly believed those words…

“No.”

“Oh, my child… My sweet, sweet child…”

The woman cupped her face, and in her eyes, Irmak saw tears, saw a sorrow so deep it seemed endless. She knew, then. This was her. The witch. The woman who had been raped, who had lost her baby, and who had sworn vengeance against the villagers.

“You’re a witch,” she said, the words escaping her before she could hinder them. “Right?”

The woman lowered her head, shame shadowing her face. Painful memories seemed to weigh her down and take over her bleak mind. Then she looked up again and met Irmak’s quizzical gaze.

“Forgive me, my child,” she said, her voice breaking. “You are not her. Go back to your family now. Don’t look back and… promise me to never walk out at night again.”

The woman then turned towards the mountain path and walked away, leaving Irmak no chance to reply. Instead, she stood watching until the woman vanished into the dark, then returned home as she had been told.

By dawn, before the first light touched the sky, soldiers came with sudden, grim news: the entire village had been poisoned, and no one survived except Irmak and her family. Doors hung open, meals sat unfinished, and bodies lay where they had fallen, some in beds, some in the streets, faces twisted as though they had seen Shaitan himself. Irmak clung to her mother’s skirt as the soldiers told them what had happened, and her small heart hammered out of control as he thought back on her encounter with the witch.

Years later, long after she and her family fled that cursed place, Irmak heard the truth of what really happened that night. Apparently, the soldiers had found the source of the poisoning and wrote off the macabre case as an accident caused by a rotten corpse that had been found in the well the villagers used for drinking water. But there was no update on whose corpse it was or why it had been inside the well – or for how long…

The incident affected her in more than one way. Even as a grown woman, she would wake some nights with her face wet from tears she did not remember shedding. In her dreams, she walked again on that mountain path, always with the woman at her side, always hearing those same swords on repeat: “Oh, my child… My sweet, sweet child…” And when the wind howled and whistled in those harrowing moments, she could hear the djinn echoing those same words from the mountain path she had left behind in her past but never truly escaped.