
Maureen Stevenson
THE STONE TICKET

"I SUMMON THEE!"
The words echoed through the air while the wind raged, and waves crashed the rocks, spraying my face with a cool mist.
The witch promised the spell would bring her back, but so far, only the elements responded. It has been a year since her death.
Digging in my pocket, I pulled out the stone ticket the witch had given me. Pure white, smooth, and flat,
I wiped my face and stood. Whispering the spell one last time, throwing it.
It skipped across the water nine times; she appeared calling to me, reaching out with her arms.