“Greta!” Jon called out. It was getting dark. Dad was going to be pissed.
"Greta!" he called again. He pulled out his flashlight but didn't turn it on yet. It was still light enough for him to avoid the low-hanging branches, but once the sun set he wasn't sure how much moonlight there would be.
"Greta!" His voice cracked this time. At least no one was around to hear, except maybe Greta. Would she even answer him? Maybe she'd fallen asleep again. Then he'd never find her before nightfall. He wondered how the townsfolk would feel about mounting another search party. Greta wasn't the only child to get lost in the woods, but she was the only one to make a habit of it.
Jon sighed and ducked to avoid a low-hanging oak branch, then tripped on the roots. He stopped the fall with his hands, and felt something sharp poking out of the moist dirt. Closer examination, with the flashlight on, revealed a broken piece of pottery shaped like a small foot. Faded paint gave it lifelike lines and even suggested some type of ankle bracelet. Jon shivered involuntarily. The other kids liked to talk about a witch in the woods, but Dad believed she’d died a long time ago. What if she hadn’t?
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