Editors of Writers Digest - 80th Annual Writers Digest Writing Competition Collection

by John Biggs

Navajo clerks at the Circle Ks wouldnt look Dannys way if he took a couple of hotdogs from the rotisserie. Theyd let him take big pretzels too, even the ones dripping with cheese and jalapeno peppers. He could have all the fountain drinks he wanted, and flavored coffees with names like French Vanilla, Mocha Latte, and Pumpkin Spice Cappuccinowhite man names. He could probably take cigarettes if he wanted them, but he didnt like the way they smelled and he couldnt sell them because no Indian on the Big Rez would buy smokes from a boy who might be a witchnot even Marlboros.

Danny liked to pace himself, steal from different convenience stores so his invisibility didnt wear thin, but the Rez was pretty big and Circle Ks were kind of far apart and he didnt have a car, so some of the clerks got so they could see him pretty well.

He brought his own big green plastic sack borrowed from the trashcan outside his mothers Air Stream Trailer. Twenty-gallon size, lots of room for chips. The big Fluffy Cheetos were his favorite, but he liked Fritos and Doritos too, especially the ones that tasted like BBQ sauce. He took cans of Starkist Tuna, two liter bottles of Mountain Dew, and tins of Vienna Sausages for Queenie.

Whod have thought a gray Timbre Wolf would like Vienna Sausages?

Danny watched the clerks ignore him as he loaded up his grocery sack. They werent talking about witches now, but they would as soon as he was gone. Danny knew because sometimes hed hide and listen. Thats how he found out he was a witch.

The locals figured it all out after Nathan Balance disappeared.

He didnt want that boy around no more, is how the conversations always started. Then nobody saw Nathan anymore. Nobody saw his truck either, but lots of people saw wolf tracks, and lots of people saw Danny Riley roaming the desert after the sun had set and dark spirits looked for company.

Thats how a twelve-year-old Laguna Pueblo boy becomes a witch on the Navajo Reservation. His mothers no-good diabetic boyfriend chases him into the desert without thinking about his insulin and then cant find a way back home.

Put that together with Queenie and youve got yourself a full-fledged mystical phenomenonIndian style. Nothing magic about Queenie. She was one of the gray wolves a bunch of white college students released on the Rez a few years back. Those kids probably learned a lot in college, but they never learned how to say thank you or please. They just sort of naturally knew that timbre wolves would get along with Indians.

Never mind if they ate the Indians sheep. Never mind if they ate an Indian child or two. Everything was unofficial and done with the best intentions and without asking the locals what they thought. Thats how white people did things on the Reservation.

Some good came of it anyway.

Now Queenie belonged to Danny Riley. The wolf did what Danny wanted without ever being told; followed some kind of secret witch language made up of scents and gestures. Today, shed wait outside the Circle K, so blended with the desert no one would see her until she moved and she wouldnt do that until the time was exactly right.

Danny stepped toward the cash register. This one wasnt closed up behind bulletproof glass like some.

His invisibility would fall away as soon as he made his move, because Indian magic didnt work on money. Not even food stamps. The minute he put a finger on the cash register, the two clerks would come for him.

Dannys meandering shoplifting path through the store seemed random, but every step he took required a step by the clerks so they could keep pretending he wasnt there.

Ignorance is the first line of defense against witchcraft. Dont look at anything too long or think about anything too much and never put your thoughts into words where something dangerous can hear. Thats how Indians keep goblin seeds from taking root in their minds. Ignore a witch and sooner or later, hell probably go somewhere else.