Matthew 16:26 (NIV) “What good will it be for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul? Or what can anyone give in exchange for their soul?”
Scene 1: The Boy and the Witch
In the courtyard of the castle, where the other children laughed and chased one another across the sun-warmed stones, a boy of twelve or thirteen stood alone. His long brown hair was unkempt and fell across his forehead. He was skinny, almost fragile-looking, and his dark glasses sat slightly crooked on his nose. His pants were a size too small, riding high above his ankles. The other children sometimes called out to him, offering to let him join their games, but he never accepted. He didn’t like their rules. He always wanted to make up his own.
A voice spoke from behind him—soft, cool, and strangely inviting.
“Hello, boy.”
He turned.
A girl stood there, roughly his age. She wore a long black dress that moved like shadow when she shifted her weight. Her raven-black hair fell in two straight strands, one on each side of her pale face. Her lips were painted black, the way some girls did when they wanted to look older. Most of the children in the courtyard gave her a wide berth. They whispered about her when they thought she couldn’t hear. They said she was strange. Dangerous. Not like them.
But the boy felt something different the moment he saw her. He was drawn to her. He liked the way she stood, the quiet confidence, the secrets that seemed to cling to her like the black dress. Unlike everyone else, he didn’t want to run. He wanted to stay.
“Wanna play a game?” she asked.
The boy nodded at once. “Yes. But only if I can make up my own rules.”
She studied him for a long moment, then gave a small nod. “All right. The game is called Blind Man’s See. You tell me what you see… and I try to make you blind to it.”
He had never heard of the game, but it didn’t matter. He was already caught in her presence. “What are the rules?”
“You describe something you’re looking at,” she said, her voice calm and cold at the same time. “And I make it disappear from your eyes.”
The boy agreed without hesitation.
“And if I win, I get something of yours.”
Before he could say anything else, the girl’s expression changed. She took a small step closer and lowered her voice.
“Most children stay away from me,” she said. “You should too. I’m warning you—stay away.”
The boy met her dark eyes. He could have turned and run like the others. He could have pretended he hadn’t heard her. But he didn’t. He was too curious. Too smart. And he already knew what he wanted.
“I don’t want to stay away,” he said simply. “I like you. You’re not like the others. I want to play with you.”
A flicker of something—surprise, regret, maybe even respect—crossed her face. Then it was gone.
“Then don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she murmured.
She stepped forward and placed her cool hands on either side of his head. Her fingers were light, but the air around them seemed to tighten. She closed her eyes and began to whisper words the boy had never heard before—ancient, twisting sounds that made the hairs on his arms stand up. An incantation.
When she finished, she stepped back.
“Look over there,” she said. “Do you see them now?”
The boy turned toward the children he had been watching earlier.
They were gone.
Not hidden. Not behind a wall. Simply… gone. He could still hear their laughter drifting across the courtyard, but his eyes found nothing. No shapes. No movement. Just empty air.
“I win,” the girl said, and a small, satisfied smile curved her black lips.
The boy’s relief lasted only a second.
He turned his head slowly, scanning the entire courtyard. The guards by the gate were missing. The servants carrying baskets had vanished. The stable hands, the maids, the other children—everyone was gone from his sight. He could hear footsteps, voices, the clink of armor, the rustle of skirts, but his eyes registered only emptiness where living people should have been.
People could still see him. He stood there, clearly visible, turning in slow circles with growing panic. But he could no longer see them.
“What did you do?” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I can’t see anyone!”
The girl watched him, the smile still on her face but her eyes serious.
“I told you to stay away,” she said. “You should have listened. But you didn’t. You’re too smart for your own good… and you decided you liked me anyway. So now you’ll live without seeing people. They will see you. You will never see them again.”
The boy stared at her—the only person left visible in his world.
“You’re a witch,” he breathed.
She didn’t deny it.
“I have to go,” she said, already turning away. Her black dress whispered against the stones. “Try not to cause too much trouble… though I suppose it doesn’t really matter anymore.”
She walked off without looking back, leaving him alone in a courtyard full of invisible people.
The boy reached out with one hand, waving it through empty air, his heart hammering. The game was over.
And he had lost something far bigger than he understood.
Scene 2: The First Night
The boy was not overly worried at first. Most spells he had heard of in stories faded after a day. He found a quiet corner of the castle courtyard, curled up against the cool stone wall, and let exhaustion pull him into sleep. His last thoughts were of the girl in black. She had been the only one willing to play with him on his terms. She couldn’t have meant him real harm… could she?
He woke in the early hours of evening to two swirling orbs of brilliant light hovering a few feet away. They were the brightest lights he had ever seen—far brighter than any lantern—yet they pulsed and shifted like living things, like great masses of lightning bugs gathered into glowing spheres. The lights seemed to speak in low, distorted voices, but the glare was so intense he could not see who stood behind them.
Heart pounding, the boy scrambled to his feet and ran out into the main courtyard. Everywhere he looked, the same impossible lights drifted and clustered—some small and flickering, others large and blindingly bright. The bigger the mass of light, the fiercer it burned. He could hear footsteps, laughter, the clank of armor, but he saw no people. Only light.
He fled through the castle gates and into the town beyond, running past invisible crowds whose voices swirled around him like wind. No one he could see. Only the glowing shapes moving where bodies should have been.
By the time he reached the road home—two miles from the edge of town—his legs ached and his breath came in ragged gasps. The familiar fields stretched before him. He passed the cows and chickens without trouble; animals, at least, remained visible. But when he pushed open the front door of his small house, two more clusters of firefly-light waited inside.
“Mom? Dad?” he called, his voice shaking. “Someone in town played a trick on me. I can’t see anyone!”
The lights moved closer. Voices came from them—his parents’ voices—but the words were garbled, stretched and roaring like a freight train thundering through his skull. He clapped his hands over his ears, but the sound only grew louder, more painful. The spell was changing. It was no longer just his eyes.
His parents—visible only as twin glowing masses—tried to calm him. He could feel their hands on his shoulders, gentle and worried, but he could not understand a single word they said. He began to shout, louder and louder, telling them about the lights, about the girl, about the game he had lost. They could not soothe him. In the end they led him to his bedroom, gave him a piece of bread and a cup of water, and closed the door.
Alone in the dark, the boy lay awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling. The spell had lasted longer than a few hours. It was doing new, terrible things. And he had no idea how to make it stop.
Scene 3: The Bargain
The next morning, his mother’s voice woke him. He could hear her clearly now, but when he opened his eyes she was still only a soft glow standing in the doorway. No face. No shape. Just light.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“No,” the boy whispered. “I can hear you, but I can’t see you. Mom… I’m scared.”
“We’ll go to the doctor after breakfast,” she said gently.
The town doctor was an old man with kind eyes—or so the boy remembered. Today the doctor was only another cluster of light moving around the examination room. The boy sat on the wooden table while the glowing shape poked and prodded and asked questions the boy could mostly understand, Though they were still hard to hear, through the dull roar.
At last the doctor spoke to his mother in low tones the boy was not meant to hear.
“I’ve never seen anything like this. It isn’t natural. No fever, no injury to the eyes… it feels like a curse. I know of no remedy here. There is a specialist in the next town, but bringing him out will be expensive and take time.”
The boy’s mother was quiet for a long moment. The boy didn’t need to see her face to know she was worried about money they did not have.
They walked home in silence.
That night, as the sun slipped behind the hills, flashes of light appeared outside the house—many of them, moving in a line along the road. Neighbors? Guards? The boy didn’t wait to find out. He retreated to his room, heart hammering, the noises getting louder, certain he was losing his mind.
Then a familiar figure stepped through the doorway.
The girl in black stood at the foot of his bed, exactly as she had looked in the courtyard—raven hair in two long strands, black dress, black lips curved in that same small smile.
“How do you like the spell?” she asked. The roar seemed to stop when she came around. It gave the boy an uneasy peace.
“I hate it,” the boy said, voice cracking. “Why did you curse me?”
“It’s only a game,” she replied lightly. “All you have to do to lift it is say that you quit. Say that you lose.”
The boy’s heart leapt with hope. This was too strange, too frightening. He would do anything to make it end.
Before he could speak the words, the witch tilted her head.
“But remember—you agreed to play. In my games, the loser gives something of value. You promised me something of yours.”
The boy looked around his small room. Bed, blanket, half-eaten bread. Nothing worth taking.
“I have nothing,” he said.
“You have a soul,” the witch answered. “That is what I want.”
The boy frowned. His parents had never believed in an afterlife. They had never taught him that a soul was something precious. To him it was just a word.
“What is a soul good for anyway?” he muttered.
The witch did not answer.
The boy swallowed. The lights outside were still moving closer. The fear of going mad was bigger than any vague idea of a soul.
“I quit,” he said. “I lose.”
The words had barely left his mouth when the world snapped back into focus. He could see the witch clearly—her pale face, her black dress, the faint smile. Then she vanished, as suddenly as if she had never been there. He quickly ran into his parents room and gave his Mom a big old hug, and cried I can see again. His mom didn’t ask questions, she just wanted to be happy with the boy in that moment. The boy slept in his Mom’s arms. His eyesight was normal again. The nightmare was over.
Or so he thought.
Scene 4: The Burning
The next morning his parents were overjoyed. The boy could see them. He could see everything. They hugged him, made him breakfast, and told him to rest. By afternoon he felt almost normal again. He finished his chores quickly and walked back toward the castle courtyard, telling himself he needed to test his eyes in the bright sunlight—and maybe play with the other children, just to prove everything was truly fixed.
The children welcomed him without question. They played tag until they were breathless, then kick-the-ball until the shadows grew long. For a few hours the boy laughed and ran and forgot the lights, the witch, and the terror of the night before.
On the walk home the sky was turning gold. He was tired in a good way, his mind finally quiet.
Then he saw her.
The witch stood in front of his house, a burning torch in her hand. She looked a little older this time. Flames already licked the thatched roof and climbed the wooden walls. Smoke curled into the evening air.
“What is going on?” the boy shouted, breaking into a run. “What did you do?”
The witch did not move. The fire crackled behind her.
Thoughts crashed through the boy’s head—his parents, still inside? Or had they escaped? Where would they sleep? How would they live? The house was everything they had.
“What did you do?” he demanded again when he reached her. “You destroyed my home! What about my parents?”
The witch’s mouth opened. Her voice was soft but carried clearly over the roar of the flames.
“Mind. Will. Emotions. Your soul belongs to me.”
The boy stared at her, horror and fury twisting together in his chest.
“I don’t like you,” he said, voice shaking. “The townsfolk were right. You’re weird. I should have listened to them.”
The witch smiled, slow and pleased.
“Mind. Will. Emotions. Your soul is mine. Come to the dark forest. There is work for us to do.”
“I’m not going with you!” the boy yelled. “You’re insane!”
“Your emotions are rage mixed with curiosity,” the witch observed calmly. “Even now.”
The boy felt it happen inside him—like a door cracking open. Rage surged, hot and blinding… but underneath it, faster and stronger, curiosity bloomed. He wanted to know what she meant. He wanted to know what waited in the dark forest. The two feelings twisted around each other until he could barely tell them apart.
“It’s time to go,” the witch said.
“No—” the boy started, but the word died in his throat.
She stepped closer, close enough that he could smell smoke and something sweet and herbal on her.
“You’re hungry,” she whispered. “Your mind already knows you have no food, no shelter, no one who can truly help you now. I could lay another spell on you. No one would lift a hand. So your thoughts twist exactly the way I want them to.”
The boy felt his own mind turning against him. Every fear he had—hunger, cold, loneliness—seemed suddenly louder, more reasonable. Every reason to refuse her felt smaller, childish, pointless.
“Now that your mind and emotions belong to me,” the witch continued, “you have no real will of your own. You can do as I wish… or you can sit here, stupefied and alone. It is your choice.” Her black lips curved. “But we both know you have no real choice.”
The boy looked at the burning house. He looked at the road leading back to town, where no one would believe what had happened. He looked at the witch, patient and certain.
Something inside him gave way.
He nodded once, small and defeated.
The witch turned without another word and began walking toward the tree line where the dark forest waited. After a moment the boy followed, his feet moving even though his heart felt hollow. With no free soul, for he would now be at the witches mercy, he would have to give himself up to fate.
He did not look back at the flames.