Bethany and the Witch
by Stephanie Mathews
The house looked normal. Not like a witch’s house at all. The lawn was freshly mowed and no broken windows. Bethany slowed her steps, but kept walking.
Bethany’s mom had suggested she sign up for an elderly outreach the church had. The idea was simple: companionship. No chores, no errands — just presence.
“Even if that just means sitting in the same room,” her mom had said. “It’s a blessing to have another person nearby. God didn’t design us to be alone. And with no family close, Mrs. Andrews needs her church family to stand in the gap.”
Bethany hadn’t argued much. She’d recently passed her driver’s test, and her parents had made it clear: freedom came with responsibility. Volunteering with the church’s elderly outreach was a way to show responsibility. Then maybe she could take the car by herself once in a while.
“You picked Mrs. Andrews?” Madison whispered, wide-eyed. “Do you not know?”
“People say she is a witch,” Chloe added.
Bethany had laughed at the time, rolling her eyes, but now she felt trepidation.
Witches aren’t real. At least, that’s what she told herself, though hadn’t the Bible talked about them? Saul and the witch of Endor? But that was ancient history. People back then believed all sorts of things. Witches are just fairytale villains and Halloween costumes.
A flicker of doubt sparked in the back of her mind. What if there was something more? Something people didn’t talk about, because it was true.
That night, Bethany sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor, her Bible open in front of her, a pen tapping against her knee. She reached for her phone and typed: “Bible verses about witches.”
Dozens of results popped up. She scrolled past the commentary and clicked on a simple list of verses.
“You shall not permit a sorceress to live.” — Exodus 22:18
Her stomach tightened.
That was … harsh.
“Do not turn to mediums or necromancers; do not seek them out, and so make yourselves unclean by them: I am the Lord your God.” — Leviticus 19:31
Bethany chewed on her thumbnail, reading it again.
She flipped to 1 Samuel 28 and skimmed the story of Saul and the witch of Endor, her eyes tracing quickly over the lines. A king so desperate to hear from God, he sought out the very kind of person he’d outlawed. It didn’t end well.
Bethany leaned back against her bed, staring up at the ceiling.
So maybe the rumors weren’t totally insane. The Bible didn’t treat witchcraft like a joke — it treated it like a real spiritual danger.
But Mrs. Andrews? A lonely widow who needed company? Could a woman like that really be something so dark? Bethany frowned. It was one thing to be curious. It was another to start assuming someone was evil just because they seemed a little strange.
She turned to the book of James; it was the book the youth group was reading.
“If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given him.” — James 1:5
She stared at the words. Maybe that was the better place to start — not with rumors, not with Google, but with God. Bethany opened her eyes and gave a slow sigh. Saturday was coming.
“Don’t forget the banana bread,” Bethany’s mom said, placing it in Bethany’s hands.
“Thanks.” Bethany took the bread and picked up her bag.
Her mom pulled her into a quick hug and whispered, “It won’t be so bad. Maybe it’ll even be fun.”
Bethany sat on the edge of the floral-patterned couch, her knees pressed together, hands folded over her book bag. Across the room, Mrs. Andrews hummed softly as she stirred something into a steaming mug.
“Chamomile and lemon balm,” Mrs. Andrews said, walking over and handing her the cup. “Helps calm the nerves.”
Bethany took the mug with both hands. “Thanks.”
She blew on the surface, trying to act casual, but her eyes wandered to the bookshelves lining the far wall. One title caught her attention: Earth Wisdom: Ancient Healings and Spirit Paths.
The whispers from the youth group came flooding back — spells, potions, midnight rituals, the garden that bloomed only at night.
Mrs. Andrews cleared her throat.
Bethany startled slightly. The old woman had noticed her staring.
“That’s just an old book,” Mrs. Andrews said gently. “It’s about herbal medicine and natural healing — nothing to do with earth worship or anything like that. I got interested in it during a mission trip.”
Bethany forced a smile. Can a Christian believe this kind of stuff?
Mrs. Andrews lowered herself into the recliner across from her. “My husband had been sick for a while before he passed,” she said gently. “I knew his illness had gone beyond what the medicine could do, but it felt good to do something, even something as small as making a cup of herbal tea to help him sleep.”
Her voice cracked just enough to let the grief show, and her eyes glistened with memory.
“So …” she began, trying to steer away from the awkward moment. “Do you get many visitors?”
Mrs. Andrews smiled faintly. “A few from church. People mostly stop by to drop off a meal.”
Mrs. Andrews glanced out the window beside her chair. “Would you like to see the garden?”
“Sure,” she said.
Bethany followed her through the kitchen and out the back door. Everything was green, fragrant, and alive. Bees hovered lazily over lavender, and a small fountain trickled in the corner.
“It’s really nice,” Bethany said.
Mrs. Andrews smiled as she crouched to pinch a few sprigs of mint. “It’s a gift to be able to grow things. One of the many blessings God has given us.”
The garden wrapped around the back of the house in a crescent, and near the far end stood a circle of smooth stones half-buried in the soil. Inside it grew nothing but pale silvery-green plants with small star-shaped flowers.
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing.
“Moonwort,” she said softly, “and a few other plants that bloom at night. My husband called it my midnight garden.”
Bethany said, “I didn’t know plants did that?”
“Moths need to eat too,” Mrs. Andrews said.
A sudden rustle came from the trees at the edge of the property.
Bethany turned quickly. “Did you hear that?”
Mrs. Andrews nodded, “Likely just the crows. They like to visit in the afternoon.”
Bethany scanned the tree line, and sure enough, two black shapes flapped up into the sky, cawing.
“They like to talk sometimes,” Mrs. Andrews added, her eyes twinkling. “I think they miss my husband. He used to feed them peanuts.”
Bethany gave a nervous laugh, but her heart was thudding harder than she wanted to admit. She tried to shake it off. Witches aren’t real. This is just a garden. Just a woman grieving.
She stepped back. “I should probably get going.”
Mrs. Andrews nodded. “Of course. You’ve been very kind to visit with me.”
They walked in silence. The house felt darker than it had when they left. She picked up her bag, hugging it close.
“Thanks for the tea,” she said.
Mrs. Andrews tilted her head. “You seem afraid.”
Bethany froze.
The words were too direct, too knowing.
“I’m not —” she started.
“You’ve been nervous since you walked in,” Mrs. Andrews continued, “You saw the book. You heard the rumors.”
Bethany clutched her bag tighter, heart pounding.
“Are you?” she asked. It slipped out before she could stop it. “Are you a witch?”
Mrs. Andrews didn’t flinch. She just looked at Bethany.
“No. I know how to use things God made. Things that some people have forgotten how to understand.”
Bethany stepped back. “The Bible says to stay away from magic.”
“And you should,” Mrs. Andrews said, “But not everything called ‘magic’ is that. Sometimes people call something evil just because they don’t understand it. Healing herbs and the way creation speaks when we slow down enough to hear it — none of that is sorcery, Bethany, but like anything, it can be twisted and used for ill.”
Bethany’s mouth was dry. “So… what are you?”
Mrs. Andrews looked up at her, her eyes clear and unsettlingly gentle. “I am someone who has walked close to the veil. I’ve stood at deathbeds, prayed over the dying, and asked God for wisdom when doctors had none left. I’ve learned things by having the dark surround me; things that you can’t learn in the light. That doesn’t make me a witch. But it makes me a person who has seen the bad of this life, the awfulness of the curse; sin. Yet has seen God’s goodness through it all.”
Bethany stared at her. Her heart thundered with confusion — part fear, part awe, part something she couldn’t name.
Mrs. Andrews walked over to her bookshelf and pulled down a small leather-bound book — not the herbal one, but a Bible, old and worn.
“Test everything. Hold fast to what is good. 1 Thessalonians 5:21,” Mrs. Andrews read.
“Come back next Saturday,” the old woman said. “Bring your Bible. Bring your questions. But don’t bring fear.”
Bethany nodded slowly, not trusting her voice. And as she stepped back out into the afternoon sun, she wasn’t sure if she felt braver … or more afraid.
The next Saturday, Bethany returned. She had questions.
“I read that verse again. The one in 1 Thessalonians.”
Mrs. Andrews smiled. “Test everything?”
Bethany nodded. “And … I’ve been thinking about 1 Corinthians, too. Where Paul says that even if something isn’t wrong by itself, it can still hurt someone else’s faith. Like eating food sacrificed to idols. He said that if it causes a brother to stumble, he won’t do it.”
Mrs. Andrews looked out at the garden.
“Yes. I remember that passage. And you’re right.”
She stood slowly and walked inside. When she returned, she was holding the book — Earth Wisdom — the one Bethany had seen on the shelf. Its corners were frayed, the spine cracked from use.
“I’ve had this for a long time,” Mrs. Andrews said. “It helped me learn how to make teas that eased pain. Oils that helped hospice patients rest. But I also see now … the title alone sends a message I never intended.”
Bethany looked at her, surprised. “You’re getting rid of it?”
She placed the book gently on the porch table. “If it hinders your walk with Christ, I’d rather let go of it.”
“I think I judged you too quickly,” Bethany said, “I let the rumors control me. That’s part of why I came back: to apologize. It was really awful of me.”
“And I think I forgot how it feels to be young, and trying to tell what’s true in a noisy world,” Mrs. Andrews replied with a warm smile.
She opened her Bible and looked down at the verse she’d marked: “Let us therefore make every effort to do what leads to peace and to mutual edification.” — Romans 14:19
“Can we read together?” she asked.
Mrs. Andrews’ face brightened. “I’d like that.”
At youth group, Bethany spotted Madison and Chloe.
“So,” Madison said, arms crossed, “you visited Mrs. Andrews. Are the rumors true?”
“She’s just a woman,” Bethany said, “who’s been through a lot. She’s not a witch.”
Chloe raised an eyebrow, “But what about the potions, and old books? The garden that blooms at night?”
“The book is about herbs, the potion is just tea, and part of the garden has plants that bloom at night for the moths to pollinate.” She paused, meeting their eyes. “I was scared at first, too. But I was wrong. Those kinds of rumors can really hurt people.”
Madison looked down, fidgeting with her bracelet, and Chloe’s expression softened. “I guess we shouldn’t have spread those rumors.”
“It’s better to ask questions than to whisper stories,” Bethany said and took the car keys to drive herself home.
About the Author
Stephanie Mathews: I am a part-time librarian, avid reader, published author, and homeschool mom. I enjoy spending time with my husband, daughter, and dog. We enjoy walks, camping, stargazing, and bird watching — any activity outside, along with staying home watching movies.
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