"Good evening, lad"
It was a strange voice. Loren stopped his work and turned. An old woman peered at him over the fence. She frightened him; he dropped his hoe. He wanted to run.
She spoke again. It was in slow, drawn syllables, "Have you seen Marna?"
Loren had never heard of Marna. And he had no idea who the stranger might be. She was old, her back was bent, her dirty gray hair hung long and loosely over her cheeks. In the setting sun it was difficult to see her face, but the features appeared sharp and hideous. She carried a bundle on her back. Finally, Loren found his tongue, "Who ... Who is Marna?"
"Marna? Marna is my little girl. Have you seen her?"
"No ... no, I haven't." Loren began to feel sorry for the old woman. "Where did you lose her?"
'Lose? ... lose Marna? Oh, I didn't lose her. Someone took her away." The stranger stretched her arm over the fence. "Come here, Lad."
Loren hesitated a moment. He didn't want to get near her, but in spite of himself he stepped closer.
"The Curse of Sabina,"
Manuscripts: Vol. 9
, Article 6.
Available at: https://digitalcommons.butler.edu/manuscripts/vol9/iss4/6