Someone had placed a hat on top of her head. It tipped forward like a downed horse and covered most of her face, but it wasn't enough to ward off the vultures, which the boys knew waited low in the trees just some distance from this one, their hunger drawing them long and lean, like shadows, as the sun fell.
A few of the boys could just reach the hat's brim. "Go on, lift it," said Bryon.
"No way," said Louis.
"Chicken. You're chicken."
"I sure am," Louis announced. "Go ahead and show us how it's done, since you're so brave."
Bryon drew circles in the dust with the tips of his toes. "It's disrespectful," he said finally. "I just wanted to see if the body was still here."
"Disrespectful, nothing. She was a witch."
"That's just a story. She murdered someone is all. Ain't no such thing as witches."
"Then take off the hat."
"You do it."
"You."
While the others squabbled, a boy named Henry, tall and quiet, approached the hanged corpse. He raised his hand toward the hat, and everyone stopped. His fingers were so close.
Then the wind gusted. The vultures' shapes grew in the trees. And the boys turned and ran, each one of them suddenly believing in magic.
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