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dontlookimnotabroad-blog · 7 years ago

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Festival of the Witch’s Rite: Part 4

Part 4 Meredyth woke up with her head throbbing. The sun was high off the horizon, and she shielded her eyes from the light. She saw a glass of water on her nightstand and thirstily downed it. Mind and body feeling fuzzy, she freshened up and left her room. Taretha was sitting in the living room with her mother and father. A kettle hung on a hook by the fire. “Meredyth, dear, come eat. You slept very late.” Taretha commented, gesturing to a bowl of fruit on the table. Sylaria cut a few slices of bread and put it on a plate. “I think I’ll wait. I’m not hungry right now.” “Eat, dear. You have a long day ahead.” Meredyth sat in one of the big, fluffy chairs. Sylaria practically shoved the food onto her lap. After a moment, Meredyth took a bite. Taretha turned to Sylaria. “After breakfast, she, Aryst and I were going to go shopping. Is that alright with you?” Sylaria shot a quick glance at Meredyth, then shared an agonized look with Domyro. “No.” There was an awkward pause. Sylaria quickly continued. “I think she’s tired from dancing yesterday. Aren’t you, Meredyth?” She looked at Meredyth meaningfully. “No.” Meredyth said. “Don’t be silly.” Sylaria said with a wave of her hand. “You were out late. Taretha, I’d prefer it if she stayed home today.” Meredyth frowned angrily. “I want to go.” “You should stay. I need some help in the bakery.” “The bakery’s fine, Mom. I’m going to go with them.” “I said no, Meredyth.” Domyro piped up. “Meredyth, listen to your mother.” Taretha had been watching coolly. “Your parents have the right of it. Get some rest, dear. We will see each other later.” “Wait. I wanted to go with you and Aryst.” Meredyth said. “There will be other opportunities.” Taretha said as she left. Sylaria watched her go with a bitter expression, but said nothing. For a long moment, no one spoke. Domyro broke the silence. “Do either of you want some tea?” “No, thank you.” Sylaria was still looking at the door. “No.” Meredyth stood, leaving her food on the table. “I’m not hungry.” She left the room.

Taretha hastened to Aryst’s shop. When she arrived, she immediately went into the sitting room. Aryst looked up from her reading, startled. “Aryst, I believe Meredyth told her mother about her being a witch.” “And?” “Sylaria has always feared Meredyth finding out.” “Why?” Taretha looked at her for a long moment. Did she not know? A tinkling bell interrupted them, announcing a visitor to the shop. Aryst and Taretha left the sitting room together to find Sylaria storming in. Her eyes were like green fire and her scowl deepened when she saw Aryst and Taretha. “Taretha, why did you tell her?” “We felt that she needed to know. Magic is dangerous.” “This town is dangerous! You know how they feel about witches. Why would you subject Meredyth to that?” Aryst broke in. “We’re not subjecting Meredyth to anything. We made it very clear to her that she shouldn’t tell anyone. No one would know otherwise. She needs to learn to use her magic, Sylaria. She’s already too old not to know.” Sylaria glared at her with a look that could have melted steel. “She’s too young to know what this village does to witches. She’s too young to be in that kind of danger. And she’s too young to know what happened here. I’ll let you have your weird power trips, Aryst, but I won’t have my daughter being involved in any part of them!” Aryst took a step forward. “Power trips? Excuse me?” Taretha stepped in between them. “Aryst, enough. Syl, trust us. We have the best intentions, and if you knew you would believe us. Please.” Sylaria’s eyes, still locked onto Aryst, blazed with fury. “I don’t want you anywhere near my daughter.” She turned on her heel and stormed out of the shop.

Meredyth went into her room, head still throbbing. Why wasn’t she allowed to use magic? Especially if it was so dangerous. Shouldn’t she learn it and get better at it? More importantly, why did her mom get that attitude with her? She was never like that. What was her problem? Meredyth was almost an adult. Her mom had no right to keep her from doing what she wanted to do. Being a witch scared Meredyth, but she was brave. Plus, she needed to learn how to use magic. She might even be able to make the villagers like witches! Yeah, that’s what she would do. She would practice her magic, get good at it, and then show people that witches weren’t evil. She picked up the candle that was sitting on the nightstand and set it down in front of her. She didn’t have the necklace, but if she focused her eyes just the right way, she could see shimmering specks in the air. Concentrating, she began to practice. She lit the candle eight times, blowing it out after each time. It became easier and easier. In fact, the more magic she used, the more shimmering specks there were around her. As if using magic created them or summoned them from somewhere. She used magic until her whole room was glowing. She spun a pen around on her desk with a light gust of air. She heated a mug of water until it was steaming. Why was it so hard the first time? All the glowing specks made it so easy. And she could do anything! Why didn’t her mom want her to try this? She paused, wondering what to do next. When she did, she heard hushed whispers coming from outside. She looked out her window, but she didn’t see anyone. She decided to take a break to investigate. She left her house and stopped dead in the street, gaping. A wolf stood in the center of Sareht. A large wolf, bigger than any she’d ever seen. Its fur was black as soot, and its eyes burned with a ferocious intensity that seemed to scorch anything they looked at. It walked with an easy grace, seeming to part the air and flow past it rather than move through it. Its footfalls were completely silent, even on the gravel roads. If it didn’t have shape, Meredyth would have mistaken it for a shadow. People lined the road and stared at it with wide eyes, following it but giving it a wide berth. It walked up the road and stopped as two figures swiftly approached it. It turned to look at them and snarled, laying its ears back against its head. Its eyes grew even more intense, more ferocious. Aryst and Taretha joined hands, the necklace in between them. They stood without fear, as if they had prepared for this. For a moment that seemed like a lifetime, nothing moved. The silence was deafening. Slowly, the wolf began to shimmer. As if it could sense magic being used, it barked loudly, a sudden, sharp sound that rang through the village. The shimmering continued and grew in intensity. Suddenly, somehow, the wolf vanished. It simply stopped existing. Aryst and Taretha released their hands, breathing hard. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. After a moment, Aryst and Taretha turned to walk away. The villagers moved as one, keeping them at the center of the ring of people. The villagers watched them with expressions ranging from terrified awe to outright fear to pure hatred. Aryst and Taretha stopped, looked at each other, and met the gazes of the villagers with unreadable expressions. When Aryst saw Meredyth, her jaw tightened. Her eyes seemed to say This was your fault.

#writing #short story #fantasy #witch's rite #it's finally getting interesting #if anyone knows how to format on tumblr please tell me #paragraphs aren't copying over for some reason

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dontlookimnotabroad-blog · 7 years ago

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Festival of the Witch’s Rite: Part 3

As the crowds dispersed, Taretha helped Mr. Yeranem up and removed the rope from his neck. “Thank you, Taretha! You were wonderful tonight. Just splendid. That was a good amount of fun, just like it is every year. I’m so glad I was part of it.” Taretha removed his hood and he turned to look at her. “Did you enjoy it?” “Yes.” “Is something wrong? You’re very quiet.” “I’m just tired.” He hesitated. “Are you crying, Taretha?” “No.” There was silence for a few moments. “I will say, it was a moving performance. I wouldn’t fault someone for tearing up.” “Thank you.” He looked at her for a moment longer and then walked away. Taretha stooped to lay the hood on the stage, taking care to fold it just so. They used the same hood year after year, so they wanted it to look as fresh and neat as possible. She untied the knot and coiled the long rope. Meredyth walked up to the stage, waving her arm to catch Taretha’s attention. “Taretha!” She stood up, holding the props. “Hello, Meredyth.” “Good job tonight! I think if there was a Council of Seven, you’d be great on it.” “Thank you.” “I wanted to ask you something. Can you come down to talk?” “No.” She hitched the coil of rope onto her shoulder. “I must help to clear the stage, and, truth be told, I am very tired. Is it urgent?” “No, it can wait. I just want to know about that weird shop we went to yesterday.” Taretha looked away. She didn’t want to tell Meredyth. Not yet. “I will explain everything to you later. Now go get some sleep, dear.” Meredyth sighed. “Alright, but can we meet tomorrow morning? Here, at the Goddess Tree?” “Sure, Meredyth. I will meet you here tomorrow.” “Good. I have so many questions! Have a good night. And don’t forget!” Taretha watched as Meredyth turned around and walked away. That girl was way too curious. She would run into trouble one day, if she wasn’t careful. Taretha carried the props away with a sigh. This would require delicacy.

Meredyth walked toward the low stone cottage where her aunt and uncle lived. She drew her cloak more tightly around her as she walked, more aware of the cold now that she was away from the crowd. She couldn’t get that shop out of her mind. She had tried to go there earlier, but she couldn’t find it. It was as if the alleyway didn’t exist! Meredyth had lived in this village for her whole life. How had she never seen that alley before, and how was it possible that she couldn’t find it again? Why were there so many things with odd effects on her? She walked into the cottage, trying to put the shop out of her mind and focus on the festival. The next three days were a harvest dance, although it was usually more like a party than a dance. Every year, a husband and wife came with a dulcimer and flute and they played and sang the most beautiful music. The villagers would dance the nights away, talking and laughing, drinking the different flavors of wine that merchants brought from around the province. Meredyth went to sleep, trying not to think about the shop and her meeting with Taretha in the morning. Meredyth awoke before the sun rose. She dressed quietly and stepped out of her cottage into the gray light of pre-dawn. Though it was early, the village already coming alive, filled with the sounds of early morning duties. Washing women carried woolens to the river, stablehands changed hay and fed the horses, and cattle lowed in the distance. Meredyth excitedly walked to the Goddess Tree, looking around for Taretha. Where was she? A washing woman walked by, carrying a basket across the square. The woman dropped her basket, spilling clothes on the muddy snow. Meredyth idly watched as the woman hastily picked up the clothes, trying to shake them free of mud. Finally, after what felt like forever, Taretha walked up. “Good morning, dear.” “Good morning! I wanted to-” “I know you’re curious, dear, but let’s discuss this somewhere else. Come with me, please.” Taretha interrupted and turned to walk down the street. Meredyth cut off with a frown and followed Taretha. “Where are we going?” “Aryst’s shop.” Taretha walked through the street so quickly that Meredyth had to hurry to catch up. She was surprisingly fast for an old woman. As they approached the alley, Meredyth stopped suddenly. “Wait.” Taretha stopped and turned around. “I grew up here. Before a few days ago, I didn’t know this alleyway existed. I walked all around here yesterday, but I couldn’t find it. What’s going on?” Taretha urgently looked around. “I will explain everything soon. Please keep quiet, for now.” She turned and walked quickly down the alleyway. Meredyth followed, her frown deepening. She had so many questions, but she held them back. A tinkling bell greeted them as they entered the shop. Taretha swiftly walked to the back of the store, beckoning Meredyth to follow. Meredyth lingered for a moment, looking at the gems and statues, then followed Taretha into the back room. Aryst greeted them and poured them each a cup of tea. A spicy smell filled the room. “Good morning, Meredyth.” “Hi, Aryst.” Aryst looked at Taretha. “Do you want to get started, then?’ “I suppose. Meredyth, look at this, please.” She held out a golden necklace with a deep crimson gem. Meredyth looked at it. “What’s that?” Taretha didn’t say anything. After a moment, Meredyth looked back at the gem. It caught the early sunlight at the right angle to make it seem like it was glowing. The chain was golden metal—whoever made this had to be a master metalworker. The setting around the gem seemed to shine with light, highlighting the deep colors and precise cut of the stone. A master metalworker and a master jeweler, too. “What is it? It’s very shiny.” Taretha and Aryst both stayed quiet, looking at her. “Wait.” She looked around. The back room of the shop didn’t have windows. There were candles in sconces on the walls and light filtered through the curtain from the rest of the shop, but the sunlight coming in wasn’t that strong. What light was the gem reflecting? Meredyth looked back at the necklace and then looked up at Taretha with wide eyes. “How…?” “This necklace is made of Spiricite. Only certain people can see it glowing.” Aryst rolled her eyes. “Only witches can see it glowing.” “Witches?” “Yes. Meredyth, you’re a witch.” Meredyth frowned. “Witches aren’t real. You’re playing a trick on me.” “Come here, dear. Allow me to put it on.” Meredyth put her cup of tea down and kneeled in front of Taretha. As soon as she felt the cool metal band around her neck, a strange and wonderful power filled her. Colors became more vivid, sounds became clearer and sharper. She heard the kettle gently bubbling away over the fire. The sweet scent of the tea mixed with the sharp incense from the other room. Somehow, inexplicably, she felt more alive. Meredyth tried to find words, but all she could do was stammer. “I saw you looking at Spiricite brooches when you were here a few days ago. Did you not wonder about them?” Aryst said. Meredyth found her tongue. “I-I couldn’t touch them. Like there was a wall between me and them.” “Oh, I forgot about that. I enchanted them so that curious children wouldn’t get themselves into trouble.” “The alley. You enchanted this alley, too, right? I’ve lived here my whole life and I didn’t even know it existed until a few days ago.” Aryst exchanged glances with Taretha. “This alleyway is enchanted, but that wasn’t me. That was done a long time ago.” “How did they do it? How does it work?” Taretha answered. “Magic is complicated, and we will explain it to you, but you must do something very important for us. You must tell no one.” “What? Why?” “There is a certain stigma around witches…” “What do you mean?” “It means that a lot of people hate witches.” Aryst broke in. “Please take off the necklace and sit down.” Reluctantly, Meredyth allowed Taretha to remove the necklace. Colors faded, and the world became lifeless as she sank back down into her chair. It felt like part of her drained away, like she had lost part of herself. She listened regretfully, sipping tea, as Taretha spoke. “The scenes from last night were very much based in truth. There was a very powerful witch who set the Goddess Tree on fire and caused a major panic in Sareht. Everyone feared her, so no one would put the fire out. The tree burned for days before a rainstorm finally doused it. In the panic, both during and after, the villagers kicked every witch out of Sareht. They have been suspicious of us ever since.” “Suspicious?” Aryst said. “More like hateful and crude. I’ve seen a witch get pelted with stones just walking out of her house.” Taretha shot her a look. Aryst shrugged. “She needs to know that it’s dangerous.” Meredyth shrank back into her chair and clutched her mug with both hands. Nobody would do that to her, would they? She didn’t do anything wrong! “Meredyth, dear, we won’t let anything happen to you. You are safe.” “Did they really hang her?” The witch, I mean.” Meredyth said. Taretha and Aryst shared a look. “No.” A moment passed before anyone spoke again. “Did she die?” Aryst took a deep breath. “Yes, she’s dead. Taretha, can we start training her? The sooner, the better, I think.” “Sure. Meredyth, dear, please follow us.” They walked out of the shop into the frosty morning air. Beautiful archways and columns of stone surrounded them as they crunched their way farther down the alleyway. The stone buildings dwarfed anything Meredyth had seen in Sareht, but they would be invisible from outside the alleyway. What a clever trick! They approached a large building that looked like it hadn’t been used in centuries. Inside the wide double doors was a room with long, wooden benches along the walls and a raised dais toward the back. Otherwise, the room was empty. Their footsteps echoed on the bare walls as they entered, their boots scraping dusty marble floors. There were standing lamps along the walls, although large windows on the ceiling allowed plenty of sunlight to slant into the room. Aryst brought a lamp to the center of the room, placed an unlit candle in the holder, then turned to address Meredyth. “We will show you how to do magic, but—” “No.” “What?” “I don’t want to.” Aryst didn’t know what to say. “I don’t want to be pelted with stones, or hurt, or hanged.” Meredyth said shakily. Taretha stood up from the bench and approached her. “Meredyth, dear, no one will hurt you. We will protect you. No witch has been pelted with stones in quite a long time. You have nothing to fear.” “Yeah,” Aryst spoke up. “Don’t you want to learn about your powers, anyway? Don’t you want to learn to use them?” Meredyth shifted uncomfortably and looked at her feet. “I don’t know. I don’t want anything bad to happen.” “Nothing will.” “Then alright, I guess.” Taretha walked to the bench on the side of the room and sat down again, a look of concentration on her face. “Good.” Aryst said. “We will show you how to do magic, but there are rules you need to follow. First, never use magic without either Taretha or I nearby. Understood?” “Understood.” “Next, don’t try to use more magic than you need to. It might be hard to control at first, but err on the side of caution. Understood?” “Understood.” “Great. Now, I told you before, but this is important so I’m going to say it again. Do not tell anyone. Understood?” “Understood.” “Good. Let’s start, then. Are you ready, Taretha?” “Yes.” “Good.” Aryst pulled the glowing necklace out of her pocket and held it out to Meredyth. “Because you’re new to magic, I will let you wear the necklace during this training session, but only this training session.” Meredyth took the necklace and hungrily latched it around her neck. A sweet sense of power and energy filled her, sharpening her senses and filling her with life. Dust motes drifted in the slanting sunlight. The spicy smell of the shop hung about Aryst ever so faintly. Everything was more vivid, more alive. Meredyth gaped in wonder at the feeling of power. “Witches react to Spiricite in different ways, but all of them say they see everything shimmering slightly. Do you see that, Meredyth?” Meredyth hadn’t noticed it, but it did seem like everything was glowing slightly. The air around Taretha, still sitting on the bench, was shimmering slightly more. “I didn’t see it at first, but now I do. Yeah.” “That shimmer is magic, and it’s always been there. It’s just so slight that you’ve probably never noticed. You can use this magic to do things. Try to light this candle.” “What? But I don’t know how.” “Try.” Meredyth frowned. Was this her training? Wasn’t training supposed to have instructions or something? Pushing her frustration aside, she concentrated. She tried force the shimmering air together by willpower. To her surprise, the shimmering air began to converge on the candle. She concentrated harder, harder. Gradually a shimmering orb formed around the candle’s wick. The wick began to smolder, and then a small flame appeared. Meredyth was speechless. “I haven’t seen anyone light it so quickly their first time. Well done.” The flame vanished and the shimmering air dissipated. “Now do it again.” Meredyth lit the candle three more times before she grew tired. This was exhausting work! Even with the necklace, she felt drained. She sat down on the bench next to Taretha. Seeing her exhaustion, Aryst extinguished the candle and took the necklace back from Meredyth. The world faded. After a moment, Taretha spoke. “You are doing very well, dear.” “Thank you, Taretha. This is tiring.” “Yes, it is. But it will get easier with practice.” “Do you think you’re done for today, or do you want to practice more?” Aryst asked Meredyth. “I’m tired. I don’t think I want to practice any more today.” “Alright. Let’s go back, then.” Aryst led them through the narrow alley back to the village. On the way back to her parents’ house, Meredyth looked at the faces of everyone she passed. Did anyone suspect her of anything? Could anyone tell she was a witch? She walked quickly, trying to avoid conversations. When she got to the cottage, she went into her room and shut the door. Feeling drained, she crawled into her bed and fell into a fitful sleep.

Meredyth woke up to the sound of a conversation and boots scraping the wood floor. Though she couldn’t tell what they were talking about, it was unmistakably her mother and father. They were back, and they were earlier than she thought they’d be! She quickly freshened up and left the bedroom. Domyro and Sylaria were carrying bags down the hallway but put them down when they saw her. “Meredyth, honey, we missed you!” They embraced Meredyth, each giving her a kiss on the cheek. “I missed you too! How’s Grandpa?” “Good. He misses you, too.” Her mom lifted a bag and carried it into the room across the hall from Meredyth’s. “He says next time you go there, he’ll have more work for you to do.” “Oh, cool! I like working in his library. There are some interesting books there.” Her dad rolled his eyes. “I love you, but you’re not a normal teenager.” Meredyth froze. No, she wasn’t a normal teenager. She was a witch. Did her parents know? What would they say if they found out? Domyro looked at her, concern on his face. “Meredyth, are you alright?” “Yeah, I’m fine, Dad. I know I’m not a normal teenager, and I’m sure you wouldn’t have it any other way.” She choked out a laugh. Her dad looked at her. After a long pause, he spoke. “You know you can tell me anything, right? I’ll love you no matter what.” Meredyth looked at her feet. “Yeah, Dad. I know. Thanks.” Her mom came in from the other room. “Is something wrong?” “No, Mom, everything’s fine.” She did her best to keep her voice from trembling. She didn’t want her parents to think anything was wrong, especially right after they came back from a long trip. “Honey, we know you better than that. Come. I’ll make some tea and we can sit and talk about it, just like we used to.” It wasn’t up for discussion. Sylaria carried the other bag into the room and started unpacking her things without waiting for Meredyth to respond. “Okay.” Meredyth said, more to herself than anyone else. Mind elsewhere, she went to the family room and lit a fire on the hearth. Taretha and Aryst told her not to tell anyone, but was it really such a big deal if she told her parents? They always knew what to do, what to say. What could possibly go wrong? Her mom entered the room with a kettle and hung it over the fire. Her dad came in with an armful of wood. He set it down near the door when he saw a fire already blazing on the hearth and sat on one of the padded chairs across from the fireplace. Her mom sat down after putting tea leaves into the kettle. “So, Meredyth, what’s on your mind?” They were both looking at her with concerned faces. “I was talking with Aryst and Taretha this morning and they told me something.” Meredyth stammered. It occurred to her what this sounded like. A witch? Would her parents believe her? “What did they tell you?” Meredyth swallowed hard. “I’m a witch.” Her dad blinked, looking quickly at her mom. Sylaria went pale, staring agape at Meredyth. “Taretha and Aryst took me to this old building and we practiced magic. Aryst told me that I’m learning fast. What’s wrong, Mom?” Sylaria tried to compose herself. “Honey…” She trailed off, trying to find the words. “I was afraid of this,” she mumbled under her breath. Meredyth shrank back into her chair. “Sweetheart, please don’t use magic.” “What? Why?” “The people in this village don’t like witches because of something that happened a long time ago. If anyone found out, you could-” “No one’s going to find out, Mom. Aryst and Taretha both told me I would be safe.” Myro was looking at Sylaria steadily. She looked back at him. They held each other’s gaze for a moment, exchanging unspoken thoughts. Finally, she relented. She sighed and looked back at Meredyth. “My mother was a witch, too.” Meredyth was speechless. “My grandmother was… Are you one?” “No, I’m not a witch.” “What about you, Dad?” A hint of a smile crossed his face. “Only women can be witches. Men don’t react to Spiricite.” “Meredyth, you are not to use magic. I can’t risk this village finding out about us.” “Us?” Sylaria shot a wide-eyed look at Domyro, then composed herself again. “It’s for your safety.” “I’ll be safe! I never get into trouble.” Sylaria buried her face into her hands. Myro looked at Meredyth. “Trust me, you should listen to your mom.” Something on his face said he was serious, more serious than she had ever seen him. Despite the fire on the hearth, the room suddenly felt colder. She frowned. “Okay.” “Thank you, honey.” Meredyth went to her room and opened her wardrobe. The sun was sinking lower on the horizon, and she still needed to prepare. Taretha would be here any minute! She didn’t have very many dresses suitable for dancing, but the one with the lace cuffs would do. She looked absolutely regal wearing it, with its royal purple bodice and pleated skirts. Hearing a knock on the front door, she dressed quickly. When she left her room, her parents were seated in the living room with Mr. Yeranem. “Hi, Mr. Yeranem.” “Hi, Meredyth. You look nice. Do you have any more bread for me?” He laughed. “No, Mr. Yeranem, but next time. And it’ll be really, really good.” “I can’t wait. I love it when you bake the sesame seeds in the bread.” “Sesame seeds are hard to find this time of year, Mr. Yeranem. Our stores are running low.” Sylaria leered at Meredyth. “We’ll bake you some, Mr. Yeranem. You can count on it.” “Fantastic. You know I-” He cut off when there was a knock on the door. Meredyth opened it to Taretha, who was dressed in a beautiful violet gown that widened at the bottom in a shower of crinoline. “Taretha! We match!” “Yes, dear, it seems we do.” She didn’t seem to care. “I’ll go change. Wait here.” Meredyth changed into a flowing red dress with a matching red cloak and they left the house. She looked so beautiful in the purple one, but she still looked good in the red.

Lilting music drifted up the street as they approached the square. A woman was singing a soft melody as a man strummed a dulcimer. Snowflakes drifted lazily downward. The crowd danced in time to the music by flickering lamplight. A group of people stood near a table by the Goddess Tree, sipping from steaming mugs and talking and laughing. Meredyth and Taretha danced the night away, drinking hot cider, forgetting the world.

#how do i do tumblr again #witch's rite #fantasy #short story #writing #fiction #i want your feedback

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dontlookimnotabroad-blog · 8 years ago

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Festival of the Witch’s Rite: Part 2

Meredyth awoke the next morning still thinking about that weird shop from the night before. Three. There were three gems there that she couldn't touch, and two wood carvings that stirred something deep inside of her. As if they were ingrained in her memory as part of her childhood, but she had never seen them before. When she picked them up, she knew automatically that they had a purpose. She knew they had a use, a power. But she didn't know what it was or how to use them. She knew that certain artifacts had certain effects on her, but she had never, ever seen that many in one place before. She had to ask Taretha about it. There was no forgetting that.

After breaking her fast on fresh bread and cheese, Meredyth set out to find Taretha. Since Taretha would be playing a role in that night’s ritual, Meredyth wanted to find her before preparations began.

The second day of the festival was a reenactment of what happened in the village fifty years ago. Each year, volunteers would pick roles, build sets, and recreate the events that lead to the town’s rebirth. There was never a lack of volunteers; everyone in the village loved the ritual. With each passing year, the sets got more elaborate and the roles got more exaggerated. Meredyth used to participate, but she got less interested as she grew older. It seemed rather childish to her now. She still liked to watch the villagers, though, and she loved hearing the story told over again.

Meredyth walked around the whole village, but Taretha was nowhere to be found. She even knocked on the door of Taretha’s little cottage, but Taretha wasn’t there. Reluctantly, she gave up her search. She would ask about that weird shop when they saw each other after the enactment. She would not forget this time.

Taretha picked up a broad necklace with a glowing green gem on it and held it to the light, admiring it. It looked so much better lit by the sun than by dim, flickering torches.

“I think this should go very nicely with my dress tonight. What do you think?”

“I don’t think one of the Council of Seven would wear something like that.” Aryst said flatly.

“Oh, come now. This isn’t meant to be so serious, you know.”

“Taretha, are you serious? You know what this ritual’s about, right? You were there when this took place. You remember what happened. Do you have any respect for that day?”

Taretha’s face darkened. “Of course I do. I remember it too well. Aryst, the townsfolk remember this as a happy event. We must act like it was, no matter what consequences it had for us.” She put the gem down and studied Aryst for a moment. “I’m as frustrated as you are. But there’s nothing we can do.”

Aryst looked down at her hands and sighed. After a moment, she looked back up at Taretha. “I think that gem would look amazing with the dress you’re going to wear tonight. I’ll let you borrow it for the evening, if you’d like.”

Taretha smiled. “I’d very much like that. Thank you, dear.” She took the gem with her as she left the shop and started across town.

Mr. Yeranem lived in a small hut on the east side of the village. Taretha knocked on the old wooden door, and it opened with a creak. Mr. Yeranem stood hunched in the doorway, grinning at her. He looked as old and worn as his hut did. His hair stuck out of his head at odd angles and his teeth were cracked and yellow with age.

“Taretha! It’s good to see you!” He rasped. His voice was old and rough from years of coughing fits. “How’s your family?” Taretha sighed and looked away. Sometimes, Mr. Yeranem seemed to be living in another time.

“They’re doing well. What have you been working on?” His hut was littered with unfinished projects and things that had been taking apart but not quite put back together yet.

“Mr. Jordan’s clock broke and he wanted me to fix it, but I haven’t gotten around to it yet. Little Robert was sick last week, you know.” He pulled out a cloth and coughed violently into it for a few seconds, and then continued, gasping for breath while he talked. “It’s just a head cold, so I gave him some weirmot root tea and he improved.” After another coughing fit, he offered Taretha a chair that had a pile of books on it.

“Oh, that’s not necessary. I’ll be leaving soon.”

“You have a part in the festival, too, don’t you? You have to prepare. Take your time doing that, because this year’s going to be a big one!” He said that for every festival.

“Yes, I have a part. I just came by to see if you needed anything. I know you’ve been busy, what with the clock and little Robert.”

“I thought I needed some more bread, but Meredyth brought me some a little while ago. I think she was looking for someone.” Another violent coughing fit. “I think that child is up to no good. She’s always asking about this and that, poking her nose where it doesn’t belong. I say, she should just keep to herself and work in the bakery. And that’s not just because I like the bread. Have you tried the sesame seed bread? It’s the best.”

“Yes, Mr. Yeranem. It’s very good.”

“Anyway, what was I talking about? Oh, Meredyth. She keeps asking me if I believe in witches. I don’t know what to say to her. I don’t want her to know. I think she’d somehow find a way to repeat the past, and I don’t like it. I want what’s in the past to stay there. But, in truth, it was easier back then for a young apothecary to do his work. I seem to remember a young Taretha with night terrors. You would go right to sleep after having your wildberry soup, all curled up with the little doll your mother made for you.”

“That was long ago, Mr. Yeranem.”

“And Meredyth had night terrors when she was that age, too. I thought it was so kind of you to give that doll to her.” He burst into a fit of forceful coughing, his face turning red. He gasped for breath between coughs.

Taretha broke in. “It was nice to speak with you, Mr. Yeranem, but I really should be going now. I need to prepare for tonight.”

“Oh, that’s right. The festival is tonight. I think I have a part in that, too.”

“Yes, Mr. Yeranem. You’ll be playing the witch. Remember?”

Mr. Yeranem smiled broadly, his cracked teeth making his smile look crooked. “Yes, the witch. It’s finally my turn to play the witch. I couldn’t be more excited for it.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I’ll see you this evening, alright?”

“Alright. Have a good evening.”

“You too, Mr. Yeranem. Let me know if you need anything.” She left his hut feeling grateful that she still had her wits. She walked back to her cottage, planning for the night.

As the sun sank toward the horizon, villagers and visitors gathered in the town square. Meredyth joined the crowd, excited to see the story told again. As it got darker, a man carrying a flame lit several large torches around the stage. Villagers began taking their places on the raised wooden platform at the north end of the square, and the audience quieted. The Narrator spoke.

“Before we start, I want to thank all of you for coming. You really make it a joy to put on this festival. What?”A small boy ran out to the center of the stage, said something, and then ran away again. “Oh. Yes. I’d like to introduce our cast. The villagers and extra roles will be played by the children: Zelda, Rauru, Dina, Farosh, Nayra, and Kilton. The Council of Seven will be played by Egwene, Perrin, Elayne, Matrim, Nynaeve, and Taretha.” As each name was called, the audience burst into applause. “The witch this year will be played by our very own Mr. Yeranem. Once again, thank you for coming, and enjoy! Let the story begin.”

When the applause died down, the Narrator began anew.

“Long, long ago, witches lived in Sareht. There were quite a few, and they would gather in secret occasionally. No one knew what they talked about during these secret meetings, but they never did anything to hurt anyone. Actually, most of them were really helpful. Some were assigned certain duties, like protecting the village from darkwolves that occasionally attacked. Some of them were assigned to preserving the history of the town and the province. Most of them, though, were not really assigned to anything specific, so they would help out wherever they were needed. In the meantime, they lived their lives peacefully, and you wouldn’t know they were witches if you saw one. They didn’t use magic outside of their homes or do anything out of the ordinary. This is a story about one such Witch.”

The Witch angrily stalked through the center of the village. A Villager, carrying a basket of bread, stopped her.

“Are you alright? Where are you going?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing of your concern.” She said with a sneer.

The Villager hesitated. “Well, let me know if I can help you in any way.”

“Why would I need help from the likes of you? It’s bad enough that the other witches want to help me. I don’t need help from anyone at all, and you’d do well to remember it. It isn’t-“ the Witch burst into a coughing fit, pulling out a dirty cloth to cover her mouth. When she resumed, she was gasping for breath. “It isn’t right to assume that I’m incapable of anything. I can’t believe you! I can’t believe any of you!”

The Villager backed away a little bit, frightened. “I’m sorry. I meant no offense.”

“Of course you didn’t. You never do. No one ever does. No one ever means anything. Isn’t that just how it is these days?” The Witch started laughing. “I suggested that they send a team into the woods to go hunting for wolves. I volunteered to lead it. What did they do? Send a team, but send someone else to lead it. ‘No offense.’ Right. It doesn’t matter to them that I’m the strongest of them all, or the smartest. They never listen! No one ever listens to me!”

The Villager was at a loss. “Well…” She shifted the bread basket on her hip. “I’m sorry to hear that.” She shifted the bread basket to her other hip and bit her lip nervously. “I wish there was something I could do. This bread’s going to get hard soon, though, so I’ll be on my way. You know where I am if… If you should… wish for my… assistance. May Sareht be with you.” With that, she quickly curtsied, turned around, and walked away.

The Witch stared after her, muttering to herself. “How dare she suggest that I need anything from her! Do they all think I’m a ninny? I’ll show them. I’ll show them all.”

That night, as all of the villagers slept, the Witch silently crept out of her home. She walked to the center of the village, cackling softly to herself. “They’ll listen to me. They’ll listen to me when their Goddess is dead!”

The next morning as villagers were starting to wake up and prepare for the day, a horn blew from off in the distance. A team of three witches assigned to protecting the village hastily ran out of their cottage in the direction of the horn.

“Thank Sareht it’s only one blast. We can handle one darkwolf.”

“Yes, I think we’ll be just fine. Darkwolves are strong, but we’ve dealt with one before. I’ll hold it still while you two take care of it.”

“Do you see that?” One of the witches pointed. “There’s a weird glow around the village.”

“That’s just the sun setting. It always looks like that.”

“Yeah, don’t be ridiculous, Nayra.”

They reached the darkwolf before Nayra had a chance to respond. The giant wolf immediately started snarling when it saw them, recognition and pure hatred in its eyes. It drew back, circling around the witches menacingly. One of the witches raised her arms, and the wolf let out an angry bark. The witch bit her lower lip in concentration. The wolf, still snarling and growling, slowed in its movements as if it were moving through thick honey. It started to lunge toward one of the witches, but froze before it reached her. Once the wolf was subdued, the two other witches joined hands. They raised their free hands toward the frozen wolf and counted down.

“Three, two, one!”

With a loud crack like thunder and a bright flash of light, the wolf crumpled to the ground. The lone witch finally lowered her arms, exhaling forcefully.

“That was a strong one. Good job, you guys.”

They didn’t have long to celebrate. Another horn blew from off in the distance, this time with three short blasts. The witches looked at each other in fear.

“There’s no way we can handle a whole pack of darkwolves. I hope other witches come to help us.”

“I hope so too, but let’s hurry before they reach the village.”

The witches took off in the direction of the horn, heading north through the center of the village. They stopped dead when they reached the central square. For a few seconds, they were unable to speak. They simply gaped in utter shock and terror at what they saw.

“Sareht, be with us!”

“Oh, Sareht!”

“The Goddess Tree…!”

One of the witches dropped to her knees and fervently started praying, her hands shaking as she clasped them together. The horn blew again in three short blasts, but the witches didn’t notice.

“Sareht, who would set the Goddess Tree on fire?”

“It’s not even burning...! There’s fire, but it’s not burning!”

“The benches under the tree aren’t even there anymore, they’re just piles of ash! Who would do this? How did this happen?” Villagers started to gather around the square, gaping in shock. They murmured amongst themselves.

At that moment, the Witch walked out from behind a building, utterly calm. She raised her voice to be heard over the roaring flames.

“Darkwolves are attacking the village. The Goddess Tree is on fire. Don’t you see what this means? Sareht has abandoned us!” The villagers gasped in horror. “Do you really think Sareht, our peaceful and protective Goddess, would have let this happen?” More murmurs. “She’s only showing us that she won’t protect us anymore. We need to find someone else to protect us. But who could be strong enough to protect the village from a whole pack of darkwolves?”

As if on cue, four darkwolves ran toward the villagers, snarling and growling angrily. The Witch held up her hands. With a crack louder than any thunder and a flash of light that made even the flames seem dim, all four darkwolves all crumpled to the ground. The villagers murmured in astonishment, eyeing the Witch.

“Neighbors, friends, you need not fear. I will protect you from darkwolves. I will heal all of your ills and protect you from the future. All I ask in return is that you follow me. Together, we will be the greatest, most prosperous city that the province has ever seen!”

The villagers murmured amongst themselves, casting sidelong glances at her. The Narrator walked to the center of the stage as the villagers shuffled away.

“For days, the Goddess Tree burned. And yet, mysteriously, it was never damaged. It remained as lush and green as ever, despite hotter flames than any the villagers had ever seen before. For days, the other witches in the village refused to help. Villagers grew suspicious and resentful of them. Tensions flared between villagers, between neighbors. You never knew who was a witch and you didn’t want to associate with one. Finally, rain came and the fire was put out, but everyone was still scared. No one talked to anyone else unless they had to, and former friends would look at each other sideways. The villagers called together the Council of Seven to administer justice, even though it had not been called in many decades.” The Narrator then resumed his position at the side of the stage. Behind him, the Witch was facing a table with seven villagers seated around it. One of the villagers rose to her feet and addressed the audience.

“This Council was called to session by agreement of the village to settle all disputes that may arise. Our councillors have been appointed by popular vote to determine the facts of the case and ensure that justice is being administered in a timely manner. Our consensus on what happened and what is to be done is final.” He turned to the Witch. “Do you agree to these terms?”

“I agree.” The Witch appeared composed with her hands folded in her lap, but she was fidgeting.

“Very well. Let’s begin. You have been accused of setting the Goddess Tree on fire. Did you?”

“Why would I do something so sinister? How could I—” she stopped suddenly and looked away. “I mean, no. I didn’t.”

“Then why were you so calm when you saw the tree was burning?”

“I wasn’t.” She swallowed hard. “I don’t really show emotion much.”

“Why did you claim that Sareht had abandoned us? Why did you ask us to ‘follow you’ immediately after discovering the tree was burning?”

“I wanted these people to know that they still had someone to turn to. And it was obvious that Sareht had abandoned us because the tree was on fire.”

“No one has seen you at any prayer ceremonies or meetings, before or after the tree was set on fire. You’re not a particularly religious person, are you?”

“I pray in my home with my family. I followed Sareht until She showed us She wasn’t protecting us anymore. The Goddess Tree on fire and darkwolves attacking the village? It was a sign!”

Another council member stood up. “I think it was part of this witch’s plan.” She spat the word witch. “You set the tree on fire because you knew darkwolves would attack. You wanted them to attack so you could be the one to protect the village and people would obey you.” Some members in the audience shouted their agreement.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She said firmly.

“Council members, do we agree that this witch set the Goddess Tree on fire and is responsible for the darkwolves attacking the village?”

“I agree,” said the other councillors as one.

“The Council agrees. We hereby banish you from this village. If we see you again, you will be forced to leave. You have until the end of the day to gather your belongings. You must leave before dawn.”

“But I have a family! What about my daughter? She’s only a child! You can’t do this to me!”

“I repeat, you are banished from the village.”

“And what if I refuse?”

The Council members all looked at each other in stunned silence. “You agreed that our decision was final at the first. You must listen to us.”

“No. I will not leave.”

More stunned silence. “The Council of Seven has spoken. If you do not leave before dawn, there will be consequences.”

The Narrator walked to the center of the stage once again. “When the sun rose, the Witch had not left, nor had she even prepared to. No one had ever disobeyed the Council of Seven before. It was almost as horrific and unthinkable as, well, setting the Goddess Tree on fire. They couldn’t risk her doing anything like that again. They couldn’t bear the thought of having someone so treacherous, so violent, living in Sareht. Despite multiple attempts to get her to leave, she remained. So the villagers and the Council of Seven resorted to extreme measures to prevent her from repeating her actions.” The Narrator walked to the side of the stage, revealing the Witch standing on a wooden block on a scaffold with her arms tied behind her back. The Council of Seven was standing around the scaffold. One of them stood in front, addressing the audience.

“Fellow villagers, this witch has set our sacred Goddess Tree on fire with the intent of usurping Sareht’s reign. She caused a panic among the villagers. She then defied the Council of Seven and remains a threat to our village. We cannot allow her to continue threatening us. For these crimes, we will hang her.” Members of the audience shouted and cheered loudly, clapping their hands and stomping their feet. The Councillor walked to the side of the scaffold and looked up at the Witch expectantly.

One of the Councillors standing on the scaffold with the Witch hesitated while putting a black hood on her. “Do you have any last words?” She asked almost gently.

Weeping, the Witch took a breath as if to speak. A member of the audience shouted, “Get on with it!” The Witch started crying harder, gasping for breath between her sobs.

The Councillor repeated, “Do you have any last words?”

The Witch gritted her teeth. “Just do it.”

The Councillor put the hood on and carefully placed the noose around the Witch’s neck. With tears in her eyes, she shoved the Witch off the wooden block, and the audience was in an uproar with applause.

The Narrator walked back to the center of the stage. The audience cheered for a long minute, hooting and hollering their excitement to have the village cleansed of someone so evil. When the audience quieted, the Narrator spoke. “After the Witch was hanged-” He cut himself off when the crowd erupted in applause again. He held his hand out, and the audience quieted rapidly. “After the Witch was hanged, many of the villagers fled, most of whom were known to be witches. The villagers went back to their old ways and everyone started to trust each other again. Not a single darkwolf has attacked the village since. This horrific event caused by the terrible witches helped unite us as citizens of Sareht, and we are stronger for it!” The audience was riotous with applause, shouting, clapping, and foot-stomping. “This event caused Sareht to be reborn, even better than before! May Sareht keep us and protect us forever!” The applause lasted while the actors and actresses took their bows, doubling in volume when Mr. Yeranem came up to the center of the stage. After the final bows, the Narrator walked up once again. “I’d like to thank our cast and crew for their hard work in this production. I’d like to thank the children especially, because if they don’t remember the past, then who will?” He paused and smiled. “I’d also like to thank our visitors for traveling so far to come every year. We really appreciate it. Can we have one more round of applause for everyone who worked so hard on this?” The audience complied fervently. “Thank you again, everyone, and good night!”

#short story #writing #fantasy #I want your feeedback #WR part 2 #witches #this is getting out of hand #but I didn't want it in hand anyway

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dontlookimnotabroad-blog · 8 years ago

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Festival of the Witch’s Rite: Part 1

The village of Sareht was peaceful and prosperous, sleepily nestled between the Serr mountain range to the north and the Hagad mountain range to the south. The villagers were content with their lives, peacefully farming the land and selling their excess to merchants who occasionally stopped there on their way to somewhere else. Aside from the winter festival held every year, Sareht was a very quiet place to live.

The winter festival was originally a celebration of the Goddess, Sareht, after whom the town was named. A large tree in the center of the village, called the Goddess Tree, stood to represent her protection through the ages. Though it grew older and older, it never caught disease or died. It is said that the tree is as old as time itself and will live until the Goddess herself perishes. In times long past, villagers would hold prayer ceremonies and services at the sacred tree. The winter snows every year covered everything in a blanket of white, but the Goddess Tree remained lush and green for as long as anyone could remember. It was a sacred symbol of perseverance to the village, as well as hope for better times. During the winter snows, people from around the province would gather in this sacred village and hold a festival to show appreciation for the Goddess’s protection.

The festival’s attendance had been waning for a long time. This year’s was supposed to have the lowest attendance ever. Still, the village was bustling with preparations for the week-long celebration. In recent times, the festival had become more of a celebration of the winter harvest than of the Goddess. The people of Sareht were not nearly as religious as they once were. Not after what had happened fifty years ago.

Meredyth sat on the edge of her bed and sighed. Her parents wouldn’t be attending the first part of the celebration. Again. Even though the beginning was less serious, it was still Meredyth’s favorite part of the festival. Why did they have to visit her grandfather those days in particular every year, especially when it was such a long trip? They visited him many other times of the year. Meredyth liked staying with her Aunt Hana and Uncle Gawyn, but they weren’t as outgoing and talkative as her parents were. It would be so much more fun if her parents were celebrating with them. At least she had Taretha to attend the festival with.

Taretha was much, much older than Meredyth. She lived in a small cottage on the outskirts of the village and entertained the village children while their parents were working. She was like a grandmother to many of them, including Meredyth. Even as Meredyth grew older, they enjoyed each other’s company and would often spend long hours together before finally parting ways. Taretha didn’t talk about herself much, but from what Meredyth could tell she had an interesting life. She told tales of all different kinds of places, from nearby towns to faraway provinces. She would talk about the history of Sareht and what it was like long ago. Meredyth was surprised at how superstitious the residents were back then. Even the town apothecary, Mr. Yeranem, had believed in goddesses and magic. Mr. Yeranem, who wouldn’t believe anything unless he held it with his own two hands!

Meredyth put on her coat and boots and stepped outside into the cold winter air. She didn’t like the cold much, but she liked the hush that fell with the afternoon snows and the soft crunch her boots made when she walked. Anyway, the wildberry bushes bloomed in the winter, and that alone made up for how cold it was. She wrapped her coat around herself tighter and headed toward the broad street where the main part of the festival was taking place. She met with Taretha at the Goddess Tree and they went to explore the festival from there.

The first day of the festival had become something of a market day, where merchants from around the province would put their goods on display in an array of booths. There were booths from every part of the province, displaying a wide variety of goods in different colors and styles. Here there were clothes in the northern style, brightly dyed in every color imagineable. Over there was a jeweler, with gold and silver, and gems that seemed to glow in the dimming evening sunlight. Here were clothes in the southern style, that made even the clothes in the other stall look drab. There were colorful, unique things everywhere. Meredyth didn’t know where to look. Taretha led the way through the broad street as Meredyth followed, absentmindedly gaping at all the goods being sold.

As they walked in and out of the booths, they talked about times long past. “Mrs. Yeranem, may she rest in peace, was the most religious of them all. Every evening, she would put a bowl of wildberries out for the witches.” Taretha smiled, lost in memory. “She thought if she did that, they wouldn’t distrub her or threaten her family.” Taretha stopped at a stall and picked up a small stone carving of the Goddess, the only one of its kind on the table. She turned to the shopkeeper, slowly shaking her head. “I remember your father’s father kept a booth in this same place. He had so many different kinds in all different colors, materials, and sizes. But people stopped making them.” She sighed and put it down. “For some reason.” she added, almost as if it was an afterthought.

Taretha continued telling stories about townfolk until they turned to walk down a small cross-street that Meredyth had never noticed before. The alleyway was narrow, dark, and seemingly empty. Meredyth hesitated.

“Wait, where are we going?”

“I know a woman who has a shop here, and her father comes to visit every year during the festival. I want to visit them. There’s no need to be worried, child.”

“I’ve never heard of any shop here.” It was getting dark, and Meredyth couldn’t see anything in the shadows.

“It isn’t widely known. The shopkeeper spends much of her time away from Sareht, so many don’t know of her. Come with me.”

“Are you sure it’s this street? It doesn’t look like there’s anyone here.”

“I come here every year. Don’t worry dear, I know where I’m going.”

Taretha started down the cross street and beckoned Meredyth to follow. After a long pause, Meredyth did so. They fell silent as they made their way down the shadowy alleyway. As the sounds drifting from the crowded street behind them faded, all they heard was the soft crunch of their footsteps in the snow. Farther down the narrow, dark street, a building lit with flickering torches came into view.

When they entered the shop, they were greeted with the sound of a tinkling bell and the spicy smell of burning incense. The shop was dimly lit, and there were trinkets and artifacts on display that Meredyth didn’t recognize. Amid carved figurines of various gods and goddesses from different provinces, there were strange elixirs and gems that caught the light in such a way that they seemed to glow as Meredyth approached them. Shelves of different kinds of tea lined the wall. Meredyth reached to pick up a shining blue gem, but her hand… stopped. It was as if there was a wall between her hand and the gem. Meredyth knew without trying that she wouldn’t be able to touch the gem from any angle. Certain gems had had this effect before, but it had been a long time since Meredyth had ever seen one. She kept meaning to ask Taretha about these things, but she kept forgetting. By the time she turned around to ask, Taretha had already vanished.

Taretha swiftly walked to the back of the store, brushing aside the curtain of purple beads that lead to the sitting room. The shopkeeper, Aryst, a sandy-haired, middle-aged woman, was warming a kettle that smelled of spices. She turned toward Taretha and greeted her with a warm smile. After exchanging pleasantries, they both sat down on cushioned chairs across from the hearth with cups of spiced tea.

“I can’t believe it’s been another year, Taretha. Where has the time gone?”

“I know, dear. It seems like last year’s festival just ended. How’s your father?

“He’s growing older. He couldn’t make the journey from Faustindale this year, even though it’s only a day’s ride. He still has as much life as ever, but I worry about him sometimes. How are the children? How is Meredyth?”

“The children are wonderful, as always. I had them weave baskets a few days ago for their parents, and they loved it. I think Meredyth is a little upset because her parents have not come back yet, but she is alright.”

“Does she know about what happened, or why they travel so much?”

“She knows the stories, but she thinks they are just stories.”

“She’s not a child, anymore, Taretha. She’s going to figure it out eventually. Wouldn’t you want her to find out from someone she trusts?”

“Don’t worry. I will tell her when the time is right.”

“And when is that going to be?”

Taretha looked away. “I don’t know, Aryst. Soon.”

Aryst put her cup of tea down and stood up. “For her sake, I hope so.”

#short story #writing #fantasy #this one's actually user submitted #i want your feedback #WR part 1 #part 1 of 5 #this was so much fun to do

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dontlookimnotabroad-blog · 8 years ago

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This is a short one I wrote a few years ago. It was inspired by H.P. Lovecraft.

It is with a heavy heart that I must go. I can’t stay here any longer, for I fear that nothing I know is real anymore. You won’t believe me, but please hear my story.

It was a few weeks ago that my friend and I went on a mission. He had inherited an old estate that had been in his family for generations and was wanting to restore it. I accompanied him to Virginia where we arranged for a crew to work on the manor. It rested at the top of a mountain, far away from any other house. It was an old place; the structure seemed to be of the Victorian era. It was big and very asthetically pleasing. The house seemed to hold a silence, and the walls seemed to whisper the secrets they’ve held through the centuries. The house really was quite beautiful, but there was a peculiar smell. It wasn’t necessarily mold, but it was something like it. It is hard to describe. The house smelled its age. When we walked into the house for the first time, that smell hit us with incredible force. It was hard to work with that smell choking us. After a while, however, we got used to it and thought of it no more.

Having nowhere else to stay, my friend and I slept in the house while it was being renovated: he in the west bedroom on the upper floor, and I in the east bedroom on the lower floor. He didn’t complain of anything the next morning, but I had horrible nightmares and was unable to sleep easily. I kept hearing the walls whispering my name, over and over, like some kind of mantra. The room seemed to be spinning—no, that’s not right. It seemed to be stretching and contracting, as if some giant was kneading it like bread dough. I had visions of ravens flittling around my bed, flitting out the door and back, as if beckoning me to follow. Unsure if I was in a dream, I got out of bed and followed the ravens. They led me up the stairs to where my friend was sleeping. They started pecking at his nose and his fingers, but he didn’t stir. I watched as more appeared, seemingly from nowhere. They were at his toes and his eyes now, some were even breaking the skin, but he didn’t stir or move at all. A horrible feeling rose from my gut. As the ravens tore away his flesh, spiders started crawling out of his body. The ravens pecked harder and harder, and more spiders came gushing out. I ran out of the room in horror, went back down to my room, sealed the door, and waited for the morning. I couldn’t sleep.

When morning came, my friend and I broke our fast in the kitchen. He walked in like nothing had happened. I couldn’t see any evidence of the night before. He noticed that I looked shaken and asked me what the problem was. I told him what had happened. He took it as a joke and laughed about it all day. I convinced myself that I had imagined it and continued with the day’s work with a lingering feeling of apprehension. It was a dream. It had to have been a dream.

#short story #horror #hp lovecraft #writing #i'm writing a user-submitted one #it's just taking longer than i thought it would #please be patient with me

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dontlookimnotabroad-blog · 8 years ago

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Phantom Lake

He lived in a small cabin in the woods, long forgotten by family, friends, and society. He had become a story, a legend that nobody believed. He did not encounter or speak to anyone; he hadn't for decades. He hunted game in the forest, gathered berries, and spent his time peacefully fishing in the pond near his home.

The lake had a stony shore, but they were flat stones. Even though they were slippery, the old man never fell in. He fished from one spot where there was dirt so he could grip the wet soil with his bare feet. He enjoyed feeling the moisture through his toes, almost absorbing nutrients from the soil like a tree, strong, resilient, stable. Over the birds, bugs, splashes, and everything else, you could hear the hushed silence of a blissful moment. When he fished, even though there were sounds, the silence was unbroken. He sensed the life around him and felt absorbed into the woods, part of the circles and cycles of nature. When he caught a fish, he usually threw it back. He enjoyed more the feeling of active stillness that surrounded him, rather than the catch itself.

When the sun set, he would sit on his front porch and watch the lake. The flies would start buzzing around the surface when the sun got low on the horizon, and the fish would start to jump. Birds would come down from their nests to join the dance, and frogs would start to croak. But, again, despite the noise and constant motion, there was beautiful silence and stillness. The bugs, fish, birds, and frogs would stop their dances when the sun went down, as the man sat on his porch, watching the stillness and listening to the silence, watching the forest slowly become wrapped in a thick, dark blanket.

Before it got completely dark, he would watch the phantoms jump into the lake. They were so lifelike, he imagined stories for them; these two are lovers, eagerly jumping into the lake, excited to swim in the pond. These three were siblings, fearful, but urging each other onward into the pond. This one was going to come with his dog, but his look of sorrow told the old man that the dog wasn't around anymore. The young phantom jumped into the pond seemingly out of compulsion, as if he couldn't do otherwise, as if he had no other options.

The old man eventually figured out that the phantoms really didn't have any other options. He never saw a phantom turn away from the pond or explore anywhere else in the forest. They came out of the woods off in the distance and made their way directly toward the pond, with not even a glance in another direction. The phantoms walked on the ground, but their gait was so smooth that it seemed as if they were gliding over the forest floor. Every single one would walk from the forest to the pond seemingly without a second thought. The old man had tried calling to them, but none of them seemed to hear. It was as if they were in an entirely different dimension, unaware of the old man and his small cabin. He enjoyed watching the phantoms because they seemed so lifelike, and yet, when they jumped into the pond, they never made a splash. The lake was as smooth and undisturbed as it had always been and would always be.

The old man didn't understand it; when the phantoms approached the pond, some would eagerly plunge into it, excited expressions on their faces, but others would stop, seemingly frozen in utter terror. There was such a different reaction from each phantom that approached the pond that he didn't think they could all be looking at the same thing. Also, the phantoms jumped into the lake, but the old man never saw them swimming beneath the surface or getting out of the lake. It was like the surface of the pond turned into a smooth glass portal to a phantom world during the late sunset hours.

On a hot evening, he watched what he presumed to be a family walk gracefully up to the pond, but something was odd. There was, presumably, a mother, a father, and their young adult son. When they walked out of the forest, a mirror image of them walked out of the forest on the opposite side of the pond.

On the right side, the family was holding hands. The son seemed way more eager than the parents, but he held their hands, leading them on. When they got to the shore, they stopped together. The son looked at both his parents, took a deep breath, and leapt into the lake. But his parents didn't let go, so he pulled them in before they had managed to erase the terror from their faces. They were not prepared for the jump, so they sputtered and splashed as they were drawn in, creating a noisy disturbance that broke the silence of the early night. In decades of watching the phantoms jump into the pond, the old man had never heard one splash before. He was shocked and a little bit frightened.

On the left side, the family started out holding hands. Quickly enough, the son broke from their grasp and ran toward the pond, eagerly anticipating his journey through the surface of the pond. He stopped and stood on the patch of dirt where the old man stood to fish. He turned to look at his parents. They were plainly terrified, pleading with their eyes for the son to wait for them. The son paused, mentally saying goodbye to his parents, knowing that this was the end of their support. He took a deep breath and leapt silently into the lake, not leaving a ripple as evidence of his passage. His parents approached the edge of the lake, gingerly putting one foot in front of the other. They stopped at the edge and looked down, bemused, at their reflections in the glassy surface.

#short story #fantasy #writing #written in 2015

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