BEWITCHED
Kaila Patterson
For history, which shaped the past,
and my late-night kitchen rants.
979-8734602539
First published 2021.
2
Copyright © 2021 Kaila Patterson
Printed in Great Britain by Amazon
Cover design by 100 Covers
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any matter without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents, and dialogues are product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
ENGLAND
1
No More Hocus Pocus
For months, King Richard of England had searched for the downfall of the witch. She was the one who dared to disobey him, the one who grinned in spite, the apple that never fell far from the tree; she who was a witch.
She who would pay for it.
King Richard stood on the castle balcony, narrowing his eyes at the crowds grouped at the edge of town. James Willberry, The King’s noble snoop, stood mesmerised by the castle.
There was plenty to admire in the majestic kingdom. The golden portraits of monarchs of the past, the glistening jewels lining the walls; everything there purely for show.
"A fine day for an execution," Richard said. A raindrop landed on his nose, sulking from the point. “Or not.”.
Far to the left of the city, an execution took place. From Richard’s standing, the people appeared like miniature bugs.
A plain clothed, middle-aged woman was tied against a stake, made of straw. A grisly knight stood to her left, with a blazing fire torch in his grip.
“Who is she?” Richard murmured, nodding to the woman.
“Mary Stanley, accused of witchcraft for attempting to hex another young woman, due to a long-term grudge.”.
Richard nodded. The knight at the execution jeered his torch to the crowds, illuminating the threatened faces.
The King noticed the squirm in his servant’s face. Willberry gestured to the crowds.
“This can’t be entertaining for them, can it?”.
King Richard’s mouth curled into a snarl. “Why would it not be?”.
Willberry averted his eyes. A roar came from the crowds below, as they screamed words of abuse to the stake-tied woman.
Mary Stanley’s eyes shut, as she prayed underneath her breath. Once again, Richard’s eyes back to Willberry.
“This-This isn’t…”.
“Watch, Willberry.”.
The man shook his head, taking a long gulp. Richard placed a hand on Willberry’s shoulder, forcing him forward.
“I never thought it would be like this, that ’ye would do this,” Willberry whispered, his accent splitting through.
“This is what happens, to all witches,” Richard scoffed, “Don’t tell me you were not aware?”.
Willberry flinched away, prepared to run. The King gripped his arm.
“I said, watch.”.
The knight at the execution stumbled to the stake, raising his torch in the air. Lowering it to the grass, it came inches away from the woman’s feet.
Her face was illuminated by the light, as her head rocketed forward. A gleam burned in her eyes.
Willberry’s eyes focused on The King, with a face that described his fear. The woman let out an echoing laugh, setting the atmosphere.
“Let it be known to all, a curse shall foresee this town!” Mary Stanley yelled. Richard turned a blazing red, his knuckles gripping the balcony edge. The woman shut her eyes, making a prediction.
“I see two bonded by blood alone, but only one corpse shall hit the stone,” She announced. Her eyes were wide, grinning at the crowds.
“Two who live on opposite sides, but soon that will be cast aside.”.
The King turned his head away, scowling at the scene. Willberry’s eyes stood willingly on the woman, no longer intimidated into staring.
“Be wary who you punish, who you choose to burn in daylight’s fame,” The woman continued, “For one prays to go down in history, but their opposite will take history’s name.”.
Willberry tugged on Richard’s arm, and The King shot him a glare. No one dared speak during that moment. The knight with the torch gazed at The King, receiving a wordless command.
The knight lowered his torch, allowing it to light the straw. A roar of flame arose from the stake, but the woman’s manic laughter never ceased.
The flames drove upwards, hiding the woman’s feet. The crowds were silent, cowering away.
The fear of what could be; what was predicted to be, or what was happening alone.
As the flames grew, Richard stepped away. He walked from the balcony, with Willberry on his tail.
“Your Majesty!” Willberry yelled, gripping onto The King’s crimson jacket. His eyes were wider than before, as he stuttered over words.
“Before you speak, don’t.” Richard harshly whispered, “That prediction is meaningless, an absurd fear tactic.”.
Willberry shook his head, leaning up to The King’s height. He held out his hands, acting out a scene.
“Spinner--!”.
Richard glared down at him, alerted by that wretched name. A name that made his anger burn into endless flame.
“What did you say?”.
"Think of the prediction!" Willberry cried. "You said that Spinner was like a curse to you, and the idea of living on opposite sides, burning in daylight’s fame—".
“The woman spoke of two bonded people, you fool.” Richard groaned, clutching a hand to his head. Willberry sunk, before his eyes perked up again. He trailed behind The King, raising an excited hand.
“Yes, that works too!” Willberry said, “Her companion…Lily? Laurie?”.
“Lucie.”.
“Yes! She’s living on the opposite side of Spinner, and they are two bonded companions!” Willberry replied. Richard froze.
There was the chance, that Willberry was indeed right.
“You know…” Richard drawled, narrowing his eyes to the distance. “In a rare occasion, you do make yourself useful.”.
Willberry gleamed with pride. “And think, after that prediction made, it gives a reason for Spinner’s arrest.”
The King smirked, gazing out the window. The stake had been swallowed inside a blaze of flame, exhuming smoke.
“That it does, Willberry,” Richard mumbled, repeating the words, “That it does.”.
For months on end, Spinner had caused more trouble than she was worth. He had spent long days and longer nights, establishing his force in the town; and she made it a mockery.
Richard moved on, strolling across the hall. He nodded to the nearest guard. It was a subtle but struck fear into the strongest of men.
He watched as Willberry's eyes widened, and The King’s smirk reflected his malicious intent. He thrived off moments like that, the split-second watching the fear creep onto a victim’s face.
" I believe you have served your purpose, Willberry." King Richard grinned, glaring away as the man fell to his knees.
"No! You said you would help me!" Willberry yelled, as two armoured knights grabbed his shoulders.
"I could do that,” The King said, a sickening grin on his face, "But I'm not."
“Nah!” Willberry screamed, “Not the dungeon!”.
Willberry’s feet scraped across the carpet, as he was dragged away. His pleas sounded further and further away until they silenced. King Richard chuckled, thinking of the pathetic man that had ended like the one before.
To The King, it was amusing, how they fell fo
r it each time, like rabbits with a carrot on a stick.
With Willberry's help, he had what he needed. All it took was a bit of bargaining and blackmailing to get it. Willberry had unknowingly given The King information that seemed useless, but was something he had looked for, a reason.
He peered out of the window, stalking the innocent pedestrians. They had returned to the town, in a saddened mob. His eyes lay on the cottage that sat in the back, cowered beneath the shadow.
That home belonged to the witch he sought, the one who would never cross the door of it again.
"Your Highness?" A guard asked, startling Richard’s thoughts. He waved the guard off, showing a false smile. That way, no weakness shown.
Shaking himself awake, King Richard moved through the brick walls. The soft firelight of the castle surrounded him, as he gestured for the guards to open the doors.
Amid his daydreaming, even his crown had become slanted, and he fixed it straight with a swift move.
The doors opened, and the people gazed at him like he was a descending angel. He could sense, by their star-struck expressions, that they were clueless. The light illuminated him, as he stood above the specimen.
He moved quickly through them, and the people parted like an ocean, as his cloak left a trail.
The villagers mumbled and grumbled, pulling their relatives out of the path. Each were dressed in or plain linen, blending as a dull crowd.
"Where?" The King muttered, and a guard motioned to the cottage at the end of town. Richard nodded, barging into a greasy-looking young man.
The people's whispers grew stronger, and they all shook their heads. Witch-hunting was as common as the sun rising in their town, and no one could intervene.
Their voices grew louder, shouting names across the town. The pandemonium of people raised a tension, as the sound increased.
The King's head shot back and forth, alerted by the spinning crowds, the noise. The fearlessness, if they dared it.
"Silence! Be silent I say!" King Richard roared, clenching his fists.
He spotted the wooden play-sword of a young boy. In blinded rage and lack of control, he gripped it from the child, lifting his knee and snapping it in half. The boy cried out, tugging on his mother’s skirt.
“Silence him,” The King warned, eyeing the boy’s mother. “Now.”.
She shushed the boy, whispering apologies. The wooden sword’s upper half lay broken on the ground, crumbling into pieces.
Mothers whisked their own children out of The King's path, and they bowed, what else could they do?
Everyone turned to the Spinner cottage, wiping their eyes. They had seen this before, and they would see it again for days to come.
The King spotted from the corner of his eye, a young girl peering over a guard's shoulder. She was dressed in a well-recognised blue gown, of which the ladies-in-waiting from the castle wore.
Leaving her with a glare, he continued through the crowd. Eerie tension brushed the town, and a shuffling came from behind. A voice sliced through the air.
"Your Highness—" The voice struggled, and he turned to see the lady from before.
Her blonde hair fell in gentle waves, her gold-blue gown hoisted to her knees. She struggled for breath, her poignant blue eyes focusing on him.
"Lucie Benson," King Richard greeted, squinting his eyes down to her small height. The girl interrupted him, raising her hand in the air.
"Y-You aren't going to..." Lucie wiped at her eyes, an estranged hurt reflecting within. "Are you going to hurt her?".
He stared to the cottage, examining the crooked home. The people were crowded around him and her, watching in fascination and awe.
"It is not your concern," He warned, leaving her stranded alone in the crowd. "If you know what is best, I suggest you go home, Benson."
“Tell me, please.” Lucie begged.
“You dare to question me?” Richard asked, watching the fear creep onto her face.
Reaching for the door of the cottage, he banged on it, sighing, and getting impatient, before he started to kick.
The girl and a guard both jumped at the sound, hearing each pound on the wood echo throughout the village. The guard put his hands up towards The King before simply opening the door himself.
King Richard laughed shrugged, patting the smug guard on the back. He strolled into the shadowed cottage, the guard following him inside.
It was small, filled with boxes and parchment paper from different pieces of work. There were a few small windows, and small light leaked through them, making the room appear dark. There was an upstairs, but the shadows covered it well.
King Richard acknowledged this with a murmur, his focus being still on the room surrounding him. The guard at the corner began pacing, as he froze at the staircase, looking up.
"We should search upstairs, Your Highness." The knight announced.
The King eyed the room with suspicion. Nodding to the guard, he followed him up the stairs to find any incriminating evidence,
A chilling aura loomed the air, filling up their lungs and catching their eyes. That was the first sign, and The King covered his mouth, in case any poison or sorcery lurked the house.
While Richard walked, a piece of sharp wood lay on the floor, tripping him over and sending him tumbling. He screamed, grasping his foot, and clutching it in pain.
The guard rushed over, but The King pushed his fists into the man's chest. Richard regained his posture and began to limp across the wooden floor, cautiously.
Cobwebs lined the ceiling, and the cottage itself gave off an unnerving demeanour.
King Richard treaded through the hallway, gripping his sword, prepared to take down any threatening opponents.
They peered into each room, all empty. The creak of the floorboards beneath them sent a chill down his spine.
The guard rummaged through the cupboards and drawers, throwing objects across the room and shattering valuables with a crack. Every item, Richard examined, but there was no evidence found.
An acidic scent filled the room, as the crooked walls ran under King Richard’s hand.
There were bottles of unnamed liquids, and he lifted one to his nose, swirling the strange substance within the glass.
“Medicine?” Richard whispered, speaking to himself. “No, witchcraft.”.
A crack echoed across the room, causing the man to flinch. There was no one else in the shadow, and The King was cornered against a wall.
There was a ghostlike presence, one he hated. A shiver ran down his arms, and visions intruded through his eyes. Visions of fear.
Richard slammed the clinking bottles on the desk, storming out of the room. He pressed a hand over his eyes.
“Not again...” He growled, slamming a fist into the wall. “Go away, stop haunting me!”.
Yelling to the air, he left the haunted room. The guard ducked out of the way, protecting himself from The King's fired temper. Richard skipped down the stairs, gesturing to his accomplice.
He froze as a thud sound came from the back of the home. He advanced towards it, as the shivering knight followed, raising his sword.
Looming down the dark corridor, Richard whipped around the corner with a sharp breath, raising his fist.
There was nothing, except a hidden door at the end of the path. It drew a smirk on The King's pale face, as he motioned for the guard to follow.
King Richard placed a gloved hand on the door, and slowly pushed it open. It creaked as it moved like it had not opened for years. He raised an elbow, and the guard swung the sword over his shoulder.
His shoulders sunk, with the reveal of nothing except storage boxes and dozens of bags of crops. The King sighed heavily and strutted inside the cupboard, shoving ancient Spinner belongings aside.
He skimmed over letters dated years before, all signed by the initials 'A. S'. There were books on the top shelf, unnoticeable for anyone without a good eye.
He reached up and grabbed a journal, as dozens fell with it
, slamming down onto his head. The guard swung his sword, then lowered it.
"Help me, you fool!" King Richard yelled, scowling at the guard’s petrified face. The knight ducked, taking hold of The King’s arms, and lifting him to a stand.
“Sorry, Your Highness.” The guard mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.
Richard studied the journal in his hand, flicking through the blank pages. Scrawls, notes, and sketches filled the pages, all signed by the same signature.
"Well, there you have it." King Richard smirked, spinning out of the room.
The guard stumbled after him, over letters, vegetables, and books on the floor. Richard exited the Spinner home, raising the journal into the air. The people’s wide eyes stared back at him, as he threw the book to the ground.
He stomped on it with a thud, scowling at the ruffled pages. The knight scampered out behind, his jaw hanging loose.
King Richard's footsteps echoed for miles, and he saw the people back away. The tension was thick then, and no one dared to speak a word to or against him.
Many returned to their homes and shut the door, to protect themselves from the threat that was King Richard of England.
The people formed a circle around him, squinting their eyes and pointing.
'Cowards.' he thought, exhaling fury.
A dark shadow loomed over his eyes; his face lined with rage. A fire-exhuming anger, like England had never seen. Storming out to the people, his face turned cold.
"WHERE IS ELIZABETH SPINNER?".
2
Elizabeth, The Witch
The night had been peaceful. The wind was howling, grass crunching, and the world was good. It was peaceful to watch the world pass.
Trees bustling, the water streaming past her feet, the dainty little flowers blowing through the air in rhythm with the wind, it was all therapeutic.
Elizabeth Spinner visited the woods each day, while her father was working in the country. It was not the best way to make a living, but it was what most did, and it was better than nothing.
‘Does life get any better than this?’ Eliza thought, taking in the moment.
Bewitched Page 1
