The Witches

by Gerrard Wllson

The Witches

  Gerrard Wilson

  The Witches

  It all began one cold winter’s night, with the appearance of three witches flying around my bed… You may well ask, ‘Is this just another one of your fantasy stories, like so many others you have penned?’ My answer, the only thing I can say to you in reply is read on and find out for yourself…

  It was 21st October (how can I ever forget that terrible date?) and the mother of all storms was howling outside. Inside, snug in my bed, I was happy and warm, listening to the wind as it tried to wrench the last remaining leaves from the trees.

  My bedroom window struggled, trying to keep the wicked wind on the outside where it belonged, but because of its great age and precarious state of repair, it was gradually losing the battle. I watched as the latch shook, rattled and shivered under the wind’s untiring onslaught. As a particularly strong gust struck the window, the latch finally gave way. It shot wide open, allowing the full force of the storm enter my bedroom. I pulled the bedclothes tight over my head, trying to protect myself from the raging fury around me.

  Rushing into the room, mum asked, “What on earth is happening in here?”

  Peeking out from under the bedclothes, I watched as she struggled to close the window.

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of, my darling. It is only an autumn storm, “she said, trying to ease my fears. “You’ll get used to them, in time.”

  I tried to believe her, I wanted to believe her, but only after the storm had well and truly gone.

  After she managed to close the window, mum came over. Stroking my forehead, and she said, “Don’t you be worrying, Jeremiah, think of the fun you’ll have, tomorrow, thrashing about in all those leaves.”

  She was right, I loved running about in the fallen leaves, kicking them high into the air and watching them fall back to earth again. Conkers, there were always loads of conkers after a storm; tomorrow was shaping up to be a grand day…

  “The window will be fine,” said mum. “It’s firmly closed. Go to sleep, Jeremiah…” With that, she pulled the door behind her, leaving the barest chink of light showing.

  Although the storm was still raging outside, I tried to believe what she had said. Slowly, gradually I felt safe from the storm. That, however, was a mistake, a mistake that I was soon to regret…

  With the window closed, my eyelids soon grew heavy, and I drifted away to the realms of blissful slumber, without a care in the world.

  BANG! I awoke with a start. Had the window shot open again? Shooting a glance at the window, I saw that it was still closed. What, then, had made that awful noise? It was gone, now, it was quiet, eerily quiet. The light, the sliver of light that had been coming in thorough the partially open door had disappeared. Someone had closed my bedroom door – but who? That must have been what had awoken me – the door slamming shut. Who might have done such a thing? It was certainly not mum. Listening, I noticed that the wind had died down, so it could not have been that. Laying back into my wonderfully soft pillow, my eyelids grew heavier and heavier until I drifted off once again to sleep.

  BANG! I shot up in bed, wondering why this was happening. I listened for the noise, to see if it happened again. It did not. I heard nothing. Scratching my head in frustration, I climbed out of bed and opened my bedroom door to its previous position, allowing a sliver of light to enter my room.

  “That’s better,” I whispered.

  Jumping into bed, I pulled up the covers and stretched out, thinking of all the wonderful leaves and conkers I would be able to play with the next day.

  BANG! My bedroom door slammed closed. I knew that no wind, no matter how slight, had done it.

  With eyes peeking out from under the bedclothes, I whispered, “This is weird, this is really weird.”

  A LAUGH! I heard a laugh. My ears pricked, listening. A CACKLE! I heard a cackle. I sat up in bed, shivering with fright. Another laugh, another cackle, then another and another and another. I pulled the bed clothes higher over my head, in such fright.

  Where is mum? Has she not heard? She must have heard the bang! Now that the door is closed, it will be harder for her to hear anything that happens in here! I peeked out from under the blankets. Was there someone there? There was – I was sure of it. Trying to get a clear look, I lifted the blanket a smidgeon. Then I saw them, I saw three dark forms, three humanlike forms flying around the ceiling light.

  Rubbing my eyes, thinking they were playing tricks on me, I looked again, but the three dark forms were still there, flying around the light, laughing in wild excitement.

  The storm outside had all but disappeared from my consciousness, replaced by a fear of something so far removed from my everyday existence, I feared for my very life.

  The figures, the dark menacing forms continued to fly around the light fitting, laughing and cackling, laughing and cackling. I watched. I watched with increasing curiosity. It is not that I became any braver; the thought of being brave never entered my mind, I just began to get used to the three cackling figures flying around my room. I know this sounds unbelievable, even foolhardy, but that’s how it was – I simply watched them.

  After I had been watching this spectacle for at least fifteen minutes, I was beginning to tire of it. So plucking up courage (I have no idea where it came from), I said, “Excuse me…”

  The three figures stopped circling. Hovering stationery they stared down at me.

  Now that they had stopped moving about, I was able to see them better, clearer. I could see that they were all women, old ugly women with warts.

  BLACK! They were all wearing black flowing clothes that were so raggedy I almost felt sorry for the wearers. Tearing my eyes away from their tatty clothes, I suddenly became aware of the most frightening aspect of this nocturnal spectacle – BROOMS. As the three old women hovered above me, I could see the timeworn brooms that each one was perched. I knew, then, without a shadow of a doubt that they were all WITCHES, and I shrieked, I shrieked in utter fright, then I passed out.

  When I awoke, the three women were standing around me bed, staring at me through their black eyes with a morbid curiosity. From such close quarters, they appeared even uglier than before. I gasped.

  “Look,” said the first one, “It has awoken…”

  “Hmm, so it has,” said the second woman.

  The third one, said, “He, it is a he.”

  All three women cackled.

  The first witch poked me. You might think this no big deal but let me tell you, being poked about by someone who has nine-inch long and very bony fingers is not a pleasant thing. As each finger poked and prodded at me, I felt they were cutting swathes out of my flesh. It was horrible.

  “Let me touch it,” said the second witch. “It must have enough flesh.”

  She prodded me even harder than the first one. I cringed at every touch of her bony protrusions.

  “Leave him be,” said the third witch, “I will speak with it – with him…”

  As I awaited the third, the must ugly of the three witches to address me, I somehow knew that this was going to be something that I had long been awaiting. All thoughts of fear had for gone, vanished; replaced by anticipation for the future…

  Before beginning, the third witch looked deep into my eyes, so deep I feared she could see into my very soul. Eyeballing me, she said, “So you are expecting this.” She continued to speak in her drawled out, painfully slow manner, “This will make the transition so much – easier. That is good…”

  The remaining two witches began laughing and cackling with renewed vigour.

  “Before I continue, is there anything you would like to say?” the third witch asked.

  At first, I simply shrugged my shoulders, lost for anything to say.


  Shrugging was obviously the wrong thing to be doing. The second witch scowled, saying, “This – it – is the wrong one.”

  “Finish it now,” the first witch hissed.

  “No – wait,” said the third witch. “Let it – let him speak…”

  As six beady eyes watched me intently – four in profanity, and two in anticipation, I vowed not to let the third witch down.

  Pushing away the bedclothes, I stepped onto the cold hard floor, making ready to speak. Then my humanity returned, it returned with a vengeance, creeping into my psyche, wondering what I was doing. Why were these witches here, and what did they want?

  Seeing my indecision, the first witch hissed, “Finish him off.” With that, she sent a bolt of ice-cold lightning streaking towards me.

  In a fraction of a second, faster than the first witch’s attack, the third witch raising her hand, protected me from the lightning bolt. “Do it – now,” she urged me, “SAY IT…”

  I did. I began speaking, my fear having disappeared, replaced by an unshaken resolve to claim my future, my birthright, I said, “Ladies, I am – Herder…”

  The first and second witches gasped.

  The third one smiled.

  Although I was puzzled, I continued, “I claim my future, the future of all who wish for immortally… I claim the earth, itself…for Wicca.”

  All three witches laughed, cackled and applauded in wild excitement.

  At this point mum came into the room. “What is all this noise about?” she asked. Then she saw the three witches with me at the centre of them.

  “What are you doing with him?” she asked.

  “Nothing, dearie,” said the first witch.

  “See for yourself,” said the second one.

  The third witch waved mum in, allowing her safe entry.

  “Are you all right?” mum asked, touching me.

  I remained silent.

  “Jeremiah, are you all right?” mum asked me again, her concern for my wellbeing increasing.

  “Herder, my name is Herder,” I told her coldly.

  “But, you’re my son, Jeremiah,” she insisted.

  “Jeremiah is dead, and so too will be anyone who calls me by that name.”

  “Jeremiah,” mum repeated.

  I lifted my right hand, and I said, “You die.” With that, a bolt of ice-cold lightning streaked towards my mum, killing her.

  The witches cheered.

  I woke up in a pool of sweat, with mum’s radiant smile shining down on me.

  “You were having a nightmare,” she said softly.

  “I was?”

  “Yes, it was a wild night – it must have upset you,” she continued. Pulling the curtains open, she said, “It’s a lovely day, with plenty of leaves to kick about and loads of conkers to collect.”

  It was a lovely day; it was the best day of my entire life because my mum, my very own mum – was alive. God bless her.

  THE END

  The Witches Are Here

  The witches are here,

  I tell you no lie,

  They arrived yesterday,

  Flying down from the sky,

  Upon their dark broomsticks,

  Their hearts cruel and cold,

  The witches are here,

  Searching for souls.

  *

  They are searching for souls,

  To enslave and entwine,

  In a world of dark power,

  And bitter sweet wine,

  Be careful lest they see you,

  And caress you with guile,

  It’s your soul they are after,

  Not your innocent smile.

  *

  If you doubt me,

  I dare you to stray,

  Outside, in your garden,

  At midnight, I say,

  Where you will hear them,

  The witches, cackling away,

  Planning your end,

  In a tormented way.

  Last Night (part one)

  I heard a sound by my bedside last night,

  I heard a strange sound; I got such a fright.

  Something passed by me deep in the night,

  I heard a strange sound; did it want my poor life?

  *

  I made not a sound; I was still, in such fright,

  As I lay in bed in the deep of the night,

  I heard it close by me, how I longed for the light.

  What was the dark thing evading my sight?

  *

  An evil black form, a shadowy sight,

  Began to rise slowly in front of my eyes.

  As I lay in bed on my left-hand side,

  This dark, wicked thing rose slowly in sight.

  *

  I could move not a muscle; I was frozen in fright,

  As the dark, frightful vision continued in height,

  Till it’s malevolent eyes were almost in sight.

  Only then did I close mine despite the dark night.

  *

  I knew it was wicked, evil personified,

  That wanted my sight, the light of my life.

  If I kept my eyes closed, shut tight as the night.

  I might be spared the Grim Reaper’s cold scythe.

  *

  Finally, eventually, I opened my eyes,

  Had it gone, departed, left my bedside?

  NO! It was there (though lower again),

  Starting beginning to rise over again.

  *

  How could I be free from the terrible beast,

  That wanted my soul, my heart and my peace?

  Perhaps, if I shut my eyes tightly, I posed,

  It might, just might leave me alone.