Coven Under the Midnight Moon

Whisper of a candle’s light, howl of the earth’s breath, ending reign of the sun golden life. Night’s evening sky fabricated and hung, hugging her body and every curve. Cascading down her frame raging flaming locks, while in place of mere eyes one could see the deep evergreen woods own soul. Clutched within her greedy grasp the obscure collection tightly fitted within the jade leather sachal. The breath of a single word, creaky door obeyed and candle crooked. Through the threshold, abondoning the loyal boarded up house with shattered glass. A place where the thistles lived without restraint, the last breath of many was breathed, and stories ran wild about the howls, the shadows and she the mistress of the estate. 

Click of heels, whistle of the wind, enchantment was in the air. The younglings’ chants and pounding on doors, swinging of pillow cases and costume tributes to the creatures the lurk within the depths. A stray shoe abandoned among the curb with a skip and weaving through the snot dripping toddling toddler and gruesomely grumpy teens with fangs and plastered faux dripping wounds. Where her feet meet the end of the sidewalk and the beginning of the earth. 

The bare moist soil turning beneath her feet, crunch of leaves, snap of twigs and baring echo of who’s. Farther and deeper where many dared not to journey, where the moss grew thick and mushrooms tall unsoiled by mortal feet. Evening’s rays spuractic and far between, bending the shadows to their will, to swirl within their own abyss. Each step taking her where the earth beacons her soul. The scent of earth, moss and fragrance of the natural earth became tainted with the burnings. 

That the canopy’s edge, the moon had begun it’s reign arching high above. Here within the heart of deep dark forest where the forest seemed to pause, leaving the grass untouched, open to the secrets of the stars and chatter of life. Among the grove edge where the tree bow welcomes the unusual guests. A rustle from the depths of the shrub, a twitching whisker and deep earthy eyes. Unfolding arms, lowering herself and a click of her tongue from the sea of leaves and pine cones prancing into her porcelain frame, a creature of the woods, an ally. Red fur, painted black long sly nose, silver whiskers patroding from about his face. The dearest familiar, a fox, with a glance seemed to be a guide to the underworld. 

With a hip and hop around and about his master’s feet while she stands against the nipping fall breeze to greet the stump and the dark figure alongside it, with the dying gasps of a flickering fire. The burning of sage, ever so sweet with the tainted wisps of wood. While above in the void of the purple sky the raven soared, and with the raven’s caw the mistress was never far behind. Nearly as if conjured from the dark of the woods, the porcelain face of the youngest came forth. Her voice is that of a creature with a million legs, and cockroach scurrying about, fitting of the sunken frame and dark sickly circles beneath her void full eyes. 

As the night drew closer to the prime of it’s time, the moon climbed the stars sharing it’s celestial sight. With placement of candles, calling of the deeps, and howls of creatures lurking in the shadows there to witness just as they have the mere 20 years ago. Fiery hair in her eyes, glass jar within her grasp. Salt flowing from the mouth such as waterfall, yet here the salt spilled into order. Snowy salt poured into circles within another with swirling symbols and sharp lettering. Mere wave of her hand, candles came alive and stood fast in this autumn’s breeze. 

Exchange of glances, smirks that could betray all innocents and chatter of the woodland familiars’ the women in black, hair wild and glances that seem to know where the bodies were hidden, perhaps because they placed it there. Claiming their places, the six maidens haughty and wicked were ready as they ever could be. A slur of words, mere whispers barely leaving the painted crimson lips. Here the wind itself, daring to silence raising its voice. The whisper of the earth, a mere breeze weaving through the swaying trees now began to speak, running its hands through the earth’s tree such as if the mighty pine were mere locks of hair. Rising from their lips, the foreign tongue sounded, ringing as the beginning of a song. The wind howling above all whipping through the trees, commanding all’s attention. Electrifying, awakening, soaring to new heights of emotion their voices erupting above the tyrant wind.

Upon the pine needle carpet, comforting blanket to the earth itself, their feet stood steady, words soaring from their being. Illuminating lights, radiating so intoxicating burning within. A spark, a crackle, craw and howl it had begun. Crack of lightning within the clear skies a sight of alluring light sparking within and between. Growing, pulsing every so alluring, every soul there wishing to reach out. Desperate to cease the chanting of foreign colorful words. Within the center, between the circles, swirls and letterings perhaps something ignited a wisp of smoke began. Growing consuming the air among, bellowing out, such as a claw creeping closer and closer, inching towards it prey. An echo in their voice, howl in the wind, pitch black smoke thickening the air. Rising up, towering among the pines, a final word, the strike of clock and the moon’s reign at its golden age. 

From deafening shouts and roar of winds, the tree bowing to the command of chaos and the wind holding its breath the word became silent. Frozen in time, not a single blade of grass dare peep nor field mouse scurry about. Any remaining was that of the women dressed in black. Heavy breath the only sound among the still air and frozen pine wood forest. Their eyes glued to the bellowing sight of the smoke turned thick. Flowing and swirling within themselves, tendrils. Whisky, whimsical spiraling smoke beginning to thicken. No longer the weightless enchanting campfire smoke, no, much like that of the pitch black ink. Dropped within water, ink bellowing, ribbon floating through the evening sky. 

Within the void, deep within careful not to look to close because you might find something staring back. Summoned, or glimpse into something among the shadows. Perhaps one will never know; all we can say for sure was that one moment there were seven dark figures and the next there was nothing but a burnt stump and the scent of crisp burnt bark and herbs. Trembling lip, candy scattered across the grassy earth they stood there witness to the shadows and gruesome. Blood curdling shriek of a girl dressed in glitter and pixie wings, and a young boy with hanging jaw and lollipop falling from its place and landing among the moss. 

A single word echoed across their mind; perhaps they were correct, but they would never know. There was never a hat among, no crooked nose with dark mole between the six only seven dark figures in the undulant smoke and one with a flash of smoldering eyes. Turning tail, running as fast as they could that word bouncing off the trees for the forest every creature large and small to hear. Left behind, not a soul only vibrant wrapped sweets scattered among the grass blades and thistle.

“Witches!”