The Sacrifice on All Hallows' Eve

Everything was ready for the ritual. My body was rigid with fear. Terrified of the unknown, terrified of what would happen after everything ended. 

The path below my feet was littered with fallen leaves and wayward branches. Each footstep was heavy with apprehension. Waves of nausea flooded over me. I instinctively groped the violet amulet that hung around my neck.

The previous evening was full of foreboding – stifling and obtrusive. We felt it, sitting there in my grandmother’s kitchen; no denying the future was coming and fast. They were trying to convince me that everything would be fine, better than ever. My grandmother’s words were embedded in my brain: Accept your fate. Do not fight it. You are who you are and can be no one else. I knew what she said was true, I would have to realize my providence and trust I was who I was and could be no one else. 

The darkness was suffocating. The looming arms of the ancient trees touched with gnarled fingertips as I continued forward. 

********************* 

Halloween was my favorite day of the year. My cousins and I enjoyed running throughout the neighborhood, collecting as much candy as possible, and then downing most of it until our stomachs ached.  

Our family gathered at our grandmother’s house every weekend. The adults would mingle and talk about adult things of no interest to kids. We would challenge each other in grueling games of chess or play our own made-up games with a dizzying number of confusing directions that no one really knew how to win.

There weren’t many rules to follow at Grandmother’s except for two: leave the adults to their own devices and under no circumstances, enter the attic.

When Halloween fell on a weekend, it was the best treat of all – guaranteed sleepovers. After eating candy, getting sick, and recovering, my cousins and I watched, in secret, scary movies we believed our parents would strongly disapprove of. However, the adults were doing their own things in secrecy that most would take exception to. Our youthful naivety shielded us from realizing things were not quite right in Grandmother’s house.

There came a point where the girls no longer wanted to hang out with the boys and vice versa. Thankfully, I had Clara. We were the same age, only one month apart; the sister I never had. We admittedly did stupid teenage girl stuff especially swooning over boys from school, though our favorite thing to do was Truth or Dare. Dares were exhilarating and involved playing pranks on our younger siblings, until reprimanded by Grandmother. She would sometimes be separate from the other adults, sitting quietly in her living room beside a crackling fire. Grandmother usually had an obscure book in her hand, deep into the pages. We used to think she didn’t notice us sneaking around, fulfilling each other’s stupid dares. But she did. She always did.

One Halloween, Clara and I were bored with our usual routine – too old to go trick or treating and didn’t have endless candy to enjoy outside of the couple of pieces pilfered from our brothers.  

“Truth or Dare?” Clara had asked me. A fruitless question, she knew I always picked dare.

A devious grin spread across Clara's face, “I dare you to sneak into the attic”.

I returned the smile, “You're coming with me.” Clara delightedly agreed.

We hatched out a plan. We checked to ensure the parents were safely in the kitchen – their normal meeting area. Grandmother wasn’t with them, instead perched by the fireplace. Clara gave me the OK indicating Grandmother was preoccupied. 

We crept up the enormous staircase. The steps were treacherous but awe-inspiring, typical of a Victorian. A gorgeous house shrouded in mystery and intrigue. 

When reaching the top, we turned the corner and spied the door leading to the attic at the end of the hallway. We stopped in front of it. Clara shivered at the exact time chills swept over my body. There was something emanating from beyond the door. A feeling embodying the preternatural. Clara looked at me hoping I would be the one to touch the knob first.  

Clara put her hand on mine which was already on the doorknob. She whispered, “Three, two, one”. We twisted the knob and slowly pushed the door open. 

Another staircase was mapped out before us. We couldn’t help feeling excited as we stepped over the threshold.

We started up the stairs together. I was expecting the worst for some reason – my imagination running rampant. A torture chamber? A poltergeist? No. It was a single rocking chair sitting in the middle of the room.

“This can’t be all,” Clara was as surprised as I was.

A mysterious aroma hung in the air, “It smells strange up here,” I whispered. The air was thick with a smoky scent, honeyed and sharp. 

Something felt off, “We completed the dare. Let’s go back and watch a movie,” I declared. We turned and quickened toward the staircase. As we began descending the stairs, my ears pricked at a creaking sound from behind us. 

“The rocking chair!” Clara shrieked. I spun around so quickly I toppled backward down the stairs. The last thing I saw before blacking out on the landing was Grandmother in the rocking chair with a book in her lap. 

********************* 

Coming back into consciousness, I heard disembodied voices around me. My eyes were closed, and I couldn’t open them. I tried and tried but my body wasn’t cooperating. My fingers were twitching as I willed myself to sit up. With all my will, I bolted upright, eyes wrenched open. 

My chest was heaving as if learning how to breathe. My heart thudded, beating faster every second. Grandmother stood before me at the end of the table I had laid on. Clara was standing beside her – skin pale, terror-struck. I moved my mouth, but could not formulate words, not even an utterance. 

“You are alright, Willa,” Grandmother said soothingly.  

The stairs were deadly if not careful and I had lost my footing. My head did not hurt, not even a dull throb of pain. This does not make sense, I thought.

I recovered my voice, “Grandmother, we’re so sorry!” I cried.  

Grandmother waved away the apology, “You are alright, beyond alright. And as far as the matter of rule breaking, I allowed it to happen.” 

“H-how did you, w-what h-happened? There was so much blood. I thought she was-” Clara was visibly shaking. 

“Death was moments away, I had to work quickly,” Grandmother pronounced. 

I peered around the room. We were still in the attic, the distinct smell hung in the air, though not in the same room where the rocking chair sat. My eyes widened as I noticed my surroundings. Candles eerily illuminated the room, each flame standing tall, never flickering. It was a tiny space with many dark corners the candlelight couldn’t reach. Ancient-looking books were piled throughout the room in stacks of varying sizes. There was a small hearth with a fire burning, a large black caldron hanging over it. Wooden shelves protruded from every wall, packed with different shaped vials of dark colored liquids and jars with questionable contents making my stomach turn. 

“Willa, Clara. You’re old enough to know the truth about our family. I informed your parents that tonight was the night,” Grandmother put her arm around Clara’s shoulders and guided her toward me.  

“Girls, I must ask you. Have you ever felt you were different from others at school?” Grandmother looked at both Clara and I as we looked at each other. I pondered the question. I didn’t feel different although I did find it odd that things seemed to work out when I willed them to. I assumed it was luck. 

“When I need something to happen and wish with all my heart, it happens. I thought I was just lucky,” Clara admitted. I concurred. 

“My dears, it’s not called luck. It’s called magic.” 

We stayed upstairs for hours. Grandmother explained the history of our family. We were from an old, notoriously powerful coven of witches. Other covens throughout the world were envious of our family’s abilities. Clara and I gaped at Grandmother for most of the conversation, we didn’t even have to ask any questions, she left nothing open to interpretation, or so I thought. 

Grandmother set us out to extend our knowledge. We were elated upon discovery of numerous books with an abundance of love potions, healing remedies, and protective spells. 

One evening as I was sprawled out on my bed, laptop at my fingertips, I stumbled on a different type of magic I never thought existed. A magic so dark my stomach dropped, and heart quickened with anxiety. Black Magic: the summoning of evil spirits for evil purposes. I immediately sought after an amulet for protection. 

As I observed my mother and my father, my aunts and uncles, and Grandmother, I became certain they were not associated with the practice of White Magic. White Magic was seemingly good and selfless. Black Magic was not. Their magic was seething with malicious intent, it became difficult to turn a blind eye when I was so far in the know. I wished I was still innocently ignorant like my brother and younger cousins. 

Clara was complicit – at first. As time went on, Clara became active in her practice of dark magic. I was meanwhile mastering the art of healing and protection, the sort of spell-casting Clara was not interested in. Clara took part in sorcery. She gained pleasure out of controlling people. Others became her pawns in her own sinister version of chess. She was becoming unrecognizable, and it was scaring me. I began to stay away from her. I avoided Grandmother’s house. I locked myself in my room at home as much as possible.

I often heard my parents whispering outside my door, “She’ll come around. Wait until number twenty-one.”  

They were insinuating my twenty-first birthday. Twenty-one signified ultimate fulfillment of what was willed – the rebirth of the soul into cosmic awareness. 

The 21st year came. October arrived. Halloween was approaching. Grandmother insisted I pay her a visit. I grudgingly consented. Grandmother’s house was a short drive through wooded back roads. Before I could knock, the front door opened. Grandmother was standing before me dressed in a long black velvety dress. Her eyes were alight with anticipation. Her look was mesmerizing.

Grandmother ushered me inside. My mother, adorned in ebony, and my father, a forbidding presence, were there alongside Clara’s mother – my mother’s sister – and Clara’s father, a towering figure, eyebrows furrowed, peering down at me. Clara was scowling by the fireplace. 

We gathered in the kitchen by Grandmother’s request, “Tonight is the night we have been waiting for. The veil is thinner than ever. We’ll have unabridged access to the Underworld this very night. Our powers will be the strongest. We will enter the woods,” Grandmother made a gesture in the direction of the door leading to the backyard. There was a path toward the furthest corner of the yard where her purple monkshood grew tall. 

“We need to perform the ritual with the utmost care. Any slight mistake will damage our chances of perpetuating the unveiling,” Grandmother’s eyes moved over me. The dread I felt reached a fever pitch, “Willa, it is your 21st year. It is your duty to find the sacrifice for our ritual. Without it, we will not gain access. Without it, we will not be able to seek the powers beneath.”

“It’s my 21st year, too!” Clara spat. 

Unflinching, Grandmother continued, “We need a sacrificial offering, Willa, and it must be human. Your aura is radiating power. It must be you.” She was certain I was well-versed in dark magic. 

Clara was outraged and stormed out.

“Grandmother, I cannot do this!” I cried. 

“You will,” she moved closer, “Accept your fate. Do not fight it. You are who you are and can be no one else.”

********************* 

I was coming to the end of the path where the woods became thicker, devouring the trail and obscuring sense of direction.  

Clara appeared out of the darkness.

“Where is it?” Clara then shook her head and scoffed, “Don’t even answer. I know what you’re going to say. You were never going to bring a sacrifice.” 

I needed to convince Clara otherwise, “That’s where you’re wrong. You’re jealous Grandmother chose me for this important task and not you.”

Clara eyed me suspiciously, “You are lying. You’re not one of us. You never were! I constantly observed Grandmother and our parents. They taught me so many things. They let me do even more. But you, you were never there, and Grandmother thinks your power is stronger than mine!” 

Clara was shouting, “You were locked in your room wasting time, wasting your potential. Your mother said you were mixing potions and obsessively studying White Magic. Perfecting a love potion or something trivial and meaningless like that? And I'm somehow still punished.”

“I read almost all of Grandmother’s books! More than you ever have.” 

Clara was momentarily quiet, “I noticed you thumbing through those books. For me, reading was a waste of time. I was getting what was needed directly from the sources.” 

She paused and smiled, “Do you know what will happen if you ruin our chances of opening the passage? If anyone goes against our family, they’ll suffer dire consequences. That's when Grandmother will realize she made a mistake seeking you.”  

“You can believe me or not, I don’t care. Wait and see.”

Clara’s eyes narrowed. She opened her mouth to speak but instead marched off into the woods. I followed her.

What my family was planning was irreversible. The Underworld could never be controlled. A few powerful witches were no match for the sinister demons lurking beneath. 

I yearned for my plan to work as I treaded deeper into the woods. I impulsively touched the amulet around my neck. My sanctuary.  

The words I am who I am and can be no one else incessantly scrolled through my brain. That was just it, wasn’t it? I was who I was and could be no one else. I knew I was inherently good. That was my fate. To do good things. To protect. 

I made it to the clearing. Clara was already there with the rest of my family. Grandmother was standing in the middle; a great blaze of a pentacle burning in an enormous circle before them.  

Grandmother glared at me, “Willa, it seems you did not fulfill your duty. You cannot stop this. Even though you came empty handed tonight, it doesn’t matter. The ritual will commence. It’s too late.” 

I walked closer to the fire. 

“Step aside, Willa. Watch and learn. You’ll be more the wiser for it,” Grandmother closed her eyes, the air became cold, and the fire turned the brightest red. She would summon a sacrifice without anyone’s assistance. 

I immediately tried to break her concentration, “Everything isn’t just black and white, I know this. But there are two concepts forever in opposition. Good and evil. If you open the Underworld, it can never be closed. Evil will spill upon the earth and destroy everything.” 

“Willa, unleash what you are capable of! It does not have to be for good and it does not have to be for evil! Make it for yourself!” Grandmother bellowed. 

Without a second to spare, I cracked open my amulet and threw the contents into the blaze. The pentacle’s flames exploded toward the sky in a violent shade of purple, then all at once, dissipated into nothing but glowing embers. The sense of trepidation was quickly thinning, and the sky seemed to lighten. The trees no longer appeared to be menacing giants. 

It worked. The curse was finally broken. 

All at once, my parents ran toward me and took me into their arms in a warm embrace. Clara and her parents did the same. Grandmother staggered away from what was left of the fire.  

While my family was casting dark spells and falling further into Black Magic, I dug deeper into our history. The books I read in Grandmother’s attics held the answers, I intuited. After the first night in the attic, Clara and I could visit freely. I pored over the tomes trying to discover why my family turned to Black Magic. It didn’t make sense; I sensed they were inherently good people. Grandmother had hinted other covens were jealous of my family’s sorcery skills. I hesitantly opened the cover of a book containing the darkest, blackest magic ever known. I was sitting in the rocking chair with my face close to the pages when I found it, I jumped up nearly knocking the chair on its side. I learned of a dark curse, almost impossible to detect. It was slow starting, seeping through our bloodline as the years progressed. The curse had been casted on my family, causing their powers to descend into darkness. I slammed the book shut and stuffed it back on the shelf. I felt a sudden exhilaration and angst. I needed to fix this. I raced home and locked myself in my room. From that moment, I arduously working on creating the antidote. Once finished, I slipped the vial within my amulet. 

We left the forest that night, different people. I embraced my cousin, my best friend, who for so long was lost to me. Grandmother was somber as we trekked back to her house. She was the matriarch. The head of the coven. I understood she was distraught that she never uncovered what transpired in the past. 

Grandmother seemed in better spirits as we congregated around the kitchen table. She brewed coffee and served fresh pastries.

No matter how she intended her initial message to be, Grandmother taught me the most important concept, Accept your fate. Do not fight it. You are who you are and can be no one else.