Happy is he who...writes from the love of imparting certain thoughts and not from the necessity of sale-who writes always to the unknown friend.

Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)





Saturday, September 29, 2012

Entry # 8


                                                    A Witch's Kiss
                                                          By
                                                     Katrina Jack

Against a backdrop of midnight blue, sprinkled with the tiny lights of a million, billion stars and planets, Celandine flew. Perched “side-saddle” on the narrow wooden pole, she breathed in the heady fragrance of autumn, drifting up from the night-shrouded ground below. 

A gentle breeze ruffled her raven-dark curls, spilling out from beneath the brim of her hat. Albert, her green eyed, black furred cat, regarded her wisely from his place nestled amidst the bristles of the enchanted besom.

High above the earth Celandine soared filled with the peculiar joy that only Halloween could bring. It was the time of year that witches were at their most powerful; when spells could be cast with the sure certainty they would work.

Celandine clicked the heels of her boots together and increased her speed. Beneath her the stream of traffic on the motorway became a continuous blur of light. She squinted into the distance and spied the houses of the town. The sodium glare of streetlights dotted the edges of the roads. Celandine slowed the broom, until she was cruising above the rooftops.

She watched as human children progressed from door to door in search of “trick or treats.” Her lips curved in an indulgent smile and her heart, usually so cold, warmed at the sight of their rosy cheeks.

She flew on until at last she saw him, walking alone, head down and hands shoved into his pockets. She’d watched him for a long time now and coveted him, body and soul. Celadine’s pulse beat loud in her ears and she almost lost control. Albert hissed at her carelessness, before settling back again. 

She brought the broom down, landing silently in an alley, where she dismounted, took off her hat, and shook out her hair. Albert watched her, as she headed off towards the street.

As she neared the head of the alley, she paused. Her Beldame had cautioned against what she was about to do, warning that at best she could lose her powers, at worst her life. Phh! What did the old know about love?

Footsteps echoed along the road and Celandine stepped out, almost colliding with the man she’d chosen. As she gazed up into his startled face, she knew she’d been right. He was so handsome and there was kindness in those eyes. She muttered the carefully prepared spell and a white mist, filled with twinkling dots of light, rose up, surrounding them both. As the charm took effect, the young man reached out for her and took her in his arms. Celandine offered up her lips to him.

The kiss was everything she’d hoped for and its sweetness permeated her from head to toe. Then pain burned through her and she opened her mouth in a wordless cry. The face now looking down at her was hard and cold, the eyes narrowed and the lips a thin, tight line.

As she fell to the ground, her life blood ebbing around the blade of the knife stuck between her ribs, Celandine realised her Beldame had been right.

‘Do not think that witch-hunters are extinct my dear. Even in this, the 21st century of mortal man, they still exist. Beware the hunter, for he will have no mercy. Is it not written that thou shall not suffer a witch to live?’

The young man looked down at the fallen girl and a sigh of almost regret escaped him. Such a beautiful creature, but beneath that beauty lay evil and he must never forget it.

He glanced up at the star strewn sky, until the sound of children’s laughter sounded nearby. With a deft movement, he scooped the body into his arms and walked off towards the local crematorium, where he worked. There was a cremation scheduled for tomorrow.

No one would notice a few extra ashes.

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