The Witching Hour - Book cover

The Witching Hour

Nate Fitch

Chapter 2: A Desperate Pack

The five women collapsed onto the floor as the dust settled and the emerald dream faded. Their clothes were drenched with sweat, their bodies radiating heat.

Ayla coughed, gasped, and choked before opening her eyes to the dim room around her. She felt violated, but the reason was lost in her foggy memory.

Sitting up, Ayla looked around to check on her sisters. The cast-iron cauldron was now a melted puddle of iron in the center of the room. A beast-like limb stepped out from the shadows, the stone floor cracking under its weight.

Ayla held back tears as she watched the limb morph into a human leg and foot, hairless and pale. She followed the foot upward until it disappeared into the shadows. Looking up, she saw a pair of glowing red eyes staring at her from the darkness.

Like two burning embers, the red eyes seemed to see into her very soul, exposing her true self. It was as terrifying as it was mesmerizing.

Feeling sick, Ayla fell back onto the stone floor, catching herself on an outstretched arm. A red, bulbous tendril emerged from the darkness, jabbing the stale air before retreating back into the shadows.

A voice broke the silence, so harsh and grating that it woke everyone from their stupor. Gasps and muffled screams filled the room as the women saw the creature they had summoned. The beast smiled, revealing a set of gleaming fangs, and looked at the women at his feet.

“Hallo meine damen. Wie kann ich Ihnen behilflich sein?”

Suddenly, loud banging came from the room above. Someone was pounding on the cabin door. The distant sound of dogs barking and shouting in both English and German could be heard.

The women started to panic, looking at each other, unsure of what to do. As the door was knocked off its hinges and crashed onto the wooden floor above, torchlight streamed into the room, filtering through the cracks in the floorboards.

In the midst of their panic, Ayla remembered their unfinished ritual. She looked at the melted cauldron on the floor, her heart sinking as the shadowy creature disappeared. The realization that they hadn’t completed their ritual hit her like a punch to the gut.

Katherine wrapped her arms around Ayla, whimpering as the sound of heavy boots echoed in the room above. Huddled against the stone wall of the cellar, the women listened in terror as the room upstairs fell silent with the arrival of one man—the witch hunter.

Whispers turned to silence as a new pair of boots entered the cabin and slowly made their way across the room. Each heavy step sent a cloud of dust over the women in the cellar below. The hunter stopped in the center of the room, his long, black cloak sweeping across the floor, casting shadows over their eyes.

“No one is here, sir. The house is empty,” said one of the English Protestants, his sword sliding back into its sheath.

There was a long pause. Ayla could hear her heart pounding in her chest. Then she heard someone sniffing.

“Can ye smell it? Master Hobbs, that is the foul odor of witchcraft. There be witches in this cabin.”

The sound of a white birchwood cane hitting the wooden floor echoed through the room. The women huddled together, watching in horror as the dust from above moved toward the cellar door in sync with the heavy footsteps. There was a pause before the cellar door rattled as the man pulled on the handle.

A single tear fell from Ayla’s eye as she heard the order to bring axes and break down the cellar door. Holding her cousin close, Ayla kissed her forehead and whispered that everything would be okay.

It wasn’t long before the cellar door was reduced to splinters under the relentless swings of several rusty axes. The light from the torches filled the basement, followed by the man who had caused them so much pain.

He looked at the five young women with a stern, fiery gaze. The fire from the torches surrounding him paled in comparison to the fiery glow in his eyes. Both burned brightly under the wide brim of his Puritan hat.

As he looked at the women, his gaze quickly shifted to the remnants of their secret deeds. A smirk slowly spread across his face.

“Sherriff Bendorf!” cried the Englishman at the top of the cellar staircase. “Come tell these young heathens that we will be binding them in chains and they will stand trial for witchcraft come daylight.”

Ayla didn’t understand the words of the Puritan, but she wasn’t going to sit in the corner cowering with the others. Not anymore. If they were going to burn at the stake, Ayla decided she would speak her truth before her sisters and the men who stood with the man who had caused them so much pain.

“Du wirst für das bezahlen, was du getan hast, Engländer. In diesem oder jenem Leben! Wir werden dich verfluchen, für alle Ewigkeit!” Ayla shouted, rising from her crouched position, trying to match the intensity of her persecutor with a fiery glance of her own.

Her defiance was futile, but it gave her sisters the courage to rise and stand with her. Their hands came together as they stood tall.

The smirk on the Englishman’s face disappeared, replaced by a look of rage. If there was one thing he hated more than witchcraft, it was defiant disobedience, women who didn’t know their place.

Down in the cellar, chains and ropes were being gathered. One by one, the women were guided from the basement’s gloom into the cabin above. Standing on the chilly, moonlit hillside by the lake, Ayla gazed down at their tiny community nestled below.

Soon, the ringing of the village square bell would rouse the entire community. She knew she’d have to face her mother’s grief-stricken expression. It would be a sight that would tear at her heart, but she had to stay strong.

If there was any hope for change, any chance for a brighter future for the girls in this new world, Ayla knew she had to confront the unbearable with a brave heart.

The solitary howl of a wolf echoed across the forest as the five women were guided down the hill and towards the haphazardly arranged cabins below. As they reached the town center, the village bell began to toll outside the church house, stirring the villagers from their peaceful sleep.

Ayla bowed her head, and over the confused shouts of the sleepy villagers, she heard a sound that was all too familiar: the heart-wrenching cry of a mother.

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