The Witching Hour
著者
Nate Fitch
閲覧数
59.5K
チャプター
16
Three young women set out to be camp counselors for the summer. But they didn’t bank on the spirit of a pilgrim haunting them! The three amateur sleuths must work together to solve the riddle of the mysterious pilgrim and free the camp from his haunting spirit.
Age Rating: 16+
Chapter 1: A Chance Coven
Nephastor Settlement, Pennsylvania Colony, 1693
She stood before the small cabin door, pausing before she entered. Swiveling around, the woman in the cloak took a quick look under her large wool hood, scanning the moonlit woods beneath the hill.
She had to keep her actions secret. In this small lakeside colony, being sneaky was the key to survival. Any slip-up could cost her and her group their lives, thanks to their ruthless enemy.
Once she was sure the coast was clear, she clutched the burlap sack close to her chest and quietly pushed the door open. The cabin was pitch black, except for the thin slivers of moonlight that slipped through the cracks in the boarded-up window.
The faint smell of dust, mildew, and straw filled her nostrils, a scent she quickly got used to as the door closed silently behind her. She set the burlap-wrapped object on the ground, knelt down, and took off her shoes, placing them by the door. She moved silently to the center of the room, placing the ball of her foot down first, then her heel, just as Else had instructed her. The wooden floor shifted under her weight, but it didn’t creak or make a sound. Keeping her cloak on and her hood up, she slowly made her way to the back corner of the room until she reached the entrance of the cellar door.
The door was open, just as they had promised. A creaking sound from behind her made her jump. She crouched down, hoping the darkness would hide her, and scanned the room and the front door for any signs of intruders. There was nothing but spiders and darkness. Her nerves were getting the best of her. Just get below and close the cellar door behind you. Once you’re underground, take the stone staircase until you reach the cellar. Then no one can hear us. Just follow Else’s instructions and lock the cellar door behind you. You can do this, Ayla. You’re not a little girl anymore.
Shaking off her fear like a chill on a winter morning, Ayla crept into the cellar entrance and slowly shut the large wooden door behind her. She slid the steel bar latch into place and felt around for the iron padlock she was told would be there. As she fumbled in the dark, another sound from outside made her gasp. She covered her mouth, pressed her back against the cold, stone wall, and slid down to the stone step below.
Someone is outside. They must be. Why can’t I find the lock?
A long silence was followed by another creaking sound from above the cellar. Ayla, giving up on the lock, dashed down the stone steps to the safety of her group below. Once she was in the basement, Ayla pulled back her hood to reveal a head of brown hair held tightly under a white bonnet. Her pale, blue eyes almost glowed in the light from the small fire burning under a black cauldron in the center of the room.
The smell coming from the cauldron was almost enough to make her faint. It stung her nostrils and left a bitter taste in her mouth. The fumes were thickening in the sealed room. A green haze mixed with the small fire, casting a ghostly green glow on the cellar stones.
Four other young women stood around the black iron pot. They turned to look at the entrance when Ayla burst in. Wild eyes stared at her from the shadows, eyes she barely recognized as those of her childhood friends and cousins. The desperation of their criminal act was clear in their expressions. Fear, disgust, panic. Anger, regret, pain. Her sisters wore their emotions like badges of honor and guilt. She would never forget why they had gone to such lengths, or the vile man who had driven them to commit sins their god would never forgive.
“Ayla, did you bring it?” a young woman whispered from the far side of the cauldron.
Ayla nodded and pulled the burlap-wrapped object from under her black wool cloak.
“I have the book, Katherine. I just got back from my trip to the mountain,” Ayla whispered back, giving the group a small nod.
A faint smile appeared on the faces of the four other young women standing at the cauldron. Ayla slowly approached the circle and handed the object to Katherine. As it left her hands, Ayla felt a small weight lift from her soul. It had taken her over two weeks of travel on foot to reach the mountain’s summit. She had told her parents she was visiting her uncle’s family at Fort Damon for supplies. Once at the summit, she had to go into that horrible cave, carrying the offering on her back the whole time.
Ayla turned to her cousin, who stood next to her, and gave Christyne a small, empty smile. She reached out and placed a cold, trembling hand on her cousin’s abdomen, asking her how the scar was healing. A single tear rolled down Christyne’s cheek as she whispered a trembling reply.
It had been a full moon since the midwife had cut the reason for their meeting from her. Two full moons since that bastard had touched her in the woods.
Ayla wanted to tell her he would pay for what he had done and offer a comforting hug. But no words could change the evil that had befallen her cousin. How could you offer comfort after someone was driven to commit such a sin as killing their own child? All to get rid of an even greater evil.
The item, which had come at such a high cost, was finally unwrapped by Katherine. She tossed aside the last piece of burlap, revealing a black, leather-bound book.
On the cover was a silver symbol that none of them had ever seen before. A polyhedral sigil that gave off a chilling aura, steeped in ancient mystery and lost to time.
It was almost too much for the German-Catholic women who sat in a circle, hunched over the ancient tome. The only book they had ever seen was the Bible. This evil book before them was the opposite of everything they knew.
Katherine gently ran her fingers over the cover of the leather-bound book. A thrilling sensation surged through her, as if the magic within the pages was seeping into her skin.
Ayla had seen firsthand the dark, dangerous magic that the book held. She’d watched the witches in the cave use it, transforming from haggard crones into stunning young women right before her eyes. The power of the book was both terrifying and tantalizing.
They were already in too deep, their souls marked for damnation. They’d be labeled as witches, but what did that matter when they’d already been branded whores by the men of the colony? Why fear the wrath of a god who didn’t punish the wicked for their sins against the innocent?
They’d all been brought to this new world against their will, torn from their homeland and thrust into this harsh, unfamiliar place. Treated like livestock, used and abused. Each woman gathered around the book had seen the Englishmen from the north invade their colony, spreading their Protestant beliefs across their Catholic land.
These invaders had taken advantage of their mothers, sisters, and friends, stealing their crops and livestock for their own gain. All of this was done under the threat of English guns and swords.
They’d watched their fathers and brothers cower before the Englishmen and their gang of brutes. They’d had enough. If their men wouldn’t protect them, they’d take matters into their own hands.
With a shared look of determination, Katherine opened the book, revealing the pages inked in blood.
Under the moonlight of the witching hour, the five women huddled together, plotting by candlelight. Katherine, Ayla, Else, Christyne, and Agnes—all bound by a blood oath, united in their desperate plan to rid their colony of the oppressive Englishman.
As they chanted the words from the book, a soft green glow grew into a vibrant emerald flame. Visions of unimaginable chaos filled their minds, seen through the murky depths of their innermost thoughts.
The portal they’d opened showed no signs of closing, and a wave of powerful energy swept through the Nephastor Colony. The epicenter was the small cabin on the hill overlooking the lake.
