Witch's Nocturne, Moonsongs Episode 2

Witch's Nocturne, Moonsongs Episode 2: Pt. 6 - Dark Magic Vs Tomahawk

“Marshal,” I mumbled, trying to raise my head.

A shot of pain, the equivalent of what I imagined ten thousand bumblebee stings would feel like, ripped through my nervous system. I tried to relax, focusing instead on not puking, or passing out again. The sounds of chanting voices filled my ears. Fighting off another tsunami of intense nausea, I opened my eyes.

There were stars, thousands of them, all clustered to witness what I imagined to be a very bizarre midnight performance—even by all-seeing, celestial body standards. In their center, like a malevolent cabaret spotlight, the bloody moon glared down on me.

Sarah’s coven had formed a large circle, their hands joined high above their heads, with me sitting in their center. My own hands were tied.

There were more witches now—at least twice as many as before. Their droning never ceased as I took in my surroundings. I couldn’t understand most of what they were saying. Sounded like Latin, but the only second language I knew was HTML.

My mind reeled in a desperate struggle to make sense of the situation.

There were three headstones to my right. The first was inscribed with the name Billy Moonsong, the second belonged to my grandmother, Marie Moonsong, and the third was adorned with my mother’s name, Jennifer Moonsong-Schmidt. A large feather was etched into the polished granite above her name.

The chanting diminished to a low murmur.

Sarah stepped between me and the grave markers. She wore her own robe now. Unlike the others, her garment was a bottomless shade of purple

“Stand her up,” Sarah said.

One of the larger coven members hooked an arm under mine, hoisting me roughly to my feet. Still woozy, I fell backward, but was yanked into place before my balance completely left me.

Sarah reached into her cloak and pulled out a long, white-handled dagger.

Suddenly, the taser seemed like a pretty damn good option.

I contemplated running, but knew I wouldn’t get far in my condition, not to mention the unlikely scenario of me overpowering ten adults in the process. I might only get one shot at escape, so I decided to wait for the right moment.

She held the knife aloft. Crimson moonlight glinted down the length of the foot-long blade, making the edge look as though it had already been dipped in my blood.

“Brothers and sisters…” Sarah’s eyes focused on the heavens, or the knife. “As did the covens of old, we have gathered at a heathen burial, to call to our Dark Mistress. And she will appear to us in the form of he who is buried here.”

She pointed to Grandpa’s grave.

I had news for her. No one was taking the form of that corpse, because he was currently AWOL. This might be the extra life I’m looking for. I kept my mouth shut.

With the witch at my side distracted, I worked to loosen the knot of cord around my wrists. I got rope burns, frustrated, and worn out for my effort.

Sarah moved near me. Close enough to whisper in my ear. “I told you we wanted revenge on your stupid, hick town. Which is true, but what we’re going to do tonight will give us so much more. The spirit we’re raising is old and powerful enough to rule the world. No one will dare persecute our kind again. Who knows? Maybe we’ll be doing the persecuting from here on out.”

I lunged at her. Sarah stepped backward, just out of my reach.

“Keep her still.”

The large witch grabbed hold of my neck. Sarah moved the dagger toward my forehead. A sudden, radiating heat spread against my chest from underneath my sweatshirt.