We Were Right About Magic

The Witching Hour

I saw one once when I was young. It was the most terrifying moment of my life. They come to small villages to pluck us out, like chefs picking the fattest capon. Nobody of importance pays any mind to the little villages, and so they come. Less noise. Less trouble.

That year the coven chose my village to select their next sacrifice. The witching hour calls for the blood of a family to be spilt once every thirteen seasons. The neighbors said that the crones had already come and gone, that the unfortunate Davenports had already been pruned from the village.

So, once again it was safe to go outside, wander the wilderness and play in the fields. Of course that was what I was looking forward to, bright-eyed and full of youth. I wasn't suppose to be out after dusk, but a young girl like me could hardly be blamed. I had been locked in that dreadful house for so long.

The golden hues of the sun were gone and an ethereal blue coated the woods. Being out at such an hour felt somewhat surreal. I knew mother would be upset, but I had a small wicker basket and it was almost full of the most beautiful stones that I could find. Our region had a good bounty of minerals, and my collection never ceased to grow.

That was when I saw her in a narrow opening through the thicket. A slender frame draped in black—like obsidian. Her back faced me and the hood of her cloak was pulled over her head. Around her hood was a wreath made of foliage and thorns with two large wooden sticks protruding on either side like antlers. The blue of the evening danced on her outline.

I was close enough to see her details. She held herbs and twigs with fingers stained dusty black, as if she were working with charcoal that day. She had silver rings that glinted in contrast. She stood as still as a statue, like an animal listening for danger.

I wasn't entirely sure whom or what I was seeing at first, but I knew at least to hide behind a tree while observing. The more I watched, the more sour my stomach became.

Then finally she moved. She turned toward where I was, her movement fluid like an old creek. The skin on her face was pale and hung like worn tapestries. Her eyes were bright and absent of all color. For a moment, I felt her gaze hang upon me like a hot iron and I thought my heart had stopped in its place.

Her porcelain eyes tore into me a while longer before she raised her stained finger in my direction, and it was then that I felt the blood rush back through my limbs as I dropped the wicker basket. The beat of my heart returned like a kick in the chest, rushing heat through my veins. I used the heat to propel me, to turn and run as fast as I could go, I didn't look back. I sprinted all the way home, no longer fearsome of my mother's impending punishment.

I'm glad I didn't have grandmother's stone then. I wonder if I would've tried to use it, or if I still would have ran. In the years to come, she was the only soul I mentioned my experience to—the only person, I'm afraid, who would believe the truth of it. My grandmother was very old and not so easily swayed by the teachings of the new priests. They said we must lock ourselves away during the witching hour and pray for redemption. How the Devil would be able to drag away the family with the weakest of faith. They taught us of our helplessness.

My grandmother gave me a flat stone. It had a sigil carved into it. She said that it was fashioned by our ancient kin. It was able to ward off evil magic, but it could only be used once and only by a single child who was born under a full moon. My grandmother told me that that child was me, as it was her once before, and if our time ever came, I would be responsible for our redemption—not the new god. She bestowed this responsibility on to me as her time finally came to an end here on earth.

The years came and went, and yet another witching hour had arrived. I had blossomed into a true woman since that time, grown a bit smarter and wiser, too. I believed in my courage, but every witching hour I hoped that I wouldn't have to use the stone.