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Waking the Witch

It's only a matter of time

By Jennifer ChristiansenPublished 2 years ago Updated 2 years ago 5 min read
15
Waking the Witch
Photo by freestocks on Unsplash

And it's my whole heart

Weighted and measured inside

And it's an old scar

Trying to bleach it out (Florence + the Machine)

She was the great-great grandchild of a proclaimed witch. Even though she never got to meet her, the girl heard stories about Anabella.

She knew, for instance, that elder women could not lay in the same bed with her unless they slept feet to face. This was in fear that the child’s youth would be stolen.

Her great-grandmother Sarah would reminisce on her childhood where she watched the brave and curious pay her mother for her psychic powers. Sometimes they would ask her to contact the spirit of a deceased loved one or forecast the future. She would remain hidden in the shadows, many times hearing a neighborhood woman trying to discover if her husband was having an adulterous affair.

More mysterious events transpired with details withheld from the girl's young ears.

But one thing was clear, Anabella was an awe-inspiring figure. And her blood run through the girl's veins.

In a dark and misty house,

Where no Christian man has been,

Wicked Annabella mixes a brew

That no one's ever seen. (The Kinks)

The girl’s childhood wasn’t made of sugar and spice and everything nice. Soon after the death of her great-grandmother, her father perished in a tragic accident. Her mother, while still alive, was lost in a world where she battled demons and bouts of depression. At first, the girl thought her mother’s new friend, Arthur, would brighten their lives, but she soon learned that evil came in many different forms.

Gonna put them demons in their place

Gonna slap myself across the face

Gotta face my demons all the day

The devil's work is made by idle hands

Gonna put those demons in their place

Hocus

Hocus pocus

Cast a spell and hope to hell

The Gods are listening (Roisin Murphy)

The girl, shunned by peers for her red hair and quirky ways, retreated into her own universe. She loved books because she could transport into any world and become any fictional character she wished. One of her favorite books, however, was not fiction at all.

She hid the ancient journal in a place where neither her mother or Arthur could discover it by chance.

And she always waited…and waited…for her favorite holiday. It was a time when she could reveal her true self in any desired fashion. Yes, Halloween was almost upon her.

And when I look in my window

So many different people to be

It's strange

Sure is strange (Donovan)

In her room, she peered at her reflection in her dresser mirror. As the sun sank behind the hills, she brushed her hair and laughed. Even though she played her part as Arthur sang her a bedtime lullaby, a plan hatched in her head. He meant to scare her…to paralyze her…but he didn’t understand her power. Someday soon it would be clear.

On candy stripe legs the Spiderman comes

Softly through the shadow of the evening sun

Stealing past the windows of the blissfully dead

Looking for the victim shivering in bed (The Cure)

The web was spun and waiting for its prey, so she closed her eyes. A sleep so deep, enveloped in blackness, cradled her in its grasp. Her instincts and intuition were strong. She slept.

As I lay me down to sleep

I will not scream, I will not weep

If he should die, before he wakes

I pray the Lord, his soul to take

'Cause I am, I am

A little wicked

I am, yes, I am

Hands red, hands red

Just like you said

I am, I am

A little wicked (Valerie Broussard)

As morning drew near, the fleeting images of her dreams crystalized and became a verdant garden buzzing with life. An ebony bird flew to her, all strength and grace. She held out her arm for it to land. After tilting its feathered head, yellow eyes - filled with intelligence and curiosity - peered into hers. Opening its beak, it released a rising, shrill cry that echoed against the stone walls.

Wake up, sleepy head!

We are of the going water and the gone

We are of water in the Holy Land of water

Don't you know you've kept him waiting

Look who's here to see you!

Listen to me, listen to me, baby!

Listen, baby, help me!

Baby, help me, help me!

Listen to me, talk to me!

You won't burn

You won't bleed

Confess to me, girl (Kate Bush)

The sun rose again, like a beach ball in a pool, buoyant and unsinkable. So close to the witching hour, but she first had another day to endure. She donned her mask and counted the hours as she walked to school. The open gates tempted her. Inspiration and reflection, she lost herself in the yard of gravestones.

All those people, all those lives

Where are they now?

With loves, and hates

And passions just like mine

They were born

And then they lived

And then they died (The Smiths)

The evening where the veil between the living and dead thinned was cold and seemingly silent. She hurried with her task, not wanting to linger in the chill. A howl rippled through the air and echoed through the woods. In a clearing, the girl cast her circle under the eyes of the ancient deities, the winged three, and chanted her great-grandmother’s name.

Anabella.

Come to me.

Anabella.

Guide me.

The overpowering scent of roses arrived before the spectral whispers invaded her waiting ears. When the girl’s eyes opened, they glowed with potency and might. They now belonged to a woman. And the most terrifying thing in town was her.

Running with the wolves under the moon, I'm singing over bones

Like a fire on the river, I'm bringing hell where it never goes

I'm a blood, sin, seduction,

Black magic spirit child in the spinning sky

No fury like a woman's soul awoken from the blackest night.

Ooooooh.

Ooooooh.

I'm a wild, wild woman.

I'm a wild, wild woman (Sleep Machine)

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About the Creator

Jennifer Christiansen

Animal advocate, traveler, and bibliophile. Lover of all things dark and romantic.

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