Beware Those Below

The howling wind was nothing compared to the cries of her mother. The thunder couldn’t rival the sound of her father’s fists.

Lightning flashed through the sky, an open vein leaking over the old tin roof. She didn’t bother to look up anymore, no god would come down to fight her father. She’d prayed and prayed and still, her calls had gone unanswered.

With the sound of the wooden chair breaking over what might be her mother’s head, she stood and creeped out the window. Cibhan ran towards the barn. It was old and drafty, filled with nothing but hay since her father drank away the livestock. But it held what she needed.

Her soaking hair stuck to her face as she ran down the hill under the sheets of rain and blankets of clouds.

The wind whipped and spiralled upwards, a vacuum pulling from beneath.

A chill ran down her spine. She was directly between the barn and the cabin. She hastened as she moved towards the barn with newfound purpose.

She’d been warned of witch-wind her whole life. She needed shelter and fast. Mud splattered up her legs, the bottom of her white nighty turned black. She yanked it up and ran faster, harder.

Finally, the barn door was within her grasp. She heaved it open and as she turned to push it closed, lightning illuminated the sky. Standing halfway between her and the cabin was a woman.

No, not a woman, she reminded herself.

A witch.

Her hair was black and long, gently waving down her back disappearing into the silhouette of her flowing black dress. Through the rain, her violet eyes were vibrant and fixed directly towards the barn door.

Hands shaking, Cibhan pushed with all her might, the rolling door creaking. Before it closed, a delicate hand clasped the frame and pushed it back open. Cibhan jumped back startled by the witch’s speed. She fumbled over the uneven floor falling back into a pile of hay.

The witch closed the barn door and loomed over her. Her face was serene, beautiful, ageless, in a way that left Cibhan unsettled. Her skin itched from the hay beneath her as the witch’s eyes intensely took her measure. Cibhan got to her feet.

“I’ve done nothing to earn your wrath. We leave offerings every harvest.”

The witch raised a hand.

“Your generosity was noted.”

Cibhan felt no relief.

“Then why are you here?”

“To present an offer.”

The witch walked over to the lantern hanging by the door and smoothly lifting her arms in front of her, eyes closed, a breeze set it alight.

“What kind of offer?” Cibhan asked silently marvelling over the power.

“Your prayers were never answered child, but they haven’t gone unheard, not by us below.”

“Those below don’t answer prayers. They cause nightmares.”

Cibhan recited the words her mother spoke to her every change of season, every storm. She’d known to be wary of the world below long before she knew to be wary of her kin.

“One person’s nightmare is another’s dream.”

The witch’s lips twitched as Cibhan glanced towards the pitchfork leaning against the barn wall.

“What dream are you offering?” She asked bluntly.

The witch bared her teeth into what might be a smile or a snarl.

“Power.”

“I don’t need power,” Cibhan said simply.

“That doesn’t mean you don’t want it.”

The witch put a long finger beneath the girl’s chin and removed the hair slowly from her face.

Strand by strand she spoke.

“You desire to be free of him. For your mother to be spared this violence. I have the power to do so, and should you ask me to wield it, you’ll one day have the power too.”

Cibhan stared into the witch’s eyes, her pupils tried to pull her in, to lose herself in the frigidity of her gaze. She resisted.

“If I were to agree, to ask you to kill my father, I’d have to go with you below?” She clarified.

“You’d get the honour of being trained by witches free of the dangers of men.”

“Free of men?” Cibhan asked.

“Men do not cross below.”

“Why?”

'Their vile nature isn’t tolerated; you’ll never need to fear them again.”

The witch caressed Cibhan’s face as she glanced again at the pitchfork.

The witch followed her eyes, “I wouldn’t need such a weapon to kill a man.”

Cibhan stared at the pitchfork. Her mother’s warnings echoed in her head. Her cautions of the below and the witches’ powers of persuasion. Her sage advice to avoid negotiating or striking a bargain. But the warnings were overpowered by her mother’s screams.

“Do it. Do it, and I’ll go below alongside you.” Cibhan said carefully, her eyes back on the witch’s ageless face.

The witch bared her teeth and turned.

She opened the door letting the rain and wind flood through. Cibhan watched frozen in place as the witch glided through the long grass to her cabin door. She tore the door from the hinges.

Cibhan listened to the screams, her father’s booming voice yelling in protest, screaming in rage… then pain.

She listened as her mother begged for the witch’s mercy, begged to have him spared. To save him. Cibhan moved. As she listened to bones snap and the wind howl, her mother’s pleas, and the baby’s cries. She took what she needed and walked out into the storm.

The wind pulled at her toes as though preparing to bring her below, but she ran, resisting the call. She came to a sudden stop as lightning flashed through her cabins ceiling, the brightness flaring out the open entry.

She no longer heard her father’s screams.

Her mother began to wretch but Cibhan didn’t look. She stepped back and looked up towards the heavens leaning heavily onto the pitchfork in her hand. The witch stepped out into the storm and appraised Cibhan.

“I told you I didn’t need such a weapon.” She said with a coy smile stepping down into the grass.

The witch raised her arms and closed her eyes to summon her powers. Just as she had within the barn.

Cibhan didn’t hesitate.

She plunged the pitchfork through the back of the witch’s skull.

Thunder cried, lightning lingered, and the wind died down. Suddenly the night was still. She used her foot to brace herself against the witches back as she freed her weapon from its head.

She left the body above the ground, knowing it’d be burned. Never buried below the surface for fear she’d be sucked below and made into a vengeful monster. She wiped her bloody hands on her nightgown and turned to walk inside.

Her mother clung to her father’s lifeless body. Crying despite the fresh bruises upon her face. Cibhan ignored her. She stepped over her father’s corpse and walked to the crib. Her baby brother’s cries were the only sound as the storm dissipated.

She swaddled him and held him close. He settled as she walked him outside away from the destruction.

She slowly waded through the long grass, as the moon began to peek through the clouds. A beacon of light leading towards the old barn.

The witch’s flame still glowed in the lantern as Cibhan grabbed a musty blanket and settled on a haystack. Her baby brother yawned, and his eyes began to close.

For the first time, she saw him smile, now free to reveal his sweet nature. Cibhan slept peacefully for the first time since she’d begun to pray. By the time the witch's flame burnt out, the dawn had come.