The Bone Marrow

“A marrow is never hollow,

For it must be tame enough to swallow.

Give rise to stroma,

For it shall become a peculiar aroma.

Originating from one stem,

For it will be thick as phlegm.

Between layers of adipose,

We shall become one through osmose.

A marrow is never hollow,

For it is the place to enwallow.”

Each syllable, each rhyme, that I muttered aloud as I stirred the cauldron before me, had begun to swell up my tongue. The bubbling substance grew shades darker with each stir. I lifted the spoon to my lips and drank deeply, savouring the acrid taste. It went down my throat like a similar consistency to honey and sap.

I resisted the urge to gag.

It tasted just right.

The potion was brewing for a fortnight, and finally tonight on Samhain, it had reached its completion. The position of the moon had to be just right once the potion matured correctly in order for it to work.

I trailed a long-crooked finger along the old parchment paper of my grimoire and carefully skimmed the spell once more.

Smoke began to rise from the cauldron. It started thick as innocent white clouds and turned a vicious red the second it touched the ground. The substance bubbled angrily, popping thickly as the heat beneath roared.

I recited the spell aloud, encouraging it to grow, to boil into form.

“A marrow is never hollow,

For it must be tame enough to swallow.

Give rise to stroma,

For it shall become a peculiar aroma.

Originating from one stem,

For it will be thick as phlegm.

Between layers of adipose,

We shall become one through osmose.

A marrow is never hollow,

For it is the place to enwallow.”

A figure began to form within the smoke. It arose with great splendor, and fear prickled my skin. I longed for fear because it brought in the excitement and the anticipation after dotting on such a tedious potion for so long.

At last, we shall be reunited. My coven had been nearly extinct after years of being hunted down and chased out of towns. I have kept and collected the bones of each member throughout the years. I have brought together my entire family and brewed their marrows into the darkest magic found in my grimoire passed down through generations.

A bare foot hit the ground, and the impact made my shiver. A raspy voice repeated the same spell as it slithered itself out of the cauldron.

“A marrow is never hollow,

For it must be tame enough to swallow.

Give rise to stroma,

For it shall become a peculiar aroma.

Originating from one stem,

For it will be thick as phlegm.

Between layers of adipose,

We shall become one through osmose.

A marrow is never hollow,

For it is the place to enwallow.”

Another figure emerged from the cauldron, this time they were cloaked, and their feet did not touch the ground, but preferred to hover above. I was greeted with a cold kiss on the cheek before they flew away.

Before I knew it, I was surrounded by my coven. The smoke began to retreat back into the fire pit, the flames dimming into a soft blue.

Several pair of eyes, not all human shape, looked up towards me, waiting for my cue.

“Welcome back, my dear family. Tonight marks the night that we rejoice stronger than we were ever before. For years we have been discriminated upon – being labeled as castaways. Our history still bleeds from the scars of our inflicted wounds. Tonight, on Samhain, I brought us together for a sole purpose as a family: to seek revenge.”

In unison, everyone began to utter the spell – the spell that unites us all, that intertwines our magic running through our veins.

“A marrow is never hollow,

For it must be tame enough to swallow.

Give rise to stroma,

For it shall become a peculiar aroma.

Originating from one stem,

For it will be thick as phlegm.

Between layers of adipose,

We shall become one through osmose.

A marrow is never hollow,

For it is the place to enwallow.”

Everything went silent- the air putrid, awaiting for the doom ahead.