Aldergrove

A witch’s revenge

Art by warmtail

Where laughter once 
danced like sunlight  
on rippling streams,  
in the village of Aldergrove,
the air now thickens with dread,  
an invisible fog clinging to the skin,  
as shadows stretch long over barren fields.

They had gathered in the square,  
the villagers' faces drawn tight,  
wreathed in the desperation of their choice.  
Bound in flames, Maelis stood,  
her eyes two blazing stars  
against the twilight of their souls,  
a fierce fire that spoke of vengeance  
and ancient knowledge.

Look upon me, she cried,  
her voice a crackling thunder,  
the wind carrying her words, 
a curse whispered into the night.  
They averted their gaze,  
shame and fear dancing in their hearts,  
a symphony of betrayal echoing  
in the hollow spaces between them.

The pyre crackled,  
wood splintering,  
flames licking the sky,  
devouring the last 
remnants of mercy;
and as sparks flew upward,  
they twisted into the very fabric of their fate,  
one woven with threads of regret.

Days slipped by,  
the sun hung heavy and indifferent,  
its light failing to break through the shroud  
that enveloped their once-verdant fields.  
Crops withered,  
the earth lay cracked and barren,  
while livestock, once a bounty of life,  
became mere shadows of hunger,  
their eyes reflecting the hollowness  
that gnawed at the villagers’ bellies.

Desperation turned their whispers  
into a cacophony of blame,  
Look to her, they murmured,  
pointing fingers at the ashes,  
the remnants of the woman 
they had scorned,  
the witch they had sacrificed  
to cleanse their sins.  
Yet her curse,  
like a noose, tightened 
around their throats,  
choking the breath from their lives.

Winter arrived,  
blanketing Aldergrove 
in a shroud of white,  
each flake a reminder of the warmth  
they had relinquished,  
of the sweetness of summer fruits  
that now lay just beyond reach.  
They huddled in silence,  
the embers of their community  
snuffed out,  
the ghosts of their laughter  
lost in the howling wind.

Then, their weakened bodies
succumbed to the virus.
One by one, they fell,  
the weight of their choice heavy,  
their bodies mere husks,  
lost in the ruins of their lives.  
And as the last breath escaped,  
a bitter thought lingered,  
an echo of Maelis’s voice;  
a haunting reminder that 
they had not escaped,  
but instead, had written themselves  
into her curse’s structure;
their sorrow and ashes 
settling softly into the earth.

Author’s Note

• Check out other Halloween/horror-themed posts at the Halloween link

• My new book, The Edges, is now available in digital and paperback formats

Upcoming…

• A ghostly haiku chain:

  Phantom Lover, 26 October 2024

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