February 2024: Witch Hunt - Mia Carr
Witch Hunt
Shattered glass crunches underfoot and gnarled vines catch at my clothes. The stench of decay permeates the air; a clear sign the possessed is in the house.
She is past saving; the witch must die. Inside, muddy footprints mar the wooden staircase. An occasional drop of blood is a good indication we'd injured her on the hunt.
Making noise doesn't matter. She'd have smelled us by now. Gerard walks in from the back and gives the sign, his red hair and pale skin always a reminder of his foreigner status.
All clear. I unsling the crossbow from my back, load in a bolt and point up. Always trying to get closer to the moon, witches are. Even when in possession of another’s body. Don't know why. Gerard nods and unsheathes his iron sword. I brush my fingers over the cross hanging from my neck as I follow him up.
The stench intensifies at the top. We both crouch, waiting for a sound. A shuffle comes from the right, but silence follows. Can't be a rat.
We stand, and I go first; crossbow raised and steady. I'll fire to kill.
The possessed huddles in the corner. Her flesh rots away from bone, scabs and bruises litter what skin remains clinging to her face and arms. It's her eyes that give away the alertness. Sharp, pinprick pupils with yellow irises. A grin starts to form on her face. The witch inside will break free shortly of the body’s confines.
I fire. The bolt grazes the side of her throat. A toxic mixture of red and green oozes from the wound.
"Now," I call to Gerard.
He steps into the room and charges the possessed. She cackles, and my second bolt is loaded. His sword arcs down. I crouch. He better not miss.
He’ll take it.
Even with an iron injury, she moves far too fast. The sword barely nicks her.
Another bolt flies through the air. This time straight into her forehead. Her body slumps to the ground with a thump.
"Good aim, Neiva." Gerard sheathes his sword.
I raise an eyebrow. What would he actually report to the Inquisitor? I'd better receive recognition for the killing blow.
My first one.
Kneeling at the corpse's side, I take off my cross and press it into the cheek. No burn or cry. Definitely dead. I limit my breaths through my mouth and tug my bolt from her head, leaving it to lay beside the body. Poor soul. Too late to save her this time. She's so far lost to the possession that any hope of discerning who this body once belonged to is gone.
A frenzied, monkey-like squall from outside sends the hair on the back of my neck up.
"Help me with the body," I say. "The sooner we burn it, the better."
Mia Carr
Right Left Write’s February prompt was Beginnings, and entrants were invited to set the scene and hook us in with the opening pages of a broader story - real or imagined!
Find out more about Right Left Write at www.queenslandwriters.org.au/rightleftwrite.
The competition’s March prompt is Fanfiction.
Right Left Write’s February prompt was Beginnings.