A River E original...
This short story was posted on the Siren's Life website on December 19, 2021 for the Siren's Yule Celebration. Hope you enjoy it!
YULETIDE TRAVEL
Holly took a long breath and closed her eyes. Her thoughts passed through a space of dense fog, as always happened during travel, and then she landed on a dark, deserted road. A large house stood ahead of her. She walked toward it but was roughly thrust back into her body. Her eyes popped open. The cauldron in front of her blazed hot with burning mugwort. The attic was quiet and dark.
She sat cross legged on the wood floor, next to the small window looking out into the wild back garden. She’d wrapped herself in the warm blanket her partner, Finley, gave her last year at solstice. It was midnight and had just started snowing, sprinkling the tall pines in the garden with white. Perfect conditions to do a bit of astral travel. Something, for all of Holly’s years of witchery and magik, she could not quite manage.
Meditation was similar, she’d never learned the art of it. She could manifest, and she could infuse an object or situation with her intent. She was a master in tarot and there wasn’t a ghost nearby she could not hear. But for all she could do, she could not travel the astral plane. At least not well.
Tonight, she’d hoped things would be different. She’d met someone. No, not met. They’d know each other for years, and had spent time on dates with each other’s partners, only recently a fondness had grown. Finley, ever the encouraging poly partner, told her to go for it. They lived quite far apart, but she had visited them once, so she thought she’d try to visit on the astral plane even though she rarely had luck doing it. On this solstice, with the snow falling, with the Oak and Holly kings at war and with magik afoot, Holly had a good feeling. Until she was so rudely tossed back into her body.
Oddly enough, she felt it was because she wasn't dressed properly. She hadn't ever given much thought to the clothing she wore while traveling. She frowned at her pajamas.
So, Holly envisioned herself in jeans and a sweatshirt while going through the fog and … no luck. One step toward the house and then back in the attic she was, over and over. She sighed but refused to lose hope. Taking another deep breath, she relaxed her body and this time she chose to allow her subconscious to guide her choices.
She closed her eyes, passed through the mist and landed on the road. She felt different. She looked down and was wearing a pair of worn maroon corduroys, a peach-colored, thermal shirt and black boots. It was an old, comfortable outfit. One of her favorites. And it did feel … right.
She walked along the dark road toward the house, stopping at the wooden gate surrounding the property. It was tall and locked. But locks were easy as she and her new love were followers of Hecate. She rested her hands on the gate and thought of the lock’s mechanisms, the twists and turns and then the click. The gate lock sprung, she pushed it open and stepped inside.
Immediately Holly felt a presence, a wall of unpleasant energy; the house was warded. Her friend, ever cautious, made her smile. This apotropaic magik she knew well and could hold her own against, but also, she wasn’t evil or there to harm, so the magik didn’t need to deflect or be afraid. As she tried to move forward the wards sent her to a different spot around the back of the house, although no closer. When she tried to move forward again, she was sent back to the front of the house.
She sighed but shook her astral body free of tension. She had come too far to be pushed out. And after all this time, she thought she was beginning to understand traveling, and why she’d had no luck with it. She needed to be willing to give herself over to the experience, be malleable, let it guide her to the next level. Not the other way around. She needed to give a piece of herself, even at the expense of her comfort, which wasn’t so different from other magiks she’d often worked in.
The weight of the warding spell was intimidating, forceful, but Holly called it to come closer. The heat of it didn’t ease, but it didn’t heighten, and she asked it to step inside her body to see her intentions. A chill raced up her back and then she easily moved forward one step and then another.
Pleased, Holly walked the driveway, up the stone path, passed the front door and around toward the back of the house. Through the screen-covered back porch, she saw a light on in the kitchen and then another light over a shed nearby. She turned to the large garden and was stopped by a scarecrow standing in the snow on one tall leg. It’s large radish-like head and gaping teeth rather disconcerting.
“Hey, you,” Holly whispered.
Scarecrow hopped its long stick body up and down. The snowy wind blew its dark tatters of clothing. It was clear the ward wanted contact to explore her further.
Holly stepped up to it and was whisked into the air. She held tightly as it danced and whirled her around the garden. Its lone leg hopping in the snow to music she couldn’t hear until she was breathless, and it dropped her onto a snow-covered garden bed. She lay only a moment before sinking. She didn’t fret. This was how the ward would learn who she was, she knew that. This was how it would infuse her with its magik.
Holly twirled low in the earth. Whispers in the darkness and senescence in the damp soil pressed around her. After timeless moments entwined with plant roots and small living creatures the magik raised her to the surface and pushed her to stand.
She stood dazed but invigorated. The snow fell steadily, and the vanilla scent of white oak mingling with the florals of holly permeated the garden. A cold wind passed coating her in pine. The scents of Yule filled her with purpose.
She walked her new love’s garden and then circled around to the back porch, noting the changes since her physical visit. The light was still on in the house … and there, finally she saw them. They were talking to someone, laughing, and heading toward the sliding glass doors leading to the porch. It opened and closed noisily, and she caught a scent of bayberry and woodsmoke wafting from the house.
She watched them strike a match and light a candle on the small table by the door. They picked it up and moved to the edge of the porch, placed the candle on the ledge and took a sip of a drink they held. They looked out into the night, and she wondered if they felt her presence. Even with the screen between them she could see clear enough and her heart leapt in her chest. After only speaking on the phone for so long, she’d forgotten how attractive they were. How sexy.
They stood quietly, seeming to contemplate, before putting their hand flat on the screen and then turning to go back inside.
“Wait,” Holly called.
They turned sharply and walked back out. Looking into the garden a few moments more, they blew the candle out and stood in the dark. Holly walked closer, but felt uneasy, a sudden lightness in her body. She was losing agency, her body calling her back. She quickly reached her hand out, “Happy Yule,” she said.
Holly’s eyes opened. The moon had moved across the sky and the attic was dark save for the embers of mugwort in her cauldron. She couldn’t contain her happiness. Not only had she traveled quite successfully, but her new love’s scent surrounded her. She heard their voice in her head as she was separated fully.
“I love you, Holly.”
This short story was posted on the Siren's Life website on December 19, 2021 for the Siren's Yule Celebration. Hope you enjoy it!
YULETIDE TRAVEL
Holly took a long breath and closed her eyes. Her thoughts passed through a space of dense fog, as always happened during travel, and then she landed on a dark, deserted road. A large house stood ahead of her. She walked toward it but was roughly thrust back into her body. Her eyes popped open. The cauldron in front of her blazed hot with burning mugwort. The attic was quiet and dark.
She sat cross legged on the wood floor, next to the small window looking out into the wild back garden. She’d wrapped herself in the warm blanket her partner, Finley, gave her last year at solstice. It was midnight and had just started snowing, sprinkling the tall pines in the garden with white. Perfect conditions to do a bit of astral travel. Something, for all of Holly’s years of witchery and magik, she could not quite manage.
Meditation was similar, she’d never learned the art of it. She could manifest, and she could infuse an object or situation with her intent. She was a master in tarot and there wasn’t a ghost nearby she could not hear. But for all she could do, she could not travel the astral plane. At least not well.
Tonight, she’d hoped things would be different. She’d met someone. No, not met. They’d know each other for years, and had spent time on dates with each other’s partners, only recently a fondness had grown. Finley, ever the encouraging poly partner, told her to go for it. They lived quite far apart, but she had visited them once, so she thought she’d try to visit on the astral plane even though she rarely had luck doing it. On this solstice, with the snow falling, with the Oak and Holly kings at war and with magik afoot, Holly had a good feeling. Until she was so rudely tossed back into her body.
Oddly enough, she felt it was because she wasn't dressed properly. She hadn't ever given much thought to the clothing she wore while traveling. She frowned at her pajamas.
So, Holly envisioned herself in jeans and a sweatshirt while going through the fog and … no luck. One step toward the house and then back in the attic she was, over and over. She sighed but refused to lose hope. Taking another deep breath, she relaxed her body and this time she chose to allow her subconscious to guide her choices.
She closed her eyes, passed through the mist and landed on the road. She felt different. She looked down and was wearing a pair of worn maroon corduroys, a peach-colored, thermal shirt and black boots. It was an old, comfortable outfit. One of her favorites. And it did feel … right.
She walked along the dark road toward the house, stopping at the wooden gate surrounding the property. It was tall and locked. But locks were easy as she and her new love were followers of Hecate. She rested her hands on the gate and thought of the lock’s mechanisms, the twists and turns and then the click. The gate lock sprung, she pushed it open and stepped inside.
Immediately Holly felt a presence, a wall of unpleasant energy; the house was warded. Her friend, ever cautious, made her smile. This apotropaic magik she knew well and could hold her own against, but also, she wasn’t evil or there to harm, so the magik didn’t need to deflect or be afraid. As she tried to move forward the wards sent her to a different spot around the back of the house, although no closer. When she tried to move forward again, she was sent back to the front of the house.
She sighed but shook her astral body free of tension. She had come too far to be pushed out. And after all this time, she thought she was beginning to understand traveling, and why she’d had no luck with it. She needed to be willing to give herself over to the experience, be malleable, let it guide her to the next level. Not the other way around. She needed to give a piece of herself, even at the expense of her comfort, which wasn’t so different from other magiks she’d often worked in.
The weight of the warding spell was intimidating, forceful, but Holly called it to come closer. The heat of it didn’t ease, but it didn’t heighten, and she asked it to step inside her body to see her intentions. A chill raced up her back and then she easily moved forward one step and then another.
Pleased, Holly walked the driveway, up the stone path, passed the front door and around toward the back of the house. Through the screen-covered back porch, she saw a light on in the kitchen and then another light over a shed nearby. She turned to the large garden and was stopped by a scarecrow standing in the snow on one tall leg. It’s large radish-like head and gaping teeth rather disconcerting.
“Hey, you,” Holly whispered.
Scarecrow hopped its long stick body up and down. The snowy wind blew its dark tatters of clothing. It was clear the ward wanted contact to explore her further.
Holly stepped up to it and was whisked into the air. She held tightly as it danced and whirled her around the garden. Its lone leg hopping in the snow to music she couldn’t hear until she was breathless, and it dropped her onto a snow-covered garden bed. She lay only a moment before sinking. She didn’t fret. This was how the ward would learn who she was, she knew that. This was how it would infuse her with its magik.
Holly twirled low in the earth. Whispers in the darkness and senescence in the damp soil pressed around her. After timeless moments entwined with plant roots and small living creatures the magik raised her to the surface and pushed her to stand.
She stood dazed but invigorated. The snow fell steadily, and the vanilla scent of white oak mingling with the florals of holly permeated the garden. A cold wind passed coating her in pine. The scents of Yule filled her with purpose.
She walked her new love’s garden and then circled around to the back porch, noting the changes since her physical visit. The light was still on in the house … and there, finally she saw them. They were talking to someone, laughing, and heading toward the sliding glass doors leading to the porch. It opened and closed noisily, and she caught a scent of bayberry and woodsmoke wafting from the house.
She watched them strike a match and light a candle on the small table by the door. They picked it up and moved to the edge of the porch, placed the candle on the ledge and took a sip of a drink they held. They looked out into the night, and she wondered if they felt her presence. Even with the screen between them she could see clear enough and her heart leapt in her chest. After only speaking on the phone for so long, she’d forgotten how attractive they were. How sexy.
They stood quietly, seeming to contemplate, before putting their hand flat on the screen and then turning to go back inside.
“Wait,” Holly called.
They turned sharply and walked back out. Looking into the garden a few moments more, they blew the candle out and stood in the dark. Holly walked closer, but felt uneasy, a sudden lightness in her body. She was losing agency, her body calling her back. She quickly reached her hand out, “Happy Yule,” she said.
Holly’s eyes opened. The moon had moved across the sky and the attic was dark save for the embers of mugwort in her cauldron. She couldn’t contain her happiness. Not only had she traveled quite successfully, but her new love’s scent surrounded her. She heard their voice in her head as she was separated fully.
“I love you, Holly.”
A River E original...
This short story first seen on the website SirensLife.org on October 29, 2021 as part of a Samhain Event meant to enhance the Samhain experience for us modern witches and all who love us!
PERFECT
We met on Halloween, walking the streets of my town illuminated by October’s full Hunter Moon. He was dressed as a vampire with white makeup, fake fangs and an accent I’d never heard before. I couldn’t tell how old he was. I was sixteen and dressed as a witch. He said I was perfect.
****
When I turned eighteen, he paid to have my eye color changed. It was all the rage. He assured me it wouldn’t be painful. They numbed me before the procedure, with a long needle in each eye. More serious pain came days after. The clamps used to keep my eyes open left bruises. And because my eyes were dark it took a good long while to bring them to a lighter color.
He said my brown eyes were beautiful, but green eyes set off my red hair, making me perfect. My mother cried for weeks. Said she didn’t recognize the person looking back at her. She said I looked cold and vacant and alien. I stayed with him after that. I couldn’t listen to her drone on about sweet talkers, and how he’d expect something in return for shelling out so much money.
****
At twenty-one he paid for me to have breast augmentation surgery. That’s what the doctor called it. He said he loved my slimmer more athletic body, but the blouses he bought me looked better with cleavage. It won’t hurt, he said. I was bedridden for a week, and the medication for the pain made me sick.
My mother cried, lamenting the daughter she’d had, compared the things I used to do — field hockey and track — to the new me, his girlfriend. She overreacted about everything.
****
For my twenty-fifth birthday he threw a Halloween masquerade in the polished gardens at his home outside town. He told me I was a full-grown woman and had a white silk dress made to show off my perfect body. The guests wore white gowns, black tuxedos, and beautifully ornate masks like at Carnevale. Expertly painted disguises with authentic gold and silver accents. Some adorned with jewels. Some covered their face entirely, expressionless and airbrushed a blushing rose gold with black mesh concealing the eyes.
I was formally introduced to every guest, over one hundred strangers. They curtsied and kissed my hand while he stood behind and a bit above me in a tailored tuxedo. At precisely three in the morning, bathed in the light of the full Hunter Moon he took me to the dais in the middle of the grounds, had me bow to his guests, and killed me.
****
When I woke the next evening, I marveled how the strength of my new body made it look graceful … flawless. He gave me clothes and told me I had to say a proper goodbye to my mother before we left for his estate in Dresden. He said I would feel guilty if I didn’t have closure, and he wanted our life to be perfect.
Mom burst into tears when she saw me, then got hysterical when I told her I was leaving the country. Nothing at all pleased her since dad left.
****
Many moons passed —then years, then decades.
****
He said he was throwing a masquerade for the Hunter Moon falling on Samhain. The first ball since my birth into the life. He said a new dress would arrive. Only I wanted to wear a costume like I’d seen at the first masquerade. He said the dress was already made and that was that.
I took the long way to the top of his family’s vast mountain manse to the attic filled with centuries old furniture and paintings. I wanted to find the costumes he’d shown me years ago from previous parties. The crate was made of dark cedar, the box lid hinged with medieval hardware. I tilted the lid back to get a good look at the choices and picked out a black ball gown with green accents. I gathered the material and went to stand in front of the Cheval mirror set by the wall. While admiring the dress I noticed a small, ordinary cardboard box set on a Lindenwood dresser behind me. The plainness of the box made it obvious in the sea of woods and precious metals.
It was the box my mother gave me when I left home. A collection of memories she threw together, to tether us through time, is what she said. I was strangely afraid to open it. I hadn’t thought of my life before the change, except when he told me she died. He said I needed to know.
A kitsch photo album sat on top of a few other items. I lifted it out and settled into a tall, dusty chair from the 1700’s. The first photos were of me when I was a baby. The classic ones, on the belly and sitting up with my big brown eyes wide.
Strange … I had forgotten my eyes were brown. I looked in the mirror. My pale green eyes were shocking compared to the warmth of the picture.
The next photo was of me and my mother at the beach on Labor Day. The following was when we lost the final game at the end of my senior year. My long, red hair hung in corkscrews. I was on the porch. I remembered my mom snapping the picture while I was upset … but suddenly … I could see myself through my mother’s eyes. And I was beautiful.
****
Pain attacked my chest and tears ran down my cheeks. A longing for who I was and all I’d lost completely enveloped me. I dressed and found him in the study. I set the picture on the desk in front of him.
“You said I was perfect.” I whispered.
“I knew you could be,” he smirked.
The ache in my chest grew to unbearable proportions. I hated him.
“Wear this at the ball.” He handed me a long black gown and left the room.
****
The costumes were as stunning as before. Coffins and headstones marked the grounds for a Halloween theme. The women wore black gowns and black eye masks. The men, black suits with white masks covering one side of their face. They complimented me and smiled.
The longer I stood with him, staring at the scene of revelers, the more indignation rose within me. My thoughts unraveled thinking of what he planned. And for the first time since we met, I decided I didn’t want it.
At precisely three am, he guided me to the fountain in the middle of the gardens, maneuvering me around coffins and fake head stones. Two masked men carried a sleek black coffin from the bushes and set it near the fountain. A stillness settled and he had me bow.
“Step in, my beloved.” He smiled as the lid was opened.
“No.”
The word popped out. I looked at him, at the coffin and then all around me. I saw two wooden staves resting on the fountain edge.
“No.”
Instinct had me move away from him, away from the crowd, toward the fountain. He frowned, strangely, then surrendered to his anger.
“Come now…” He gripped my arm with preternatural strength. “Do you not want this to be perfect?”
His grip hurt, and when he pulled me, my high heels wobbled on the grass, and I stumbled against the fountain’s edge, sliding a stave with me as he tightened his grip, pulling me upright. He sternly put me in my place.
Except … in that moment, calm and clarity rose within. One of those perfect instants in time. When everything came together as one. My fury. My understanding of what he had done to me and what he was going to do. His arrogance that he’d always had, allowing him to turn his back on me.
“To continue,” he said, and clapped his hands together. “Thank you all for com…”
Gripping the stake, I’d taken from the wall when I faltered, I threw up my arms, and I jammed the wood into his back until it burst through his chest. A collective gasp came from the guests as he slid off the stake and collapsed face first into the coffin. I was shaking as the mass of menacing onlookers approached.
A woman in a black mask with long feathers came forward. She seemed important. She looked at him. My teeth were chattering when she looked at me. She smiled and bent to one knee. The rest of the party goers following suit.
“I’ve seen his show dozens of times,” she said, “But this … this was the perfect ending … my queen.”
I looked over a sea of people genuflecting as he lay hemorrhaging in a coffin meant for my body. And I had to agree.
This was perfect.
