Ritual Murder

A small fire crackled softly against the wood-paved floors of the empty, shabby church, offering the only warmth within the abandoned chantry. The winter breeze threatened the candle's life; a chill seeped through cracks in the walls. If the candle had blown away, Sera might not be able to produce another. There was nothing but chills and goosebumps along her spine; her fingernails turned blue while her skin paled white. The knitted sweater she wore offered little comfort; the weaving left her skin vulnerable to the freezing winds. Her jeans had fresh holes, and her sneakers were falling apart. It was a miracle that Sera had survived the night.                              

Although the situation seemed perilous to Sera, she did not doubt in her mind that she was better here. Her blood was still warm and red, her heart was still firm and beating. Standing up to craft warmth, she stretched her arms out and stood on the balls of her feet. The warmth produced by that small flicker was enough to use her magic. Her veins began to pump as heat returned to her fingers, and the bumps on her arms began to fade. The spell wouldn’t last long, but it would offer her a bit of comfort.                              

As the sun rose behind the clouds, the winds grew harsher, blowing open the rickety doors of the old church she called sanctuary. The small fire she had created from sticks and passion had died out, and Sera looked out onto the outdoors. The snow had blanketed the open field and her pathway back to the highway. But it wasn’t the snow that surprised her. Instead, three old crones draped in flowy red gowns and veils appeared in front of the church. They watched and waited, while Sera watched back. They had found her.             

For a moment, Sera wasn’t sure if they were alive. It wasn’t until the chill of the air showed their icy breath through their red drapes that Sera knew they were mortal. Their ceremonial outfits covered all of their flesh; Sera couldn’t see who was behind the masks, but she knew their intentions. Pools of hot steam emanated from them, as their temper warmed the winter air around them. Sera only realized her mother was alive when she heard her crooked voice echo toward the church,                              

“Come hither, daughter.” Poison dripped from her tongue as her arm rose underneath the cover of the red sheet. Her hand exposed itself, and Sera could see from afar the lesions and charring that she had left on her poor mother’s hand. As her blackened fingers curled around her palm, her pointer finger stuck out and told Sera to come near. Sera could feel Catherine’s enchantment; it was like a knife that pierced her skull. If Sera didn’t move, Catherine would make sure she would.                            

“Not dead yet, Catherine? I’ll have to try harder next time.” Sera approached calmly, knowing that her mother and her other supporters were weakened by their previous battle. This confidence thawed the snow beneath her feet and left dewy green grass in its wake. The heat from her previous victory over her family had fueled her once more. Goosebumps turned smooth, and she could feel her magical fire sear her fingertips. Sera stopped a few feet away, as moving too close would have been dangerous. She could feel Catherine’s influence. A cold knife piercing her heart and the brain spot right between Sera’s honeyed eyes.                                                     

“Next time? No, dear child, there won’t be a next time. You can come home, daughter. I promise you’ll be as happy and healthy as you left.”                           

“I’m not going to fall for that scheme again. It worked when I was 11, it won’t work now.” The four witches stood in silence for a brief moment; Sera was getting on their nerves. She could hear their skin sizzle from where she stood. The one to the left of Sera’s mother whispered faintly in her ear. The suggestion only made Catherine angrier; she shooed off her subordinate before returning her focus to her daughter. Sera smirked openly, knowing she was in power. “Is this all that remains of the great coven? Decrepit old woman with leather for skin, powered by the steam of hatred?”                               

“Silence with your mockery, child! You are not in power here!” The lady to Catherine's right spoke. Sera could practically hear how black her lungs were.                    

“It’s great to see that my dear Aunt Charlotte has survived as well! And I presume those of the hoarse whispers of Aunt Claire, you barely had a voice anyway—”                 

“Silence, daughter,” Catherine’s voice echoed throughout the field; the highway a few acres from the church could probably hear its resonance. Aunt Claire and Aunt Charlotte fell silent, while Sera’s smile remained. “You know why we are here. You have killed them all, all but us. So, it is our duty to proclaim your sentence.”      

Sera’s smile disappeared; she knew she deserved punishment for her actions, but their words still hurt her.                                                          

“This coven finds you guilty of the ritualistic murder of your sisters, cousins, aunts, and mothers. You are henceforth banned from our remnants and will be hunted promptly, unless you forfeit your power to us in and allow your body to be claimed by the earth,” They stood in silence once more, almost as if the cult was awaiting Sera to act. She never yielded, and Catherine continued, “You will have three days to decide, if you’re power and body remain, then we shall hunt you until the sentence has been dealt. Do you understand?”                                                                             

Sera nodded in response; the remaining three members dissipated into a red fog that shot from the field to the sky before vanishing into the clouds. As soon as they were gone, Sera crouched onto the field, melting the snow that surrounded her body. Her eyes became puffy, and tears burned her soft cheeks as her mouth let out a low whimper. The only thing Sera understood was that she was alone.