Every Coven is a Coffin

Every Coven is a Coffin

Professor Rankly depressed the button on the boxy gray carousel controller. It made an audible ‘CLICK’ that clattered along the walls of the dark lecture theater. A new slide was projected onto the whiteboard, which read:

Witches, Witchcraft, and the Myth of the Good Witch

Most of the seats were filled with new recruits inducted into the Institute for Extraordinary Defense and Research (IEDR). The ranks were diverse, with recruits from all over the world and with varying skill sets. People from opposite ends of the cultural and ideological spectrums had come together for the greater good, in order to defend against monstrous threats to humanity. They were here to learn that, without one another, failure would result in millennia of death and slavery to evil.

Professor Rankly’s lectures were famous on the small campus located deep in the mountains of the PNW, as well as mandatory for new recruits. He was the foremost expert on the enemies of humankind and a former Deputy Director of Field Operations for the IEDR. Now, he taught, as old men do.

The sound of light coughing or notes being sketched could be heard from time to time. Professor Rankly cleared his throat and pushed his half-moon copper-rimmed spectacles up the bridge of his large, bulbous nose. His eyebrows were bushy and dark gray. His face was oddly smooth, with a tinge of rose-red beneath the brown beard that hid deep, gash-like scars. His bald head was cupped by a semicircle of white hair. It was well known he was fond of a few too many whiskey sours at the local pub and, if caught while his spirits were up, would happily regale the new recruits with terrifying tales of his past adventures in the field. But here, in his element, he spoke methodically and with authority. He knew this world intimately and hoped that, at a minimum, his knowledge would help save lives.

“The Witch.” The words fell out of his mouth like a handful of rocks and pebbles. One could tell that he was barely speaking above a whisper, but clearly projected across the theater. “A most misunderstood creature. Popular culture has established an archetype familiar to most. And media has further peddled the label as a cliché of watered down pagan traditions. Or even worse, considered a youthful indiscretion or passing fad for parents and authority figures to frown upon.” ‘CLICK.’ The next slide was an amalgam of photos that included a traditional, crooked-nosed, green-skinned witch wearing a pointed hat, as well as Sabrina the Teenage Witch and other examples through time. “But the truth is, the Witch is an ancient creature and the deadliest of dark foes you can encounter. It is often said that the Witch is as old as the Serpent. Some believe the very first witch was Cane’s wife, she is left unnamed in any known transcript of The Bible. A pack creature, often congregating in Covens known to be as small as three or as large as fifty-one, but always an odd number in order to establish a hierarchy of deceit and subterfuge among the lower witches. Their strength lies in the combined will of the coven, channeled through a High Witch, who works as a direct conduit to the coven’s chosen dark devil or deity. Small covens can wreak havoc on a community or village for generations, while larger ones can sway the path of history itself—often with the express intent of creating death and suffering to fuel some dark spell or break through the veil for secrets from their patron of death.”

“All countries and cultures suffer from witches. A solo witch is rare and should be treated with extra caution. A witch alone is known either to serve no master or to lack the coven’s naturally ruthless, competitive nature to keep them in check. Instead, they are always eager to take any and all power they can obtain from any and all sources. Very dangerous, likely in a state of continued madness and psychosis—much like an animal infected with rabies. Corner a lone witch that has no allegiance to a coven, and it will most assuredly destroy itself and everyone around it before allowing itself to be captured or killed.”

“I’m sure you’re all very familiar with the ‘bombing’ last year that created a crater the size of a football field in Chongqing, China. That is an example of what happens when you corner a lone rabid witch.”

Professor Rankly pushed the button again—CLICK. A fresh slide lit up the whiteboard. It was a rather detailed sketch of a witch in the throes of madness: a gangly beast foaming at the mouth and wielding deadly power, killing all in its path.

“On a side note, this is in stark contrast to the Vampyre! Although known to come together in groups for mutual benefit when absolutely necessary, vampires are naturally isolationists when it comes to their own kind. A vampire will happily surround itself with human thralls to more easily interact with the world, but another vampire is always their greatest threat. For it is well documented that a vampire, although quite powerful on many spectrums, prefers subterfuge and guile in taking over another vampire’s empire of power rooted in our human culture and systems. Vampires are notoriously vain creatures and, much like dragons of old, love to hoard wealth and beautiful things. Young vampires must be especially vigilant against falling in with others of their kind, lest they find themselves enslaved by a mature vampire, forever a thrall. It takes a young vampire about a century to mature in power enough to truly defend itself against others of its kind. But we’ll explore vampires more in-depth in next week’s lecture. You’ll rarely ever hear of witches and vampires interacting—even a vampire knows not to risk the wrath of a coven.”

“The strongest witches you will encounter are many millennia old, having made pacts with ancient evils far outside the realm of Christian devils. To understand them is to give yourself over and surrender any sanity or soul. Many a hunter and scholar have gone mad attempting to better understand the source of power for those they hunt. It is the fine line a hunter walks in knowing their enemy to better destroy it.”

A loud COUGH cut the silence, and a dutiful hand shot up in the dark. A voice began to speak before Professor Rankly could call on him.

“Professor Rankly? Doesn’t it behoove us to learn as much as possible in order to protect ourselves and others? There are precautions to be taken in order to glean the most useful knowledge and tools to fight our enemies.” The student spoke from somewhere in the dark, but Professor Rankly knew the voice well. He was known among the students and faculty for pushing boundaries and questioning long-standing norms—not necessarily a bad thing in their profession. But he was also known to be arrogant. The epitome of a legacy recruit. Which didn’t work in his favor among the budding social groups that naturally formed.

“Mr. Fennelly, as always I welcome your thoughtful questions and insight. But if you think I’m exaggerating or that you’ll be different—that you alone will be the one who can look into the darkness and come back the same as you ever were, for a cup of tea and a bit of telly—you’re a fool, and you’ll get exactly what you’re looking for. My dear friend and colleague Professor Janis Heathrow, a far more experienced field veteran than myself even, met her fate in the pages of forbidden texts. There’s a reason a number of grimoires and artifacts reside in The Graveyard, where they can’t bring any further harm to anyone! And since it seems you need this reminder, I’ll be assigning an additional text for the whole class to read on the dangers of thinking oneself special. Although brave you all may very well be, you are human and corruptible by nature. And I remind you: it is your duty to report any misappropriation of knowledge, tools, or texts known to be forbidden outside the supervision of a senior Hunter or Library Adept. Now, Mr. Fennelly, may I continue?”

Professor Rankly pulled a cigarette from his breast pocket and lit it, exhaling a swirling cloud of smoke into the path of the projector light. Fennelly’s questions were always followed by a cigarette—perhaps by some odd synchronicity or just an excuse to have one.

“Historically, it is unlikely any true witches were captured or killed by religious zealots during any period of time. In fact, it would be a poor witch indeed who allowed themselves to be burned alive at the stake or thrown to the bottom of a river. If anything, those poor souls were fodder for ignorance and fear. A commonly gifted attribute, along with unnaturally long lives, is a basic attunement to precognition. Usually channeled through dreams, reflective surfaces, reading of objects like the bones of children, or tarot. It would be a poor witch indeed who didn’t have at least a basic precognitive warning system to avoid capture. It takes a trained mind or even rarer relics to avoid such foresight. For this reason as well, it is advised to take covens by as much surprise as possible. To enter a coven’s ‘nest’ is tantamount to suicide. Although there are many dangerous beasts and creatures you will come upon, none are so maliciously intelligent with an endless thirst for power through suffering as a coven of witches.”

CLICK. An artistic rendering of a large southern plantation on fire with witches ablaze bursting from broken windows.

“This is a painting by Danby Richards, titled The Cleansing of Ribedoux Plantation. The plantation was located on the coast of Georgia on the outskirts of Savannah. The owners were infamous for their cruelty to the slaves and locality. It is recorded that in its fifty known years as a coven ‘nest,’ over three hundred children in the surrounding areas went missing. It is assumed the number is higher in reality—no doubt kidnapped by a friendly face in the dark offering sweets and toys. A group of hunters led by Remi Lamb, a young local whose daughter went missing, finally took action when the government refused; most likely due to bribes and power agreements by the coven. He convinced the slaves and locals to work together to set a blaze so large and intense around every edge of the home that there was no escape. A lasting theory is that the coven grew complacent, felt itself untouchable by someone like Lamb, whom they considered a creature well below stature both in class and species.”

“The painting is a direct reference to Lamb’s personal diaries, which we hold here in our archives. I’ll read an excerpt from them now: ‘The fire raged with a heat and anger unlike I had ever seen or felt. Visions of dancing devils could be seen within the roaring flame—they were intoxicating to look upon—and the smoke reeked of burning flesh. The night air screamed as the animals tried to escape, but they all fell one by one from the sky, landing among the kin of the lost. Knowing the evil they faced, with ruthless efficiency, they beat and stabbed the smoldering corpses beyond recognition with clubs and farm tools. We counted thirty bodies once the fire subsided. But no signs of the children.’”

CLICK. A new slide lit up the room. A black-and-white photo of an Inuit man in traditional garb taken on an iceberg with a label stating: Qitdlarssuaq, Inuit Shaman.

“Qitdlarssuaq was one of the first shamans to figure out the most effective way to battle a witch. This particular coven had made the mistake of thinking the Inuit community an easy target in collecting children for their dark ceremonies. The sacrifice of innocence is the greatest conduit of evil. But Qitdlarssuaq also knew great sacrifice must be made to stop this evil. Much to the chagrin of the mothers of the tribe, Qitdlarssuaq used a group of children as bait. A witch is weakest outside the ‘nest’ or ‘home,’ away from the combined power of the coven. Often a small group or a single witch will be sent out to hunt. When the witch arrived for their prize, a trap had been set. The ice had been intentionally weakened and set to break beneath the weight of anything heavier than a small child. For many centuries, a variety of techniques had been used to capture or kill these abominations, but it was Qitdlarssuaq who realized that water was their greatest tool against them. It is widely known that magic is not an entirely mental act. Even powerful users like witches require preparation, verbal incantations, and intricate hand gestures to initiate many magical actions. But it’s quite difficult to do when the body is surrounded by water, where sound and gestures are severely limited. Additionally, the freezing temperatures are as much a shock to the body of a witch as to any creature—except perhaps the undead. Once the witch had fallen through the ice, unable to conjure their powers quickly enough, Qitdlarssuaq sealed the hole and soon the witch drowned. Although powerful and not human any longer, a witch must still adhere to the limitations of their physical form. Although far from human any longer, lungs still swell within a witch’s breast.”

CLICK. Blackness enveloped the lecture hall; only Professor Rankly’s cigarette cherry and the glow of the carousel remained.

“It is a fatal mistake to assume a witch is merely a person who has given themselves over to evil. A witch almost immediately begins changing from human to something else entirely after their initial blood pact with a chosen darkness. The evil deeds they do feed an endless hunger and, in turn, corrupt the flesh—becoming gnarled and grotesque. The stench of a witch is that of pestilence: death and feces. Of course, for witches to be able to walk among us, they use their spells and artifacts to mask their true selves, but the smell is ever-present. Witches cannot help but give themselves a most attractive visage to lure a victim more effectively. But trust your nose. And remember—there is no Good Witch of the North. A witch’s power is rooted in corruption. Claire, the lights, please.”

"I would like to invite you all to join me for an informal chat at the pub on Thursday evening 8pm sharp! The Yeti: Sasquatch's Big Brother."