A Halloween Poem and Story I wrote for my Grandchildren

All Hallow’s Eve

 

On the eve of All Hallows, the shadows in the dense forest of ancient gnarled trees that encircled the small village of Wychwood grew long.

 

Cryptic symbols had appeared in the forest around the Old Chapel Ruins. As the evening air suddenly grew chill, the people who lived in the village locked their doors and shutters, praying that they could avoid the notice of the witches that they feared. The villagers knew this was the night the witches’ powers would be at their fullest, and the witches would converge on the ancient ruins just as they had for centuries.

 

A gathering of hooded figures emerged from the trees just as the clock in the village tower struck midnight. Their faces were obscured by the gloom as they began to gather in a circle around a black cauldron. They were the coven of Elderlinn, led by the enigmatic Morrigan, the most powerful witch of the coven. She was rumored to have gained her powers by making a pact with unholy forces.

 

Morrigan raised her arms, and her voice cut through the stillness. "Sisters gather close. We will rise as one tonight and unleash the dark magic that thrums within these woods. The dark veil is at its thinnest, and our power is ripe. We shall display our dark powers on this hallowed night for all to see."

 

Without a word, one of the coven members stepped forward. Her face was hidden beneath her hood, but her eyes gleamed from the moon's dim light. There was a feral confidence in her stride as she carried a twisted and blackened lance. Its iron shaft was stained with the dried blood from those it had slain. This twice-cursed lance, rumored to hold the wrath of the coven’s ancestors, was a closely guarded relic of the coven that had been handed down through generations. With a whispered incantation, she raised the lance above her head. Then, in a single fluid motion, she drove it deep into the center of the circle.

 

The wind grew still. The rest of the coven stepped forward, lifting the massive cast iron cauldron and suspending it from the lance. One of the witches knelt and stacked broken tree branches gathered from a dead tree near the village cemetery. She placed them in a circular arrangement beneath the cauldron, and as she worked, she chanted an old tongue invocation asking the forest spirits to lend their strength to the flames. At the end of her invocation, she struck a black flint rock with her steel dagger to spark the fire.

 

Moving with supernatural grace, the other coven members joined in an eerie chant, their words ancient and forbidden. The entire group moved as they chanted, circling the cast-iron cauldron, making sure their robes stayed well away from the burning flames.

 

They filled the cauldron with their sinister ingredients. Several witches poured tears of captive mermaids that had been stored in glass jars. Others added vials of blood collected from a dead man found hanging from a gallows pole. As the coven chanted and stirred, the cauldron's contents began to bubble and hiss. The acrid smoke rose to mingle with the mist that had formed between the trees. Into the boiling brew, some added leaves from the deadly nightshade plant. One of the witches tossed in the fangs of a wolf harvested from a recent kill.

 

Morrigan's eyes gleamed with unholy triumph, for she held the final ingredient. She would get her revenge when she added a scoopful of soil from a long-forgotten pauper's grave. She wanted to bring death and ruin to the village that had burned her home and banished her so long ago. Chanting in a rising tone, Morrigan raised her hand to add the dirt and complete the deadly spell.

 

With her concentration so complete, Morrigan did not see the figure that had emerged from the shadows of the forest. It was Jael, the young daughter of the village elder, who had learned of the coven's dark plans and come to stop them. Jael stepped between two witches in the circle and hurled a vial of holy water into the cauldron.

 

When the blessed liquid struck the brew, the coven members recoiled. In the midst of the coven’s confusion, Jael boldly stepped forward and, with a swift kick, knocked the cauldron off the lance.

 

Morrigans’s chant of triumph dissolved into shrieks of dismay. As she watched the foul liquid from the overturned cauldron extinguish the flames, she realized there was no time to complete the spell. Realizing defeat, the coven members looked to Morrigan for guidance. The coven knew that the men of the village, once they had discovered Jael was missing, would overcome their fears and quickly descend upon the coven.

 

Hearing the angry villagers' approach, Morrigan waved her hands and uttered a dark incantation, “Wings of night and beak of black, shape us now in shadow’s sight." As she finished the incantation, the forms of the witches in the coven blurred and shifted, transforming the gathered witches into a murder of crows. With loud cries, the crows took flight and disappeared into the inky blackness of the forest. As the men of the village were making their way to the site, one of the crows momentarily circled overhead, and Jael heard Morrigan's threatening voice, “Till next year, my dear, till next year.”

 

Although Jael momentarily felt triumphant, knowing that the coven's dark plans had been thwarted, she knew the witches’ desires had only been postponed. For on the next All Hallows Eve, Morrigan and the coven of Elderlinn would return to Wychwood, driven by their unholy purpose.

 

Jael turned and greeted the men from the village. She knew she would have to remain vigilant in the battle against the forces of darkness and the wrath of witches. That battle was eternal, and for now, she was its steadfast guardian.

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