The 10 gold
sovereigns disappeared quickly into the witch’s pouch, but these were desperate
times. Horace and Matilde craved a child to chase away their despair, which
hung from their shoe leather as they dragged themselves through life.
The witch offered them the potion, which simmered in a stained brass cup. Closing her
eyes, Matilde whispered a dark promise and drank the bitter liquid, while
Horace clung to her and wept.
Nine months
to the day, as the crows darkened the sky and filled the night’s silence with
their broken songs, Clarella took her first breath and screamed.
As her
parents doted on her, Clarella’s eyes were always darting, staring, and then
looking away in alarm. Horace always dismissed it and insisted that she would
eventually settle down, but he would never truly know how wrong he was.
Clarella
knew they were nearby, always watching with those piercing white eyes, so she
gave them names. “Hello Griff,” she waved as the demon rounded the corner, dragging
its claws along the wall. Griff growled, its grin glinting in the sunlight, and
sank into the carpet with a light hiss.
-- JD Hickey, November 2012
-- JD Hickey, November 2012
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