Chapter 7 A Weaver in the Wood
A WEAVER IN THE WOOD
As she left the forest and Agnes’s home behind her, Hazel pondered over the stranger-than-usual encounter.
The unshakeable Agnes transformed into a hollow, unsettled version of herself during her visit.
And while nothing was certain anymore, she suspected the tea leaf reading was the most likely source of her trepidation. At least she hoped.
All the talk about magic, witches, and how Larksridge had been one of many cities where magic once thrived had Hazel’s mind swirling.
It would have looked so different from the Larksridge she now knew, the place where she had grown up.
The half-farming, half-merchant town would most certainly never accept a witch in their midst now.
Could you even imagine? She laughed at the absurdity of the thought, though the reality was sad.
Such a shame for people to be so closed-minded.
Amid her thoughts, she came upon a pebble on the path and gave it a little tap with her foot. Then another. She struck it once more, and it tumbled through the air before bouncing, skipping, and disappearing into the wood line.
Hazel scratched the back of her neck and brushed a rogue hair out of her face. Something caught her eye in the direction the pebble had gone.
What the…
Something was out there, glimmering and dancing in the tall grass at the edge of the wood.
Glancing around and seeing she was alone, Hazel went against her better judgment and left the path. As she stepped closer to the trees, she recognized what had caught her eye—creatures she’d seen before in Nan’s picture books as a child.
A will-o-wisp. A will-o-wisp! Of course.
But… how? Hazel had heard stories from Nan, Pa, and Agnes, but they were usually written off by most reasonable people as nonsensical fairytale creatures.
The kind of stories meant to teach children a lesson or scare them into behaving, as most monster stories did.
Of course, wisps themselves were of the benevolent sort, appearing in stories when someone needed direction or answers. She rubbed her eyes in disbelief. This is not possible. Is it?
The little blue, flame-like creature bobbed and weaved, seeming rather keen to have her follow. Though she was hesitant, something tugged at her mind to follow the flitting wisp. Surely, she’d done crazier things in her nearly thirty summers. Maybe.
She followed it down a winding path, one she convinced herself hadn’t been there before.
Or maybe it had. The woods grew thicker the longer she followed her new little friend, its burning blue body disappearing and reappearing further up the fading trail.
And the trail was fading. Before she knew it, Hazel had followed the wisp into knee-high grasses, which quickly became waist high and cumbersome to march through.
Briars and stickers grabbed at her clothing, and sharp branches clawed at her face and hair.
The wisp charged ahead, nearly leaving Hazel behind. For a moment, she lost sight of the tenacious little thing. She spun around, looking high and low for its telltale blue glow. It popped up a moment later, barely visible between the trees, and Hazel dashed after it.
As she ran, Hazel was a haphazard mess, and her right foot struck a large root. She went flying, sprawling into a heap on the forest floor.
Now, was that really necessary? Raising her head, she noticed something that hadn’t been there before.
Or perhaps it had been. She did not know where she was and was certain she’d never been in this part of the forest before, even though, since she was a child, she’d spent more than her fair share of time romping in the withering forests around Larksridge.
The trees were different here. And it was quiet. Too quiet for her comfort.
Hazel gathered herself and what remained of her dignity off the forest floor. She’d earned a tear in her tunic and a couple scratches on her knees, but otherwise, she was unscathed.
The wisp was gone, but as she dusted herself off, she froze, her eyes landing on a clearing up ahead. In the center of the little glade sat a cottage. Hazel stood up the rest of the way and brushed her unruly hair from her face. What’s this now? Am I dreaming?
A strong wind blew at her back, urging her forward.
Hazel tilted her head back in exasperation, and sighing, strode into the clearing.
She approached the cottage warily. It was old, but maintained well enough; someone lived there.
The closer she got, the more her locket made itself known, growing warmer as if in warning.
I wonder if the owner is home?
She heard mumbling from within and found herself wishing she hadn’t.
Of course, someone is home.
Through an open window, Hazel spied the owner. An old woman sat within, weaving at a loom. The woman seemed peaceful enough, though Hazel was not at all interested in disturbing her.
She watched the woman a moment longer before she decided she would leave, will of the wisp be damned. The woman’s hands as they handled the intricate work with ease despite being marred and misshapen by years of repetitive use.
The murmuring stopped, and so did her hands. Hazel watched in shock as the woman’s face morphed into something… else. When the transformation was complete, her face was beautiful, youthful, feminine.
A heartbeat later, it transformed again.
The process was grotesque, yet mesmerizing.
Hazel found herself unable to look away as the flesh and bone rearranged, forming into something new.
This time, the face took the form of a strikingly beautiful middle-aged woman who cocked her head and showed off a toothy, alarming smile.
Hazel decided it was very much not a human smile.
Feeling overwhelmingly uncomfortable in her own skin, Hazel took a step backwards in retreat. Her foot came down on a stick and it snapped in half, the sound shattering the silence in the clearing.
The woman’s head snapped up, black eyes landing like two knives as they pierced through Hazel, holding her in place. They were hypnotizing, just two black saucers of nothingness.
Hazel was not aware of having walked closer to the cottage, but somehow the woman had lured her in. Realizing she hadn’t spoken a word to explain herself, she decided this was as good a time as any.
Perhaps the woman was simply surprised and considered Hazel a threat to her sanctuary here, hidden in the deep woods. Clearly, she was using some kind of magic, and like Agnes, probably desired that tidbit of information to remain a secret.
“I—I’m sorry to intrude,” she stammered.
“You’ll probably find this hard to believe, but I wandered off the main path while I was…
looking for wildflowers,” she lied, feeling it necessary to omit the part about the wisp.
“I got all turned around out there and literally stumbled into your home here,” she said, recalling her less than graceful entrance.
The woman cocked her head, birdlike and unblinking as she evaluated Hazel’s every word.
“So, you see, I truly don’t mean you any harm,” Hazel continued. “I wasn’t looking for you or anything like that. I-I mean, I won’t even tell anyone you live out here.”
She swallowed hard, beginning to wonder what she could use to defend herself should she need to.
Her hand went to her satchel as she remembered the protection herbs Agnes had loaded her down with.
But she had no idea how they worked. Did their mere presence ward off evil?
She wasn’t sure the woman would harm her, but the hairs on the back of Hazel’s neck stood on end.
Was she even making any sense to this woman? Could she hear her? Could she even see her? Those black eyes either saw everything or nothing at all by the looks of them.
Hazel’s mind became foggy, as if she was trying to conjure thoughts in mud. The locket grew hot, drawing an involuntary hiss from between her teeth.
The woman-thing continued to stare. Hazel’s skin crawled.
Who are you? came an otherworldly voice. Each word she spoke was drawn out, as though she were conversing with a snake. And, Hazel determined, it wasn’t being spoken aloud. She was definitely hearing a voice in her head.
Why have you come? The screeching hiss rattled her head, dropping her to her knees.
Hazel noticed something then, a prodding in her mind. Something was tap-tap-tapping as though it wanted in. The shrill voice was enough to split her skull. She couldn’t take it. She squinted her eyes and bared down, grinding her teeth to block everything out.
When she did this, the woman withdrew momentarily, hissing in pain.
Hmm. It bites back. You are not like the others. It drew out the last word as though it could remember the taste of a recent meal. Interesting… Sisters, we have not seen one of these in ages.
Sisters? She was still very much alone in this clearing with this… this thing. She was growing more confident it was not actually a human woman.
In response to her thoughts, the woman-thing threw its head back, a wailing banshee as bones snapped and flesh tore. Every fiber of Hazel’s being screamed at her to run, but she was frozen in place, watching the horror unfold.
As the creature writhed and clawed at itself, a second set of arms burst free from its ribcage, spraying blood and bone fragments everywhere.
Most of the hair was gone from its head, leaving wisps of sickly white strands poking out of its gray, wrinkly scalp.
Its jaw dislocated with a sickening pop, and the teeth inside were now needle-sharp.
Talons formed where the fingers had been, some of them bent at unfortunate angles. This was another creature she’d seen in a fairytale, one that wasn’t supposed to be real…
Striga.
Oh, Fuck.