Page 3 of Dark Rapture
I smile to myself, taking another sip of my tea, realizing that it was likely that fantasy that fed my sweet little plant into growing so big for me. I have learned that intention is everything, and since I started my journey as a witch I have been very conscious of how I direct my thoughts and words.
The day I stood in front of this window, watching my deadly nightshade patch while rain poured heavily from the darkened sky above, I set my intentions for it.
Words and thoughts are magic. As above, so below. As I wish it, so it shall be. The fantasy was so powerful in my mind, I must have sown it into the plant itself.
My thoughts wander as I stand there sipping my tea, trying not to focus on tonight’s family dinner for my father’s 56thbirthday. I let myself zone out, staring out into the beautiful little garden, until the sound of glass shattering on the floor shocks me out of my quiet contemplation.
I turn so abruptly, if my mug wasn’t already mostly empty it would have splashed hot liquid all over my hands. My eyes scan the room until I find the remnants of a glass cup scattered in sharp shards across the floor, on the other side of the room. My eyes focus on the mess, my heart thumping wildly in my chest, before turning to glance at the cupboard to my right.
The cupboard door is cracked open slightly, and confusion settles in as I investigate it. I always do the dishes before bed, and put everything away in the cupboard. It’s my nightly ritual, so I know that I didn’t leave that glass out on the counter where it could have fallen.
Even if it did fall, there’s no reason it should have ended up all the way across the room as far as it could reach. The force needed to send it flying that far across the room must have been significant, much greater than what gravity alone could cause.
It dawns on me how eerily silent my apartment has become. Not a single sound can be heard except for my breathing. Not a single bird is singing outside, none of my neighbours are making any ambient noise, and my apartment is as quiet as the dead. The silence is a living thing, an ominous presence invading my usually peaceful and positive space.
I shiver as goosebumps erupt across my skin, feeling an urgent twinge of fear from the pit of my stomach. Something feels… wrong. I can’t quite put my finger on exactly what that something is, though.
“What the fuck,” I whisper, and even that seems far too loud in the deafening silence.
I glance around the apartment, and it suddenly feels too empty. Despite living in a triplex on a busy street, I feel strangely alone right now. Alone, but not quite.
It feels like there is something else here, but that thing doesn’t feel particularly human. My intuition is telling me that something sinister has invaded my home, a presence I need to try to send away.
My gaze narrows as I stare at the shattered glass, scattered across the worn wooden floor, the broken pieces like a dark omen. With a sigh, I turn back towards my window to grab a bundle of dried white sage from the sill.
There are several smudge sticks scattered around my apartment, gifts given to me by my best friend Talise who is both a green witch and a knowledgeable Indigenous woman. She wanted to make sure I had all of the protection I needed as I began to practice witchcraft, and I was grateful for her foresight now.
Talise told me that her sacred Haudenosaunee ancestors had blessed the bundles during her rituals, which she explained as she placed them around my home one quiet Saturday morning during a visit. My beloved friend assured me that they would lend their strength to help keep me safe on my journey.
That’s why I instinctively reach for one now, holding the bundle firmly in my hand and grabbing a packet of matches to use to ignite the tips of the dried herb.
When I turn back towards the shattered glass, I strike one of the matches on the side of the box to light it. With a strong puff of breath, I exhale on the small flame until it reduces to embers, the smoke billowing dutifully from it, filling the space in front of me with fragrant wisps.
I speak in hushed tones, my breath mingling with the smudge smoke, “Ancestors, please guard my home from forces that seek to harm me.”
I walk through the eerie silence, each tentative step made with careful consideration for where each shard of glass landed, waving the sage bundle to disperse the smoke. I touch the four corners of every room, repeating my mantra, until my entire apartment is bathed in the cleansing and protective presence of white sage.
When I’m finished, I extinguish the embers and set the bundle back on the sill. Grabbing a broom and a dust pan, I sweep to collect the broken glass so I can throw it away. When I’m done cleaning the mess, things feel better. Whatever presence was here moments ago, it doesn’t feel heavy and oppressive anymore.
Breathing a sigh of relief, I put everything away and finish tidying up in the kitchen. I take the opportunity to tidy the rest of the apartment, too. Organizing and cleaning always makes me feel more grounded and in control of my space.
As I wander from one end of my apartment to the next, my thoughts turn to the spell I cast earlier today. Something tells me that the broken glass and the re-lit flame in my altar room are connected, and I can’t help but wonder if my protection wards are strong enough to keep me safe as I dabble with witchcraft.
Not even I know what dark entities linger in the spaces between this world and the next. Growing up, the church warned us all to steer clear of magic and the occult. I still remember the Priest warning us that exposing ourselves to magic meant exposing ourselves to the Devil.
What’s done is done, and I have no regrets. I’ve done what I need to do to protect myself fromhim, and I won’t apologize for that. All I can do now is strengthen the protective warding around me and my home, and hope that it is enough to deter any baneful evil that may find me casting spells in the dark.
Chapter Two
Thecoldautumnwindsrustle the leaves of every tree in the neighbourhood, the sun hanging low in the sky and casting brilliant rays of light through the various colours of leaves adorning each large, towering tree.
The bus ride over was chilly, but beautiful. It’s a charming late afternoon in the middle of fall, the city painted in the stunning spectrum of rustic hues and pale, yet warm shades. The sky is clear and blue, which means the warmth of the sun is a pleasant contrast against the bite of the cool wind.
I am in a pretty decent mood as I wander up the long driveway that leads to my parents’ modest, two story brick house. Although it’s an old structure, my parents have maintained my childhood home with a lot of love and care. It shows, despite its age.
As I reach the middle of the driveway, dread begins to bloom inside of me like disease taking root. Although my bus ride over here was enjoyable, nothing ruins my mood quite like knowing my abuser is just behind the door I now have to walk through.
Before I can spiral down into the unforgiving depths of my anxiety, something unusual catches my attention on the periphery of my vision.
