EPHIAM WRITES (ON WEEKDAYS!)

A Mother in Witch's Clothing
Written by: EphiamOricuna/Zeromatrious.





Chapter 1

Adrian flushed the toilet, pulled up his dragon-pattern pyjamas, and scurried back to bed. He crawled hastily between the warm Tonka blankets and fondly recalled the minor hockey game he played that day.

There was a knock.

Adrian poked his head out of the blankets and skimmed the room. No monsters or aliens. Perhaps one of his toys had fallen on the floor? That had to be it.

Another knock.

The knocking steadily grew louder and more consistent. Adrian hopped out of bed and searched high and low. Nothing. If it wasn't coming from his room, then where? The hall? He snuck out to take a peek.

Still nothing. The knocking did get louder, but it wasn't coming from anywhere in particular. Then a passing thought jumped in to his head: what about the front door? Goosebumps speckled his arms.

Adrian creaked open his parents' door and stared in at them. “Dad?” he asked. There was no response. “Mom?” he asked again. They remained asleep. He repeated himself twice over before moving to their bedside and shaking his father's arm. Still nothing.

The knocking intensified.

“Answer.” whispered a ghastly voice.

Adrian stood completely still.

“Answer the door.”

Adrian remained silent.

“Answer the door!” demanded the voice.

“I don't want to! Go away!” cried Adrian. He grasped his father's shoulder and shook him violently. “Wake up, dad! Wake up! Please wake up!” he pleaded. Nothing. He ran to his mother's side and got the same results. “Why won't you wake up? Why?”

“You have to answer the door.”

“No!” Tears welled in his eyes as he pounded on the side of his parent's bed, hitting and shaking them periodically. He buckled over, rested his forehead on the mattress, and began gasping for air. He dropped to his knees. Silence.

Adrian exited the room. He momentarily stood in the hallway, then slumped against the wall. Segments of wallpaper crumpled under his fingers as he forced himself to his feet. He made his way towards the base of the stairs, his movements jagged.

“Let me in. I will help you if you let me in,” whispered the voice.

Now the knocking was at its loudest. He faced the entryway. Without pause he grabbed the knob and pulled the door open.

He stared. The crotch and inner leggings of his pyjamas became moist with urine. He was unable to move, and unable to breathe—dominated by fear.







Chapter 2
“Thank you.”

Adrian gaped while angular claws grasped his face. They traced his jawline, crawled down his neck, then stopped on his shoulder.

“I would not have done this had you been quicker,” whispered the ghostly apparition. Her words coiled around him like a snake, and gulped down whatever hope he had left.

The phantom withdrew her hand into the tattered rags that draped over her lanky form. It emerged holding a bundle of clothing drenched in blood. Her pasty lips creased in to a poisonous smile.

Adrian felt some semblance of movement return to his paralyzed figure. His eyes cautiously moved from the phantom's torso to the clothing, then back to her. He felt a sudden strange surge of warmth wash over him. It was weird, but he smiled.

Miniature puddles of blood gathered on the weathered floorboards. The harder she squeezed, the more of the crimson substance oozed out and dripped off her fingers.

“They're familiar, aren't they?” she asked. “They should be.”

Adrian opened his mouth to form a response, but no words came. After a moment, he finally mustered a hurried “yes.”

“Take them,” she said, allowing the clothes to fall in to a slump on the floor. With the same hand, she reached up to her face and, starting on the indentation under her eye, drew a line straight to her chin. “The blood will not remove. She is to die.”

Wide eyes met the specter's words. Adrian's mind raced. The little comfort he accumulated slipped away and left him white as the moon. He never realized exactly what she had said, and instead pieced it together himself. At most, he understood someone was going to die. “But I didn't-”

“Quiet.” The spirit pointed a finger at him, its bloody coating contrasting starkly with her floury complexion. “It is not you who will perish.” She paused for a moment, then continued. “I cannot say her name—I am not permitted—but a resident of this home will die come morning.”

The words nipped at Adrian's ears; his body quivered. Absentmindedly his gaze wandered towards her face. He fell back instantly, and whimpered like a wounded pup. Shortly thereafter his head made solid thumping noises when he began bashing it off of the splintering floorboards.

He felt her fingers run through his hair. He howled.

“Leave me alone! Please leave me alone!” He begged. “I just want to go back to bed! I want mommy and daddy! I want...”

“My purpose is complete. The message has been delivered,” she whispered. “You don't have to hurt yourself. You will forget all of this come morning, even the message its self. You are far too young...”

Her words seemed to fade in and out. She whispered several more things, though they progressively grew so distant they were mere murmurs. After a few moments things became quieter, and more comforting. Adrian could feel his body relax and slip in to a familiar calm. Soon he had fallen in to dreamland again, lead there safely by voices and visions of loving friends and family members.

There was a knock.

Startled awake, Adrian poked his head out from the blankets and scanned the room. Nothing.






More to come this week. For now, enjoy! All comments welcomed.