10

I can’t see anything. Everything is pitch black. If the stairs ended right now and I fell over the edge into a bottomless pit — I would not be surprised.

Small whispers creep around me as bright colours flash in front of me and I don’t know if any of it is real.

It’s too quiet, too dark, too scary.

Yelling a name, and confirming life down here should be my first priority, but I’m a little too focused on being quiet lest some kind of monster jumps out at me once I give away my location. I’ve seen movies, I’m not an idiot.

Horror movies… what do people do in movies when it’s dark… I think as I reach for my phone, flashlight!

My hand slips into my pockets. I check every single pocket I have, but my skin never meets the cool metal I keep expecting.

Fuck, I must’ve left it in my locker. Why have I been cursed to be a model worker — to never be caught on my phone while employed in customer service? Well, I may not have my phone, but at least I have sarcasm.

My foot hits the floor — a different material from the wooden stairs, it’s concrete. I am officially in hell.

I drag my arm along the walls, hoping to find a light switch or run into a table — a dead body — anything. Do nymph-hobbit houses even have electricity?

I squint my eyes. It’s dark — yes — but my eyes might be slowly adjusting because I’m pretty sure on the opposite wall that’s a window. I want to run to it, but I’m genuinely terrified of tripping over a mummified corpse or something.

It smells like old people gave birth to a rotting fish stew, then they died and were marinated in that fish stew for a few years and it finally went bad last month and no one has thrown them away yet because I killed the only person who lives here just a few minutes, maybe seconds ago. Wow, great first day at work — can’t wait to tell Aunt Florence about all this when she calls!

I scream and immediately cover my mouth. What the fuck is a puddle doing down here? Even better — what’s the puddle made of…? My shoe is wet, I’m trembling and I really don’t want to die before finding Nessa.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

“C-Cass…?” A voice right in front of me says. Right underneath the window, I can make out the shape of a body. Dark hair, red strips, a band T-shirt, ripped jeans, and a face that’s almost lost hope.

“You’re here!” Nessa’s eyes light up when she sees me, but mine don’t. She’s strapped to the wall with chains like some kind of animal — god, I am so happy I killed that bitch. Her wrists are red — probably from struggling — in cuffs attached to the wall.

“Wait,” Nessa’s face twists from happy to worried, “If you’re here, where’s Aisa?”

“I killed that fucker,” I say proudly, but Nessa’s not looking any less worried.

“Y-your contract… will the roses…?”

“They won’t come back,” I scan the dark room, looking for something to break her chains with, “The fine print in the contract — they said if she died for any reason, all the spells she called off won’t come back. I remember now, that’s why I made the deal in the first place.”

A hammer — it’s perfect. I pick it up from the floor, not too far away from the window.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!?!” Nessa screams, flinching as I bring down the hammer with all my might. I just barely scrape past her hands, breaking the chains.

I wipe the sweat off my forehead as something catches my eye. A flash of white in the abyss of dark blackness. Tucked behind a crate not far from Nessa is an envelope.

“What is it?” Nessa joins me in staring into the darkness. Cautious and careful, I tiptoe over and pick it up.

It’s a cream-coloured white, but it has the same golden seal that I remember.

“What’s that?” Nessa peeks over my shoulder, “A letter? What’s that doing down here?”

“I don’t know,” this letter is easier to open than the other one. The envelope isn’t the scarlet colour from before, but I could never get that golden seal out of the back of my mind. This has to do with that letter.

I slowly unfold the note and read.

Hello, my love,

I apologize for not being able to reply to you sooner. Mr. Miller has been monitoring my every move, I can only assume he suspects me of being a witch.

Shame, I thought I was hiding it so well.

You’re probably shocked, and I’m sorry I never told you about who I really am. I honestly thought it would scare you away. However, you’re getting along with the witch coven just fine, so please don’t hate me for not telling the truth sooner.

Please tell my friends to use the cards, if the result they get is the outcome with the least amount of deaths, tell them to strike back as soon as they can. I’d prefer it if I didn’t burn at the stake before Miller dies, I quite like the idea of watching him cry as the life bleeds out of his soulless eyes. He deserves the most painful death for what he did to you, to us, and to every witch in Thornhill Woods.

I also would like to live to get to raise our child — another thing I apologize for not telling you sooner. The only thing keeping me going right now are thoughts of the two of us raising this baby and brutally murdering Miller. The next time we meet, we should start selecting names, I like Nathaniel for a boy, don’t you? If it’s a girl, I refuse to argue with you, we are naming her Vanessa. It’s a name I’ve always loved.

Anyways, back to the subject at hand.

I’ve set up everything here at the mansion for the other witches, don’t forget to tell them about the cards. If I don’t respond to your next letter, I want you to speak to the gods for me. Tell them to please protect all that is important to me.

Your Dearest Martha

“That’s freaking weird…” Nessa backs up when she’s done reading it, “The lady in the letter-”

“Martha?”

“Yeah, whatever. She wanted to name her kid either Nathaniel or Vanessa… right?”

“I thought it was weird that you have the same name that she thought of too. Don’t worry about it though, it’s probably just a coincidence,” I shrugged off the thought of anything else.

“No way, my dad’s name is Nathaniel.”

Oh, damn.