Stigmata

At dawn’s early light, when the morning dew is coolest to the touch, the crowing roosters dispelled dreams and nightmares far and wide. She awoke on a bed of bloodied straws, topped by rags reeking of many ointments. The smell was poignant, bitter-sweet; a blend of Juniper and Emberweed that she herself had applied frequently, often to soothe shallow cuts or the odd sting. The room she found herself in was modest; various ropes and chains held from long rusted nails poked the whitewashed adobe walls. There were blossoms and herbs hung out to dry, while above them, near the wooden beams, a band of multicolored signs and motifs encompassed the room all around. This was no ordinary hovel as folk seldom adorned their walls with ancient script and occult imagery.

Katarina made a keen effort to stand up, jerking at her muscles to obey but it was as if a strange paralysis had taken hold of her whole body. It was then that she noticed the blood soaked rags thrown hastily on the wooden slab nearby and the human bones piled in the brazier by the door, crackling beneath a shallow fire. Light fled from the sky, blotting out the doorway and the narrow windows to the sides, replaced by an unnatural night followed by a cold autumn breeze that stirred the acacia trees in the distance. She then felt a sharp twinge at her belly as if a handful of needles had pierced a wide area of her skin and peering down at the source she noticed that a strange symbol had been carved all around her gut and later was meticulously dressed with ointments that dulled the pain. She howled in horror at the sight, crying and wailing, all to free herself from this never-ending nightmare, but her hollering fell deafly in the night leaving her with nothing more than the streams on her cheeks.

A pair of greenish eyes glared at her from the entrance, biting the blackness with a kind of menacing gaze that made her skin crawl at the sight. A cat like hiss accompanied them forward while a ghostly calling beckoned from the edges of her mind. She scarcely understood the ominous whispers at first, but later, as if conjured by some devilish utterance the words revealed an urgency entwined with a sickening dread. 

“I felt your curse. You are marked...” It hissed with indignation. “It befouls and devours!” The voice flared with madness. “Be gone! Flee this place and return whence you came!” 

As if possessed by an unnatural strength she willed herself up, no longer afflicted by that weird paralysis and without a second thought, she jumped through the doorway to be soaked in the bright rays of a Sun, that it seemed, had never left the morning sky. Looking back, the gaze of a black cat followed her every move with interest and mistrust. She took a few steps backward, stumbled and fell, scraping her palms in the gravel, but she cared not and quickly scrambled to her feet fleeing towards the pass that would take her out of Witch’s Cove.

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Author's note: This is an ongoing project with future releases planned as soon as I can get to writing them.

Read previous chapter here.

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The banner is the work of artist Maxwell Little.