The wind rippled through the leaves, like waves in the ocean. It was fall in the small town of Irma, Washington and the leaves were turning brilliant
shades of orange, yellow, and brown. All of them blowing off of the trees in the chilly autumn breeze. Her brown hair being tossed behind her by the
wind, Emma pulled her coat around her shoulders tighter; it had been colder day then any other.
Emma Thompson quietly walked down the long, tree-lined sidewalk that led into Irma’s park. As she came to the center, she looked at the mysterious
Obelisk that had sat in the town’s center ever since she could remember. The Obelisk stood 20 feet tall, a giant tower of black marble which stood
out like a sore thumb in the middle of all these sycamores, and willow trees. There were various town myths about it, but Emma never paid attention to
any of them. They were all superstition, and she wasn’t superstitious.
“Well, at least not very.” She thought to herself after she stopped herself from walking underneath a ladder. The wind blew at her,
piercing itself relentlessly through her clothing. That’s what she hated about Halloween; the wind on that night always seemed to find its way to
bare skin, no matter how much you wore outside.
Suddenly, a stiff wind blew up the lane, driving elm and maple leaves forward like slaves running from the whip of their masters. Emma quickly ducked
into the nearest shop, and closed the door, in order to avoid the sting of leaves.
“Why, hello Emma. What brings you in here?” Asked kind, old Mrs. Sherwood behind the counter. Behind her loveable wrinkly face, her silky white
hair, and her crooked back, Mrs. Sherwood was the kindest soul you could ever hope to meet. Mr. and Mrs. Sherwood had run the only candy shop in town,
Sweet Temptations, for as long as anyone could remember. Unfortunately, Mr. Sherwood had died a number of years back, but Mrs. Sherwood always found a
way to keep the candy shop in business.
“Oh, just ducking out of a stiff breeze, that’s all. However, now that I’m in here, I might as well buy something.” Replied Emma, who was a
frequent customer, and a big fan of their low fat candies.
“Let me guess, a Fiery Meteor and a Licorice Stick?” Asked Mrs. Sherwood, aware of Emma’s usual purchases. Emma smiled in response. “Well,
then just bring them up to the counter and we’ll get you back on your way.” Mrs. Sherwood smiled.
Emma set herself to browsing the sugarcoated aisles, letting her eyes feast on the many kinds of delicious tongue pleasers. Glancing up, she saw Mrs.
Sherwood reading a peculiar looking book. It had a design on the front, which consisted of an eye poised in a powerful gaze, which surrounded by stars
that almost twinkled and shone like their sky-bound counterparts. The book seemed to give off a sense intrigue and enticement, as well as a certain
foreboding and danger. Suddenly, Emma saw Mrs. Sherwood’s eyes flash up from the book and in her direction. The glare was, for some reason,
uncomfortable to endure, and Emma was compelled to get back to her browsing. She quickly picked out her favorite candies, and took them up to the
counter. The book had vanished from sight, and a pleasant smile had replaced the strange and almost power-projecting glare. Mrs. Sherwood quickly rang
up the candies at the cash register.
“Thank you for shopping, and please come back again.” Smiled Mrs. Sherwood, in a sickly sweet voice.
“I will, thank you.” Replied Emma, almost stumbling over her words. Emma hurried out of the shop, clutching her candy filled paper bag. The wind
tore and grabbed at her clothes even harder as she stumbled down the sidewalk, towards her apartment.
Later that night, Emma woke in her bedroom, suddenly aroused by the sound of her window slamming shut.
“Who’s there?” Emma asked, her voice shaky. She slowly lifted the covers, and pulled herself out of bed. She slowly lifted her hand to find the
light switch, her heart beating into her throat as she reached. Suddenly, a gentle breeze stroked her arm; a breeze that seemed to her more than a
breeze. Suddenly panicked, Emma leapt towards her door. Slowly the dim light from under her door twirled around as she fell to the ground, passing out
The moonlight drifted down through the elm and oak tree leaves, which gently rustled in the chilly, autumn breeze. Emma woke with a start, and glanced
upward to find herself lying on the ground just below the Obelisk. She stirred, only to find her arms had been covered with small cuts and slices, as
if she had been violently drug through a patch of thorn bushes. Suddenly, gentle words floated on the breeze…
“I’m dreadfully sorry child. You saw what you should not have seen. Though that’s partly my fault I still can’t have my secret floating
around town willy-nilly. I have to make sure that my Coven doesn’t think I’m going soft. They’re not at all like the old Warlocks and Witches
were. These new ones are young, soul-less, ruthless, and they need to be taught to respect the ways of their predecessors. Alas, you will die my poor
daughter, but you’ll die for a good cause.”
Mrs. Sherwood appeared slowly in the moonlight, and with a wave of her hand all the sounds of the night became quiet. Mrs. Sherwood stood taller than
Emma had ever seen her stand in the past. Mrs. Sherwood radiated power; a presence of age, wisdom, and raw energy. The sweet, wrinkly old face had
turned smooth, while her silver hair and blue eyes became shockingly apparent. Another creature stood before Emma; a different, stronger person.
When Mrs. Sherwood spoke, Emma was caught up in her voice, as if enchanted by some power. Mrs. Sherwood sounded as if every word that came from her
mouth was light as moonlight, and shone like silver.
“I’m sorry dear, but it is for the best.”
With that, Emma listened in wonder as Mrs. Sherwood raised her hand and spoke. The words that came out were as tangible as the tree’s around them,
gentle as a slight breeze, and as liquid as molten gold. Suddenly breaking the almost mystical silence, Emma quietly raised her hand and spoke a word
of Command. A thorn bush’s vines shot out from behind Mrs. Sherwood, grabbed onto her, and pulled her up against a weeping willow. Emma stood, a
darkness seeming to radiate from her body.
“You stupid hag.” Emma spat, her face contorted in rage. Every word that spewed from Emma’s mouth seemed to suck the beauty from the
starry night, and consume the light shining down from the full moon. “You really thought you could get away with your kind and self-sacrificing
behavior for long? The Coven has decided that it is time that you were removed. You’ve lived too long for your own good, and spent far too many days
on the fence. You’re either with us or against us, and we cannot allow those who will not commit to live. But don’t worry, you’ll die for a good
Emma’s arm lifted into the air, and froze, perfectly horizontal. Emma spoke, and the words spewed from her mouth smelled of sulfur and brimstone,
and brought to mind images of the foulest and most evil kind. Thoughts of murder and betrayal, thoughts of death, thoughts of sin, thoughts of torture
and pain. Mrs. Sherwood couldn’t withstand the evil of the words and spewed blood from her mouth. When Emma was finished, her hand dropped to her
“Enjoy your final resting place, hag.” She said with a smirk and then she vanished into the night. Mrs. Sherwood, pulled her head away from
her blood-soaked clothes stared out into the silent night. Tears glistened on her wrinkled cheeks as they ran down her face. The weeping willow gave a
groan, and a Mrs. Sherwood-shaped gap opened up behind the old woman, pulling her into the tree. With snaps and groans, the tree closed on Mrs.
Sherwood, crushing her bones and squeezing her flesh until the blood flowed freely from the tree, an offering to god’s unseen and unforgiving.
Then, at last the tree closed on her completely, with only a tiny crack left to show that a woman had died within its branches.
A full moon shown down on the reflective Obelisk, as it stood, a cold, soul-less, and breathless witness.
The world moved on after Mrs. Sherwood vanished that night, only a few people were concerned about her whereabouts. Her husband was dead, and she had
been living alone when she disappeared. Sweet Temptations slowly fell into disrepair, the sad building looking out on the Obelisk as a sad old man
would look upon his own death. Its window’s broken, and its inventory long since stolen, the building only served as a home for animals and
superstitions. Everyone knew that witches didn’t really use the ruins of Sweet Temptations as a hide out, and that the Obelisk wasn’t their altar,
just a strange piece of art. Still, everyone avoided the Obelisk’s grove, because it was said that if you wandered there alone, you would hear Mrs.
Sherwood’s voice in the rustle of the leaves of a certain weeping willow. The ghostly voice echoed the words that were etched into the Obelisk’s
“Blood for the sacrifice,
Strength takes its toll,
The Master for an ally,
The Power for your soul.
Thought without morality, desire without inhibition, power without restriction, and life without death.”
[edit on 5-10-2007 by Voidmaster]
EDIT- A bit of it got cut off in the copy-pasting from my computer. Sorry about that.
[edit on 5-10-2007 by Voidmaster]