Title: The Whisperer
Author: Lewis Spiel
Writing: short, short story
Word count: 211
“Let me repeat what you just said,” she says. “You want me to send you to hell.”
A cloying sweet smell suffuses his senses as the wax tapers extinguish with a suffocating press of finger and thumb. The pads of her fingers must burn but she hardly seems to notice. There is really only the Ritual and the dark, the enormous stone emptiness of the cathedral and the wind whistling through it, and the presence of a spirit, hanging heavy in the air.
“Close your eyes,” she says.
He obliges, but only because there is nothing else he can do. He starts at the cool press of her fingertips against his eyelids.
“We had a deal,” he says, struggling to stay calm. “And weren’t you going to tear my eyes out?”
“There are other ways to take away sight.” The touch on his eyes eases and lifts away. “I’m not a barbarian. Don’t worry, I’ll hold up my end of the agreement.”
“That’s hardly reassuring."
More orders? “B-,” he pauses. “Witch.”
“That’s me,” she responds dryly. “All right. Here we go.”
Something in the air seems to give way. As his world fades to nothing he hears her say, faintly: “You never said when you had to get there.”
Artist's note: Still unfinished. I have several snippets of unfinished stuff right now, but none of them are quite long enough or done, as you can see. We're still alive. :)
This came from reading Stadust by Neil Gaiman and watching Umineko no Naku Koro Ni (Where the Seagulls Cry). They reminded me that witches are cool. ^-^ Uh, not to say that I wrote this just so that I could mention a witch.