May 31, 2021
3 mins read
The Rise of the Witch Queen
Melanie was a sheepish girl, never one for imagination or flights of fancy. She had been raised on a farm, worked hard every day of her fourteen short years and that had certainly showed on her face. She stared blankly out of the farmhouse window as the rain drove hard against the glass. The constant torrent of water had now begun pooling, its icy fingers seeping under the bottom of the ever so slightly, rotten sill and was trickling gently down the bedroom wall, eventually disappearing gracefully from view behind her bed. Melanie had been sat there for so long now that she had been completely unaware of the puddle that had been forming under her elbows. With the sudden realisation of her damp predicament she pulled back from the window, sitting bolt upright with a very un-approving expression. The dampness and chill of the rain had been slowly making its way up the sleeves of her blouse and had finally reached her wrists, taking hold like the icy fingers of Death, She sighed. “Damned weather. It’s like twenty degrees outside. Why is it always raining and why for the love of God, is it so bloody cold?” She sighed a little longer this time.
Her bedroom seemed colder than usual as she looked around the dimly lit room for some kind of towel. Small stuffed animal toys lay in various predicaments across the old bed, looking like they had just returned from a twenty four hour party binge. Clothes were strewn to the four corners of the room, some hanging precariously of the side of the wash basket where they were supposed to be homed, or at least that is what her mother kept reminding her of on a daily basis. You could say Mel was your typical teenage but some would have to disagree. She was not one for social standings or academia, spending most of ‘non-school’ hours writing emotional musings in her diary and listening to, as her mother described, devilishly crass music that could only be rotting her brain slowly from the inside. Mel was nagged on a daily basis to smarten up, brush her hair, and “Just have some pride, some direction in your fucking life”! Those were her mum’s exact words. Mel frowned briefly. ‘I have goals’ she thought, they just didn’t coincide with her parents ideas of where she should be heading. Mel giggled quietly to herself as she reached into the basket and pulled out a foul smelling towel.
There was a scratching at her window. A low, barely audible scratching. Not like that of a rat, Mel was used to Rats at the farmhouse, this was different. It sounded like long, drawn out grating against old wood, the kind of wood the farmhouse was made from and it was coming from outside. The sound was getting louder now, more determined, like something pulling its way up the side of the house, slowly, rhythmically moving closer. Again, she noticed the room was cold, colder still she thought as turned slowly to face the window once more. With each step the sounds grew louder, only now it was matched by the heavy thump of her own heart as it beat in time with the relentless scrapping. “Just the cat, just the cat” she murmured as she edged towards the window, arms outstretched in a protective motion. She was just a foot or so away from the rain soaked sill now as she reached out with one had to steady herself. She felt dizzy all of a sudden, really dizzy. The room began to spin wildly in her mind, faster and faster, unrelenting, there was a loud guttural cry followed by the sound of her window shattering, then, everything went dark.