It all began on a cold winter’s night, with the unwelcome appearance of three

witches, hovering above my bed… You may well ask, ‘Is this just another one of

your fantasy stories, like so many others you have penned over the last number of

years?’ My answer, the only answer that I can offer you is to read on and see what

you think…

It was 31st October (how can I ever forget that terrible date?), a wild autumn

evening if ever I saw one, with the mother of all storms brewing outside. I was

happy and warm inside, tucked up in my wonderfully comfortable bed, listening to

the wind that was trying its utmost to wrench the last few leaves that were still

clinging so desperately to the trees. ..

My bedroom window struggled, trying to keep the wicked wind on the outside,

where it truly belonged, but because of its great age and precarious state of

repair, it was gradually losing the battle. I watched as the latch shook, rattled and

shivered under the terrible might of the wind’s untiring onslaught. As a particularly

strong gust battered the window with a renewed determination, the latch finally

gave way and the window shot open, allowing the full force of the storm into my

bedroom. I pulled the bedclothes tight over my head, trying to protect myself from

the storm that was now raging around my rickety old bed.

“What on earth is happening?” asked mum as she rushed into the room, seeing

the quandary I was in. Holding tight onto the bedclothes, I watched as she

struggled to close the window. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, my darling,” she

said, trying to ease my fears. “It’s only an autumnal storm. You’ll get used to them,

in time.”

I tried to believe her, I so wanted to believe her, but it was so hard to do this, with

the storm raging around my head. Finally, after she had managed to close the

window, mum came over and stroked my forehead. “Don’t you be worrying,

Jeremiah,” she said. “Think of the fun you’ll have, tomorrow, thrashing around in all

of those wonderful leaves.”

She was right; I loved running about in the fallen leaves, kicking them high into the

air, and then watching them fall back to earth again. Conkers, there are always

many fallen conkers after an autumnal storm; tomorrow was shaping up to be a

grand day…

“The window will be fine, now,” said mum. “It’s firmly closed. Go to sleep,

Jeremiah.” With that, she pulled the door behind her, leaving a chink of light

showing.

Although the storm was still raging outside, I tried to believe mum’s words, and

slowly, gradually I felt safe from the wild winds on the other side of the

windowpane. That, however, was a mistake, a big mistake that I would soon be

regretting…

With the window firmly closed, my eyelids grew heavy and I drifted, drifted away to

the realms of blissful slumber, without a care in the world.

BANG! I awoke with a start. Had the window shot open again? I looked. It was still

closed, tight as could be. Then what had made that awful noise? It was gone, now.

It was quiet, eerily quiet. The light, the sliver of light, which had been shining,

edging its way through the partially open door had disappeared. Why? The

bedroom door was now fully closed, that’s. That must have been what had awoken

me – the door slamming shut. How could that be? There was no wind inside my

bedroom, now, so why had it closed – and so abruptly? I had no answer, no

answer at all to these questions, so I lay back in bed, my head sinking into my

wonderfully soft pillow, my eyelids growing heavier and heavier until I drifted away

to slumberland once again.

BANG! I shot up in bed, wondering why this was happening to me. I listened for the

noise, to see if it happened again, but it didn’t. I heard nothing. Scratching my

head in utter frustration, I clambered out of bed and tiptoed across to the door,

opening it to its previous position, allowing the sliver of light to re-enter my room.

“That’s better,” I whispered.

Jumping into bed, I pulled up the covers and curled up into a ball. I was cold.

Thinking of all the wonderful leaves and conkers that would be on the ground the

next morning, I soon fell soundly asleep...

BANG! The door slammed shut. I awoke with a start, for no wind, however slight,

had done it.

With eyes peeking out from under the bedclothes, I whispered, “This is weird, really weird.”

A laugh; I heard a laugh. My ears pricked, listening. A cackle; I heard a cackle. I sat

up in bed, shivering with fright. I heard another laugh, another cackle, then another

and another and another. I pulled the bed linen high, right up over my head, in such

fright.

Why hadn’t mum come in? I wondered, for she must have heard the bang! With the

door shut, closed to the outside world, it would be even harder for her to hear what

we happening to me. Peeking out from under the blankets, I whispered, “Is there

anyone there?” Despite the fact that no one replied, I knew someone was there – I

was sure of it. Lifting the blankets a smidgeon, I peeked out again, trying to see

who it was, yet frightened of what I might see. Then I saw them. I saw three dark

forms, three humanlike forms, flying, above me, around the ceiling light.

Rubbing my eyes, thinking they were playing tricks upon me, I looked again, but

the three dark forms were still flying around the light, and they were laughing in wild

excitement.

The storm outside had all but disappeared from my consciousness, replaced by a

fear of something so far removed from my everyday existence, I feared for my life.

The figures, the dark menacing forms continued to fly around the light fitting,

laughing and cackling ever louder. I watched, I watched with fear, but also an

increasing curiosity. It is not that I became any braver; the thought of being brave

never entered my mind. I suppose I was just getting used to them, the tree cackling

figures flying around my room. I know that sounds unbelievable, even foolhardy, but

that’s how it was, as I watched them.

After I had been watching this spectacle for a good fifteen minutes, I was

beginning to tire of it. So plucking up courage (I have no idea where it came from) I

said, “Excuse me…”

The three figures stopped circling. Hovering stationery, they stared down at me.

Now that they had stopped moving, I could see they were women, and old, ever so

ugly ones at that.

BLACK! They were all wearing black flowing clothes, clothes that were so old and

raggedy I almost felt sorry for the wearers. Tearing my eyes away from the tatty

clothes, I saw the most frightening aspect of this nocturnal spectacle – BROOMS.

As the three old women hovered above me, looking down at me, I could see the

timeworn brooms upon which each of them was perched. I knew then, I knew

without any doubt what they really were – WITCHES, and I shrieked, I shrieked in

utter fright, and then I passed out.

When I awoke, the three witches were standing around my bed, staring at me with

a morbid curiosity. From such close quarters, they appeared even uglier than

before. I gasped at the spectacle before me.

“Look,” said the first one, “It has awoken…”

“Hmm, so it has,” said the second witch.

The third one, said, “He, it is a he.”

The three witches cackled crazily.

The first witch started poking me. You might think that was no big deal but let me

tell you, being poked about by someone who has nine-inch long fingers, and bony

ones at that, is not a pleasant thing. As each of her fingers poked and prodded at

me, I felt as if they were cutting swathes out of my flesh. It was horrible.

“Let me touch it,” said the second witch. “It must have enough flesh.” She prodded

me even harder than the first one. I cringed at each touch of her bony protrusions.

“Leave him be,” said the third witch, “I will speak with it – with him…”

As I awaited the third and must ugly of the three witches to address me, I knew (I

had no idea how) that this was going to be something that I had long been

awaiting. All thoughts of fear that I had felt, earlier, were now gone, replaced by an

eager anticipation for the future…

The third witch looked deep into my eyes, so deep I feared she could see into my

very soul, and then she said, “So, you are expecting this.” She continued to speak

in her drawled out, painfully slow manner, “This will make the transition so much –

easier. That is good…”

The remaining two witches began laughing and cackling with renewed vigour.

“Before I continue, is there anything you would like to say?” the third witch asked.

At first, I simply shrugged my shoulders, lost for words.

No sooner had she seen me shrugging, the second witch scowling at me, said,

“This – it – is the wrong one.”

“Finish it now,” the first witch hissed.

“No – wait,” said the third witch. “Let it – let him speak…”

As six beady eyes watched me intently – four in profanity, and two in anticipation, I

vowed not to let the third witch down.

Pushing away the bedclothes, I stepped onto the cold, hard floor, ready to speak.

With a jolt of conscience, my humanity returned and I wondered what I was doing

there, speaking to witches.

Seeing my indecision, the first witch hissed, “I will finish him.” With that, she sent a

bolt a red-hot lightning streaking towards me.

In a fraction of a second, faster than the witch’s attack, the third witch, raising her

hand, protected me from the lightning bolt. “Do it – now!” she urged me. “SAY IT!”

I did. I began speaking, fear having disappeared, replaced by an unshaken

resolve to claim my future, our future, and my undeniable birthright, I said, “Ladies, I

am – Herder…”

The first and second witches gasped when they heard me say this.

The third one smiled.

Despite being puzzled, I somehow knew what to say. “I claim my future, the future

of all who wish for immortally… I claim the earth itself, for me, Herder, your leader –

and for Wicca.”

All three witches laughed, cackled and applauded my claim, in wild excitement.

At this point mum came into the room. “What is all this noise about?” she asked.

Then she saw the three witches with me at the centre.

“What are you doing with my son?” she asked, agog.

“Nothing, dearie,” said the first witch.

“See for yourself,” said the second one.

The third witch waved mum in, allowing her safe entry.

“Are you all right?” mum asked, touching me.

I remained silent.

“Jeremiah, are you all right?” mum asked me again, her concern for my wellbeing

increasing as she spoke.

“Herder, my name is Herder,” I replied coldly.

“But, but you’re my son, Jeremiah!” she insisted.

“Jeremiah is dead, and anyone who dares to call me by that name must also die.”

“Jeremiah…” mum repeated.

Raising my right hand, I said, “You die.” With that, a bolt of lightning streaked out

from my hand, killing her instantly.

Seeing what I had done, the witches cheered, for I was Herder, their leader.

Suddenly I awoke in a pool of cold sweat. Mum’s radiant smile was shining down

upon me.

“You were having a nightmare,” she said softly, gently.

“I was?”

“Yes, it was a wild night, outside. It must have upset you,” she continued. Pulling

open the curtains, mum said, “It’s a lovely day, with plenty of leaves to kick about,

and loads of conkers to collect.”

It was a lovely day; it was the best day of my entire life, because mum, my mum

was still alive. God bless her.

© Gerrard T Wilson 2008

I am the crazy-mad writer of children's stories,

songs, nursery rhymes and much, much more!

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