PRESENT DAY / THREE WEEKS BEFORE THE NEW MOON
RACHEL SWIFT
“We’ll see you next week,” I say aloud, as my last student of the day runs down the sidewalk and heads home.
My name is Rachel Swift. Some of my students call me “Miss Rachel,” but of course you can just call me “Rachel.” My domestic life seems simple, almost old maid-like. I’m a thirty-something-year-old piano teacher who's never been married and has one black cat named “Persephone.” Brooms hang over my front door threshold, pennies lay on my window seal, and crystals sit on every table in my house. My most prized possession is a sterling silver crescent moon that dangles from a silver rope I wear daily around my neck.
Now, I'm sure you have already figured out I’m a witch. I’m not your typical witch. I was neither born under a crescent moon nor had I descended from generations of spellcasters. Everything about my becoming a witch was a journey as real as the blood that runs through our veins.
My Puritan ancestors helped townspeople burn my kind at the stake. Popularity of the Salem Witch Trials was widespread and growing. Believe me when I say one doesn’t forget the pungent smell of sulfur and burning flesh. They made children attend witch burnings, especially little girls. They wanted them to be aware of the consequences of becoming, as some called it, “daughters of Lucifer.”
Oh, and there’s one more thing about me. I’m not thirty-something years old, as I often tell people when they ask my real age. The truth is I was born on March 12, 1671, which makes me a little over three centuries old. From the Revolutionary War to George Washington becoming America’s first president, I’ve seen it all unfold before my very eyes.
Every witch is different when it comes to the full development of their powers. I kept my magic simple, like guessing the next day's weather or healing a bird's broken wing. But, it wasn't until later my powers were at their strongest, which gave birth to the legendary magnificent coven.
MARCH 12, 1692
RACHEL SWIFT
Yes, indeed! The year was 1692, and I turned twenty-one years old. Most young ladies wore pretty dresses, sipped tea from a porcelain cup and balanced books on their heads. Yes, most young ladies, well, except for me. I took a great interest in science and how the world came into existence. Church taught me God created the earth in seven days. That never stopped me from learning everything there was to know about the world around us.
I loved books and read everything I could get my hands on. It was entirely unheard of for a young lady to read anything other than a book of romantic sonnets. I read everything from Shakespeare to science. I also had another interest: exploring underground caves and cemeteries.
Do you remember how I previously told you I didn't get my powers through either magical rituals or having a mother who was a witch? It's the truth. Magic found me when I did something no other person dared to do in our sleepy little town. One night, I decided to go against all conventional wisdom and venture into a dark cave located in the back of a local cemetery. It was the same hidden place townsmen buried anyone who was considered wicked and religiously undesirable. That included the bodies of murderers and outlaws, and especially anyone accused of practicing witchcraft.
Call it idle curiosity or even rebellion. I simply wanted to see the place generations of townspeople appropriately called, "Devil's Cave." I entered Cromwell Cemetery one night holding both a lantern and walking stick. The silvery glow from that night's full moon illuminated the entrance. Roots covered the cave's path, as did pieces of busted tombstones and various other debris.
The cobweb-covered door entering the cave was wooden and had no handle. A loud shriek sounded, as I opened the door. Bugs vigorously scattered, and rats ran frightened through large cracks in the walls. Hair-thinned roots dangled from the cave's ceiling. I felt rattled with fear, as the cave felt alive. Dead, unnerving silence mixed with the echoing sound of each breath I exhaled almost drove me insane.
It wasn't worth being dead myself. I had to leave immediately. But, as I turned to go, I heard a voice in muffled unisex utter my name.
"Rachel...Rachel Swift...Come to me, Child..."
Part of me was fearful, while another part of me felt drawn to whoever, or whatever spoke my name. I walked further into the cave for as long as my lantern held a flame. Minutes later, a light brightly illuminated the entire inside of the cave. There was no need for the soft glow of my lantern. I sat it down on top one of the tombstones and followed the light that led down another tiny path covered in broken gravel and surrounded by thorns that overlapped the walls.
I reached the end of the path. Something peculiar caught my attention. At first, it appeared to be a simple, overgrown tree root. I walked closer to it and stood in awe. The tree root was a wooden arm plunged out of the ground wrapped with thick roots and covered in thorns. In the hand's palm was a single red rose that glowed with evident power.
The voice spoke again. "...Touch the rose, Child. Touch your destiny..."
At first, I hesitated. Something otherworldly radiated from the rose, as I felt intrigued to touch it. The voice pleaded until I submitted to its beaconed call. My trembling hand slowly inched toward the glowing rose. I let out a deep cleansing breath, gave into temptation and finally touched it.
Roots from the ground wrapped around my legs and tightly bound me. The rose's stem grew into my own hand. Thorns extracted from the stem and pierced my palm. My body shuddered, as the rose refused to let go of my grip. Blood poured from my arm's side and drizzled down the rose's stem, saturating the ground beneath me. The rose and roots absorbed into my hand. Glowing came from my palm and fingertips, then my arm, and then the rest of me--powerful, radiant and unlike anything I had ever felt.
The mysterious power flowed through every inch of me. Even my eyes ached with intensity. It was more than I could tolerate, as I lifted my eyes to the ceiling of the cave and screamed. The top of the cave ignited with sparks and exploded, causing the roof to blast through the air. The force of the explosion caused the roots to let go of my legs. I flew back and landed on the stone ground.
A glowing green mist began to rise from the ground where the wooden hand existed. The wooden hand turned into a green cloud and levitated through the hole in the ceiling. It disappeared in the misty night air.
I was frightened and stood. The power continued flowing through me strong, still radiating through my hands. My eyes widened as the thorn marks on my hand and arm vanished. I stretched my hands outward and shook them, causing the thorns on the walls to rumble and retract. Another reality gripped me worse than the rose itself, as I suddenly realized what coursed through me. Oh, Dear God and the Blessed Mother Mary! It was witchcraft!
My hands trembled. The devil himself placed his mark on my soul. I began to pray harder than I ever had before. "Father God of Abraham," I cried aloud, pleading to my God in faith. "Release me from the devil's mark! I am thy child!" My loud, pleading cries attracted more than Father God. Coming from the darkness, I heard what sounded like snarling. It moved closer toward me: eyes glowing red, and its silhouette appeared broad in the darkened distance.
I stepped backward, as it finally came to light. It was a wolf; growling and looking at me, as though I was its next prey. My eyes widened fearful. I screamed for help, but no one heard me. It leaped into the air and toward me. I raised my hands toward the creature and involuntarily spoke words I had never before heard. The words felt right for me to say in the dreaded moment. The last syllable was spoken, as a burning sensation once again tingled in my eyes.
Flames radiated from my hands and onto the wolf. It yelped, being flung back a few feet and quickly rolled the remaining flames out of its singed fur. It whimpered and ran away. My breath was heaving, and I lowered my hands. I sighed relieved, as I looked up and noticed it was gone.
I decided in that moment to replace fear with destiny; to embrace my newfound powers and realize all the marvelous things I could do with them. It wasn't a curse or the devil's mark, as I was forced to believe. Instead, it was a good gift, and I could do so much good with it.
For the next few weeks to come I attempted little displays of magic. Saturating a field full of lavender, levitating twigs to dance in the air and healing small animals caught in a hunter's trap was just the beginning for me. I vowed from that moment forward my magic would only be used for the greater good and would never harm another living soul.
That is, until three weeks later.
My name is Rachel Swift. Some of my students call me “Miss Rachel,” but of course you can just call me “Rachel.” My domestic life seems simple, almost old maid-like. I’m a thirty-something-year-old piano teacher who's never been married and has one black cat named “Persephone.” Brooms hang over my front door threshold, pennies lay on my window seal, and crystals sit on every table in my house. My most prized possession is a sterling silver crescent moon that dangles from a silver rope I wear daily around my neck.
Now, I'm sure you have already figured out I’m a witch. I’m not your typical witch. I was neither born under a crescent moon nor had I descended from generations of spellcasters. Everything about my becoming a witch was a journey as real as the blood that runs through our veins.
My Puritan ancestors helped townspeople burn my kind at the stake. Popularity of the Salem Witch Trials was widespread and growing. Believe me when I say one doesn’t forget the pungent smell of sulfur and burning flesh. They made children attend witch burnings, especially little girls. They wanted them to be aware of the consequences of becoming, as some called it, “daughters of Lucifer.”
Oh, and there’s one more thing about me. I’m not thirty-something years old, as I often tell people when they ask my real age. The truth is I was born on March 12, 1671, which makes me a little over three centuries old. From the Revolutionary War to George Washington becoming America’s first president, I’ve seen it all unfold before my very eyes.
Every witch is different when it comes to the full development of their powers. I kept my magic simple, like guessing the next day's weather or healing a bird's broken wing. But, it wasn't until later my powers were at their strongest, which gave birth to the legendary magnificent coven.
* * * * *
MARCH 12, 1692
RACHEL SWIFT
Yes, indeed! The year was 1692, and I turned twenty-one years old. Most young ladies wore pretty dresses, sipped tea from a porcelain cup and balanced books on their heads. Yes, most young ladies, well, except for me. I took a great interest in science and how the world came into existence. Church taught me God created the earth in seven days. That never stopped me from learning everything there was to know about the world around us.
I loved books and read everything I could get my hands on. It was entirely unheard of for a young lady to read anything other than a book of romantic sonnets. I read everything from Shakespeare to science. I also had another interest: exploring underground caves and cemeteries.
Do you remember how I previously told you I didn't get my powers through either magical rituals or having a mother who was a witch? It's the truth. Magic found me when I did something no other person dared to do in our sleepy little town. One night, I decided to go against all conventional wisdom and venture into a dark cave located in the back of a local cemetery. It was the same hidden place townsmen buried anyone who was considered wicked and religiously undesirable. That included the bodies of murderers and outlaws, and especially anyone accused of practicing witchcraft.
Call it idle curiosity or even rebellion. I simply wanted to see the place generations of townspeople appropriately called, "Devil's Cave." I entered Cromwell Cemetery one night holding both a lantern and walking stick. The silvery glow from that night's full moon illuminated the entrance. Roots covered the cave's path, as did pieces of busted tombstones and various other debris.
The cobweb-covered door entering the cave was wooden and had no handle. A loud shriek sounded, as I opened the door. Bugs vigorously scattered, and rats ran frightened through large cracks in the walls. Hair-thinned roots dangled from the cave's ceiling. I felt rattled with fear, as the cave felt alive. Dead, unnerving silence mixed with the echoing sound of each breath I exhaled almost drove me insane.
It wasn't worth being dead myself. I had to leave immediately. But, as I turned to go, I heard a voice in muffled unisex utter my name.
"Rachel...Rachel Swift...Come to me, Child..."
Part of me was fearful, while another part of me felt drawn to whoever, or whatever spoke my name. I walked further into the cave for as long as my lantern held a flame. Minutes later, a light brightly illuminated the entire inside of the cave. There was no need for the soft glow of my lantern. I sat it down on top one of the tombstones and followed the light that led down another tiny path covered in broken gravel and surrounded by thorns that overlapped the walls.
I reached the end of the path. Something peculiar caught my attention. At first, it appeared to be a simple, overgrown tree root. I walked closer to it and stood in awe. The tree root was a wooden arm plunged out of the ground wrapped with thick roots and covered in thorns. In the hand's palm was a single red rose that glowed with evident power.
The voice spoke again. "...Touch the rose, Child. Touch your destiny..."
At first, I hesitated. Something otherworldly radiated from the rose, as I felt intrigued to touch it. The voice pleaded until I submitted to its beaconed call. My trembling hand slowly inched toward the glowing rose. I let out a deep cleansing breath, gave into temptation and finally touched it.
Roots from the ground wrapped around my legs and tightly bound me. The rose's stem grew into my own hand. Thorns extracted from the stem and pierced my palm. My body shuddered, as the rose refused to let go of my grip. Blood poured from my arm's side and drizzled down the rose's stem, saturating the ground beneath me. The rose and roots absorbed into my hand. Glowing came from my palm and fingertips, then my arm, and then the rest of me--powerful, radiant and unlike anything I had ever felt.
The mysterious power flowed through every inch of me. Even my eyes ached with intensity. It was more than I could tolerate, as I lifted my eyes to the ceiling of the cave and screamed. The top of the cave ignited with sparks and exploded, causing the roof to blast through the air. The force of the explosion caused the roots to let go of my legs. I flew back and landed on the stone ground.
A glowing green mist began to rise from the ground where the wooden hand existed. The wooden hand turned into a green cloud and levitated through the hole in the ceiling. It disappeared in the misty night air.
I was frightened and stood. The power continued flowing through me strong, still radiating through my hands. My eyes widened as the thorn marks on my hand and arm vanished. I stretched my hands outward and shook them, causing the thorns on the walls to rumble and retract. Another reality gripped me worse than the rose itself, as I suddenly realized what coursed through me. Oh, Dear God and the Blessed Mother Mary! It was witchcraft!
My hands trembled. The devil himself placed his mark on my soul. I began to pray harder than I ever had before. "Father God of Abraham," I cried aloud, pleading to my God in faith. "Release me from the devil's mark! I am thy child!" My loud, pleading cries attracted more than Father God. Coming from the darkness, I heard what sounded like snarling. It moved closer toward me: eyes glowing red, and its silhouette appeared broad in the darkened distance.
I stepped backward, as it finally came to light. It was a wolf; growling and looking at me, as though I was its next prey. My eyes widened fearful. I screamed for help, but no one heard me. It leaped into the air and toward me. I raised my hands toward the creature and involuntarily spoke words I had never before heard. The words felt right for me to say in the dreaded moment. The last syllable was spoken, as a burning sensation once again tingled in my eyes.
Flames radiated from my hands and onto the wolf. It yelped, being flung back a few feet and quickly rolled the remaining flames out of its singed fur. It whimpered and ran away. My breath was heaving, and I lowered my hands. I sighed relieved, as I looked up and noticed it was gone.
I decided in that moment to replace fear with destiny; to embrace my newfound powers and realize all the marvelous things I could do with them. It wasn't a curse or the devil's mark, as I was forced to believe. Instead, it was a good gift, and I could do so much good with it.
For the next few weeks to come I attempted little displays of magic. Saturating a field full of lavender, levitating twigs to dance in the air and healing small animals caught in a hunter's trap was just the beginning for me. I vowed from that moment forward my magic would only be used for the greater good and would never harm another living soul.
That is, until three weeks later.
