Andre M. Pietroschek

The Witch And The Stalker - A Flash Fiction Story

The Witch and the Stalker - A Flash Fiction Story
© Andre M. Pietroschek, all rights reserved

Moments after sunset, Walburga lit a ritual candle and prayed:

`Today, the warmth falters and the winds bring icy rain. Campfires dwindle smaller, and torches barely light our way. Sacred Hecate, great god Pan, please, grant us sanctuary from crimes and diseases.´

She had spent her day drinking and eating with friends. Now, however, a howling wind slapped against the windows, interrupting her Yuletide celebration. The candle flickered in response, and Walburga fidgeted.

An antagonizing voice whispered, `That ritual is flawed.´

To quiet her doubts, she adjusted sprigs of holly and put a pinecone in its box, only to soon return it to the shrine. She placed a bronze saucer onto a bronze-rimmed dinner plate. The fierce night ahead made her uneasy. Her intuition in conflict with her sacred duty.

Would her prayers be answered? Could her ritual fail to yield results desired?

A crack of thunder startled Walburga, her elbow bumping her self-crafted shrine, causing the candle to wobble in its holder.

`Oh, broomstick up thy butthole!,´ she cursed.

Lightning answered, and her candle's flame flickered before darkness invaded the room, lamplight failing along with the fireplace.

She screamed, when the next lightning strike revealed a lurking fiend staring at her defiantly.

A final flash of that skyborn, furious light, as she snatched her athame from the shrine before her to fend off the fiend. Overwhelming pain followed her slash, catapulting her into a bloody, final darkness.

`Your gods are imaginary, and it needs no Norns to cut off a lifeline,´ the creature mocked between flashes of lightning and claps of thunder.

`Now, leave behind your precious winter solstice, witch.´

Its still bloody claws tenderly touched Walburga's corpse, reminding of a loyal pet mourning the lost mistress.

The end

Yes, my long deceased grandmother WAS named Walburga Pietroschek, as her mother had dabbled into
German & Slavic witchcraft. Still, I am exceptionally certain that neither Sigmund Freud's ghost, nor the
specter of Heinrich Kramer made me mimic classic witch stories, as to me this one followed `Night-walk:
A Ghoulish Night´.

Also, it was inspired by one of my older, yet timeless, Haiku in 5-7-5 syllable Iteki style:

Stalker Haiku

© Andre M. Pietroschek, all rights reserved

***

See a lurking foe

Who is too cruel to care

A living nightmare

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