Phobophobia A Horror Anthology

Wiccaphobia - Fear of Witches and Witchcraft

I know that the old lady who lives across the street from me is witch. Mrs Harris lives alone. She says she is widowed. She only leaves the house at night when no one is looking. My family try to stop me from telling people about her witchcraft. Shhh!They hush me. They try to make me take tablets that I don't need. Those tablets cloud my insight. They prevent me from noticing the truth.

I know Mrs Harris drinks blood to stay young. She sheds her skin and takes flight at night in the form of a fiery ball. People in my village call that a soucouyant, a brood-drinking witch. They say if a soucouyant drinks your blood, it'll leave a black and blue mark. They say if you sneak into the home of such a witch at night when she's off flying, you will find her skin empty, like a shawl crumpled on the floor. You have to sprinkle salt in it so when she tries to put her skin back on, it burns her and she perishes when the dawn finds her without her skin.

I escape from my wicked family. I pick the lock on my door. I've been hoarding my pills for weeks now, keeping them under my tongue until I can spit them out and flush them down the toilet. I go across the street, quickly, quietly. Shhh! I find a window that has a crack of space underneath. I shove it upwards and crawl into the witch's house. I have my salt, a whole bag. I look all over in the darkness of her house for the skin. I find dusty carpets and cobwebbed ornaments and shawls that sliver about, but no empty skin. I find lit black candles, children's teeth and a black cat that regards me disdainfully but I can't find the skin.

I hear a creaking. The stairs. I hide. The black cat goes to greet the witch who has descended the staircase. Mrs Harris. She's still in her skin. She did not shed it and fly tonight. That's ok. I have a knife in my bag too. I sneak up on her. The cat hisses. I plunge the knife but she dodges the death blow, screaming. It pierces her right shoulder. Oh no! I've failed. They come to take me away again, in a straight jacket to the padded room where the pill-keepers live. I kick and scream. Mrs Harris and her bandaged shoulder watches my family with pity. They apologise to her in tears. Her cat looks on.

On the hill where the pill-keepers live, I am locked up like a prisoner in a cell all alone. I look through the barred window, and there she is. Mrs Harris, in a ball of fire, flying through the night's sky. She descends to earth at my barred window. Her old, withered face all in flames, the power of hellfire. She puts her shrivelled finger to her lips. Shhh!