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Witchs 's Night05:54 Feb 20 2026
Times Read: 27
🎃 Chapter 1 🎃
A Halloween Interruption
Samhain Gathering
The old church had been abandoned for nearly a century, but on Samhain night it breathed again.
Candles lined the cracked stone floor in spirals and constellations, their flames trembling as though aware of the thinness of the veil. Shadows clung to the rafters like roosting birds. The scent of damp earth and burning sage mingled with the faint sweetness of decaying leaves that had blown in through the broken stained‑glass windows.
Devra stood at the edge of the circle, her dark coat still dusted with the October chill. She had come straight from a case—something minor, a restless spirit in a farmhouse attic—but even that felt distant now. Samhain had a way of making everything else seem small.
The High Priestess moved through the circle with the slow grace of someone who had lived many lives. Her silver hair glowed in the candlelight, and her voice—low, melodic—wove through the room like smoke.
“Tonight,” she said, “we honor the dead. We honor the unseen. And we honor the boundaries that keep our world from drowning in theirs.”
Devra felt the words settle over her like a cloak. She respected the coven, even loved some of them, but she had never quite belonged. Their magic was communal, ritualistic. Hers was… different. Sharper. Born of necessity rather than tradition.
She closed her eyes, letting the chant wash over her.
And then—
A vibration against her hip.
A small, insistent buzz.
Her phone.
Devra’s eyes snapped open. No one else’s phone would dare ring during a Samhain rite. The timing alone felt like a cold fingertip tracing her spine.
She slipped a hand into her coat pocket, shielding the glow of the screen from the circle.
Unknown number.
Of course.
The High Priestess paused mid‑chant, her gaze lifting to Devra with a look that was not anger, but recognition. As though she had expected this.
Devra mouthed a silent apology and stepped backward out of the circle. The candles nearest her guttered, their flames bending toward her retreat like they were being pulled.
Outside, the night was sharp and moonless. The wind carried the scent of woodsmoke and distant bonfires. Devra lifted the phone to her ear.
“This is Devra.”
For a moment, there was only static—soft, whispering, like breath against glass.
Then a man’s voice, trembling.
“Are you… are you the one who handles strange things?”
Devra’s pulse tightened. “Who is this?”
“I—I don’t know who else to call. A man told me to find you. He said if I wanted to live through tonight, I needed to call you.”
Devra’s breath clouded in the cold air. “What’s happening?”
A rustling sound, like someone turning slowly in place.
Then, in a voice barely above a whisper:
“It’s in my house. And it knows you’re listening.”
Behind her, inside the church , every candle went out at once.
The darkness rushed forward like a held breath finally released.
Devra straightened, her voice steady despite the chill crawling up her spine.
“Tell me your name.”
“Elias,” he whispered. “Elias Ward.”
“And where are you, Elias?”
A pause.
Then, with the soft finality of a confession:
“Briar Lane. The old house at the end. Please… please hurry.”
The line went dead.
Devra lowered the phone, staring into the wind‑torn night.
The High Priestess appeared in the doorway behind her, framed by the dying glow of the last candle.
💀 CHAPTER 2 💀
The Warning
The road away from the abandoned church wound through the countryside like a ribbon of wet ink, glistening under the faint glow of distant porch lights. Devra drove with the window cracked open, letting the cold air bite at her cheeks. It kept her alert. It kept her honest.
The night felt swollen—too full, as though something unseen pressed against the edges of the world, searching for a seam to slip through.
Her phone lay on the passenger seat, the screen dark now, but she could still feel the echo of Elias Ward’s voice vibrating in her bones.
It knows you’re listening.
Devra tightened her grip on the steering wheel.
She had heard many things in her line of work—pleas, screams, confessions whispered through tears—but rarely had she heard a voice so hollowed out by fear. It was the kind of fear that didn’t come from a single moment, but from hours, days, perhaps weeks of being watched by something that did not blink.
Something that did not sleep.
The headlights carved pale tunnels through the fog as she turned onto the main road. Behind her, the church had gone dark again, swallowed by the night.
She didn’t hear the High Priestess approach until the woman’s reflection appeared in the rearview mirror—standing in the middle of the road, illuminated only by the faint red glow of Devra’s brake lights.
Devra sighed and eased the car to a stop.
The High Priestess moved with the slow certainty of someone who had already seen the next few steps of the path. Her long coat fluttered around her like a shadow with its own intentions.
Devra rolled down the window. “I figured you’d come after me.”
“I didn’t come to stop you,” the High Priestess said. Her voice was soft, but it carried the weight of stone. “I came to warn you.”
Devra leaned an elbow against the window frame. “I’m listening.”
The High Priestess’s eyes were dark pools, reflecting nothing. “The presence that reached for you tonight… it is not a wandering spirit. It is not a ghost, nor a demon, nor anything that fits neatly into the names we give the dark.”
Devra felt the night tighten around them. “Then what is it?”
“A hunger,” the High Priestess whispered. “Older than our rites. Older than the coven. Older than the language we use to describe fear.”
The wind stirred, carrying the scent of wet leaves and something faintly metallic.
Devra swallowed. “You think it’s tied to the veil thinning.”
“I think,” the High Priestess said, “that it has been waiting for this night. And for you.”
Devra’s pulse flickered. “For me?”
“You walk between worlds more than most,” the High Priestess said. “You’ve touched things that leave marks. Some visible. Some not.”
Devra looked away, jaw tightening. She didn’t need the reminder.
The High Priestess reached into her coat and withdrew a small object wrapped in black cloth. She held it out.
Devra hesitated. “What is it?”
“A tether,” the High Priestess said. “To bring you back if the house tries to keep you.”
Devra unwrapped the cloth. Inside lay a small silver charm shaped like an open eye, its surface etched with runes so old they looked like cracks in the metal.
“It won’t stop what’s in that house,” the High Priestess said. “But it may remind you of who you are when the walls begin to whisper.”
Devra closed her fingers around the charm. It was cold—so cold it felt almost alive.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
The High Priestess stepped back, her silhouette dissolving into the fog. “Be careful, Devra. Some houses remember every soul that enters them. And some… do not let go.”
Devra put the car in gear.
As she drove away, the High Priestess’s figure vanished behind her, swallowed by the night as though she had never been there at all.
But the warning lingered.
And the road ahead felt darker than it had before.
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