The purple shade of twilight fell over the cemetery. These things always happen in cemeteries or old mansion, but this one was the cemetery on the hill by a high school in the suburbs. Most of the headstones were readable. Only one had a chip in it. The perfect target.

The witch, a local one who usually only dealt in herbs including but not limited to weed, set up her white protection candles. A small pentagram was already dug into the mud with a stick. She sprinkled a salt circle around it. “No such thing as too much protection.”

As the moon rose over her head, she lifted her hands. “Oh wise Moon Goddess, your daughter speaks. Bring down eternal life so that I may do your work.”

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, but pearly, silver rain drops fell. The moon tears broke over the witches skin, filling her with energy and youth. Her spider veins faded, and her wrinkles pulled tight. “Thank you, Goddess.”

As the witch packed up her belongings, the sky turned ashy. Not the deep blue of night, but the gray of death. Then a tear formed in the graveyard. The ground beneath her feet split, the crack continuing up a headstone and into the open air. Then the split opened.

They say that beyond is full of eternal misery or wandering souls or darkness or snow. Whatever it is must be terrifying though because it’s rare to see inside and live. But that witch lived. I tracked her down. I’ve tracked them all down. Most of the Seerers are dead. Some are paralyzed or comatose. She wasn’t. When I asked her to tell her story, her tongue twisted and her hands shook, but I saw images. They were fast flashes (nothing distinguishable) and they filled me with pure fear.

Fiction

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