Please note. This story has not been edited. It’s just a little bit of fun and some writing practice for me. I will try and update this weekly but I am at the mercy of my characters timeline! I’m fighting with the system to show these as chapters you can click on to make it easier to read but that is a battle for another day. Enjoy!

Chapter One: (added 20th November)

Freya pulled the metal hatch shut checking the lock was secure. Her mothers voice always in head ‘double check and then triple check’ her mother had a ‘thing’ about security. She unzipped the bright yellow cratch cover which kept her boat stern dry. She glanced along the canal and smiled as the autumnal leaves floated daintily from the trees, the kaleidoscope of colours striking against the bright blue sky.

She stepped carefully off the boat, her wellies sinking into the already muddy towpath as she pondered on the juxtaposition of wearing a coat, thick jeans, a brightly coloured jumper her cousin had knitted and her Audrey Hepburn sunglasses slotted firmly in place, on some would say, her longer than it needed to be, nose. The glasses would soon be put into hibernation as the clocks changed that weekend and Summertime officially ended.

The chimney smoke twirled into the sky and promised a cosy afternoon under her blanket with a hot chocolate as she caught up on some life admin. Even Tarot readers needed to answer emails and she had a few days before she saw her next client. She wondered if the Tarot readers of the past would be shocked that she gave readings mostly over zoom.

‘Hi.’

Freya turned away from the Robin which had landed on the bird feeder on her narrowboat roof to see a couple walking their dogs, ‘Hi. Lovely morning she called as she turned, wanting to enjoy the walk without distractions. It was lovely that people always wanted to stop and chat but she felt an overwhelming urge to go and visit the church she’d spotted on the canal map. One of the joys of this life was having the opportunity to visit and photograph churches were one of her passions.

‘Do you live on the boat?’

Freya secured her camera strap over her head and put her keys and phone in her rucksack which already contained some water and a cloth.

‘Yes, just over a year now.’

As she spoke to the couple Freya was transported back to the day she had joined her friend who was having a midlife crisis and decided to buy a boat only to decide she didn’t like the idea of emptying the toilet. Freya, however had fallen in love with it and on a whim put down a deposit and bought the boat, much to her parents’ dismay of her constant rebellion to live an alternative life. Having not long escaped from a terrible relationship and the money from the house sale in the bank, it was just the change Freya was looking for and she’d thrived, even on the days she’d faced one challenge after another.

Finishing the conversation Freya said goodbye and started her journey to the church her hand firmly secured on her precious camera. It had been the one thing she’d taken when she’d split up with Stuart. It had been her sister’s camera and only the fact that she’d lost her sister only a year ago stopped Stuart from arguing about her taking it. She would have let him have everything, she’d wanted a clean slate but her solicitor had made sure she walked away with the money she was owed.

Freya jumped as a duck flew so close she felt it’s wing glance her tussled main of auburn hair which she’d tried and failed to tame over the years. The duck called out its displeasure as if she’d been the one to get in its way.

‘Rude.’ Freya called after the departing duck as she walked past the swing bridge over the Oxford Canal and made her way along the gravelled tow path towards the bridge. Holding the camera close she navigated the wooden stile and jumped down into the field which had been bone dry the other day.

Freya was surprised she had the fields to herself as normally there were dog walkers or ramblers a plenty in this area but there wasn’t a soul about. In the distance she could see the promised weather front incoming and she felt her stove fire calling to her.

‘Not yet.’ She mumbled under her breath.

She followed the path over a troll bridge and spun three times, something her friend, Ali always apologised for if they were together and anyone saw them. She would mouth, ‘it’s the tablets.’

At twenty five Freya still firmly believed that despite it being the daytime and obvious reason that everyone knew trolls didn’t come out in the daytime, but if you turned three times then it would confuse the trolls and they wouldn’t be able to find you.

Safe from the trolls she was out of breath as she reached the top of the hill and took a moment to appreciate the enchanting forest as far as the eye could see and the large blue sky which judging by the dark clouds in the distance and the met office weather app was going to change very soon. Autumn was her favourite time of year, maybe because her birthday was smack in the middle of the month and made her very firmly in the Libra star sign. This month was always associated with parties and good times despite the impending lack of daylight hours.

Her camera swung painfully against her chest as she spun around as the force of the sudden wind made her take a step backwards. ‘What the hell.’ She called, her words lost in the maelstrom surrounding her. Freya screamed and held her camera tight about her, grabbing at scarf with her other hand to stop it whipping her face. She crouched on the floor, making herself as small as she could. The noise was deafening.

Freya nearly fell on her backside as suddenly all was calm and she could hear the birds foraging for their winter food. Some part of herself laughed as she imagined herself falling backwards onto the muddy field. Wouldn’t that make a humorous YouTube short.

Standing up she looked around but there was nothing to show she had been inside what felt like a whirlwind but the fallen autumnal leaves were settled on the ground as they were before. Odd, but it wasn’t as if odd things didn’t happen to her all the time. She was a magnet for the unusual which was why she lived this life. Although this experience was definitely up there in the ‘very odd’ category.

She placed her boots carefully between the uneven cobbles as she walked towards the church gate on high alert for any more sudden weather fronts. She removed her sunglasses and tucked them into her bag just in case. Lifting her camera, she trained her eye to catch the perfect picture of the sunlight glinting through the unusual wrought iron gate. She caught a flicker of movement through the gate and moved the camera away, squinting to find the source of the flash of orange. She frowned, not seeing anything and crouched back down to take a few more shots of the gate.

She took off her gloves and ran her hand over the cold iron gate, tracing the unusual and rather macabre shape of what looked like a bird pecking the eyes of another animal. It had worn through in places and was rusty around the edges but it struck Freya as a strange choice for a church gate. Then again she mussed, look at the architecture on some of the churches, gargoyles and such like. Feeling the cold she grateful put her hands back in the thermal lined gloves and opened the gate. She half expected it to creak and chuckled to herself. Her schoolteachers had always said she would have done better at school if she wasn’t such a fantasy daydreamer.

She opened the gate and stepped into the graveyard. She sighed with pleasure, she loved walking through graveyards; her friends said she was weird, but to her, life ended in death – she had experienced enough to not fear it. It wasn’t something to mourn while you were here, life was here to enjoy, explore, and experience. She believed that when people died, their essence went back into the earth, and the cycle began again. Our essence made up the world, so people never really died; therefore, there was no reason to sink into despair no matter the desire. Sure, like most people she had lost people and she was upset that the physical person wasn’t with her, but if you listened, they were there, waiting to be heard.

Shaking herself she focused on job in hand. She ducked under the overhead branches which were blocking out most of the natural sunlight, only thin shafts of light penetrated though. The perfect light, she would be able to snap some amazing pictures. A few more leaves dropped to the ground as the wind picked up again. She braced herself but it was just the wind, nothing to worry about.

The flash of orange caught her eye again and she lifted her camera instinctively. Her breath caught as she zoomed in, finding a gap in the trees and settled on stunning, orange fox sitting on a grave, his bushy tail wrapped around its feet. She clicked a few pictures worried it would run away but she was luckier than most as animals and birds seemed to like her.

Satisfied with her pictures she pushed her luck and moved through the trees. The fox tracked her movement but didn’t seem to be in a rush to run away. Two squirrels ran across the top of the tree above the fox joining another two already sitting, still and watchful. Freya frowned.

She shivered as she made her way closer. There was a stillness in the air, she didn’t feel scared exactly. Churches and graveyards were normally her calm place but this felt unsettling. Her foot scrunched on some gathered leaves on a grave where the name had long worn off. Countless times she made up stories based on any part of the name she could read. Some of them invoked times of Dickens; Mr Clutterbuck or here lies Fanny Blatherwick. Her mother always said her imagination would get her into trouble.

Freya was a foot away from the fox, it inclined its head to the gravestone. With difficulty she dragged her gaze away and her heart stopped…

Freya Longton
 Born 13.10.1990
Died 13-10-2030
Beloved daughter, wife and friend.
Taken too soon

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Chapter Two – Penelope (added 24th November)

Penelope ground the herbs, mushrooms and a few secret ingredients in the marble bowl which had been passed down from her grandmother. Penelope breathed in deeply, enjoying the pungent smell and memories it evoked. Her mind calmed as she prepared the spell for the gathering. Normal humans wouldn’t be allowed to see what was about to happen in their sleepy village park. It was a simple spell of suggestion mixed with a sprinkle of invisibility, made complex by it covering an area and not just a person. Anyone who walked near the area would simply decide that they didn’t want to walk down that path, in their minds eye, they would know that people were there, but It would be of no concern to them and therefore they wouldn’t register if asked later.

Drakon was the first to arrive, as always the tap of his cane announced his arrival. Looking impeccably sophisticated in his suit and tailored jacket. His beard trimmed to perfection. The ruby glass cane top dazzled. Penelope stared into his eyes and he gave a slight tilt of his head. She smiled, she’d seen too many people fall for the mesmerising glare of the ruby. Staring into it for too long and it felt as if you were sinking into another dimension and Drakon was apt to strike without warning.

His earpiece was as usual sticking out of his ear, Penelope didn’t see the use for such things. They were witches – they could communicate through their minds. Drakon was handsome, it couldn’t be denied. Many centuries ago, she had once thought she loved him, but their wild, passionate affair had soon fizzled out – now they were family, who didn’t quite trust each other if they were forced to drink the potion of truth.   

“My darling Pen, not a day older I see. But even more beautiful if that is possible.” Drakon’s deep and smooth Italian accent conjured up images of fine bourbon sipped in front of a roaring fire.

Penelope shook herself, Drakon and his memorising voice, still, after all the centuries he nearly had her. The wide smile showed off his gleaming perfect teeth.

“You should have been born a vampire and not a witch, Drakon. You still have the gift even after all this time and I know what to expect. God help the humans.”

He chuckled under his breath, “I don’t know what you mean Pen. I’m just pleased to see your beautiful face. The Gods could only covert such beauty.”

“Well, one tries not to show off ones looks,” she winked at him.

He clutched his hand to his heart and covered his eyes, seemingly blinded by her beauty.

Moments later they laughed as they embraced.

“So, where are the others? Late, as usual?” Drakon said leaning casually against a tree, as though it hadn’t been two hundred years since they last called the gathering.

“It won’t be long now.”

As Penelope spoke, Kasha and Dominque appeared together. Kasha’s wolf, Aland stood between them. It bared its teeth and growled at Drakon.

“Ah, nice of you two to join us? Not like you to be late.” Drakon said with a touch of mischief, ignoring Aland.

“I see you’re still alone dear Drakon, no surprise. It would be difficult to find a mate that is as self-centred as you,” Kasha said, stoking Aland’s head but making now move to quiet him.

“Ouch, insults already. It’s been two hundred years. I would have thought you would be over the rejection by now Kasha.”  Drakon looked wounded.

“Ignore my sweet brother, wife. He’s only trying to wind you up again. You know what he is like. You shouldn’t bite.” Dominque said, as he strode over to embrace his brother.

“Aland has a beautiful bite, maybe he could show you?” Kasha inquired arching her brow, as she finally stroked him and he stopped growling.

“Maybe another time. Come here and give your brother-in-law a hug.”

They embraced, their normal mischievous quarrel forgotten. It had been too long since they had all been together.

“Well, shall we begin?” Penelope placed the bowl down on the top of her car bonnet and clapped her hands together.

The park disappeared as the pentagram table dominated the space in front of them. Built of solid oak with ornate carved chairs at each point. They took up their places, the two spaces had been vacant for over two hundred years, ever since the last attempt.  They took a moment to remember the fallen; their family, it was always a difficult place to return to. A stone fire hearth blazed at the side which bought much needed warmth to the chilly autumn air. Aland left them and curled up in front of the fire.


Heads bowed they waited, lost in their own thoughts. Would this time be any different. The sign had come, and they had to be ready. Just like the other witches would be. Fulfilling a full coven had been the challenge of every coven since the trials had weakened their race. The history books were full of the perils of being a witch. In times past they had found others but they had been too weak or unwilling to join them and then there were the ones who they found first.

‘Let us begin.’

Chapter Three – Freya

Freya’s senses were overwhelmed. It was as if she was back in the whirlwind outside the gate to the church. Her thoughts rushed to make sense of the chaos around her. What she had seen on the gravestone. She breathed in deep and coughed, her smell sensitive but it wasn’t the autumnal, damp leaves she could smell, it was the dry grass from the hot summer, the pollen in the air, the faint hint of burning. She couldn’t hear anything above the rush of blood in the ears. She could taste something metallic, like blood. Her eyes blurred, she raised her hands heedless of the dirt covering them and rubbed at her eyes, wincing as something stung her eyes.

Freya took another deep breath trying to slow her breathing. She felt herself coming back. Could feel a painful stone underneath her knee and a dampness seeping through her trousers. Her eyes stung but she opened them cautiously and stared at the headstone once more. It hadn’t changed. Her sense took her once again and she screamed, scrabbling back trying to get away from whatever this was. Somewhere her brain reasoned it could be someone else’s gravestone. It couldn’t be hers, how could it be. She wasn’t dead if the pains in her body were anything to go by. She stumbled and nearly tripped over another raised gravestone as she started to run as fast as she could down the narrow pathway. She had to get away. Freya knew she had to get out of this place. Something was coming for her, she couldn’t explain it. Something dark. Something malevolent. She could see the end, the light waiting to embrace her, to make the darkness go away. To save her.

Gasping she made it through the gate and out into the light. Sobbing, she lean’t against a tree hoping for this madness to end.

“You alright there love? What’s happened? Shall I call a doctor?” an elderly voice enquired. Freya screamed, before clasping a hand over her mouth and staring at a grey haired old man in gardening attire leaning on a spade a frown on his face. Where had he come from?

“Sorry. No… it’s okay, I erm… just got a bit scared back there. Daft really, don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Freya replied, starting to feel silly. What must she look like? She wrapped her scarf around her and rubbed her body as cold seeped into her body. A menacing mist rolled down the side of the hill and she shivered. She couldn’t shake the feeling of something coming.

Freya started to straighten her clothes and make herself look presentable. The man reached over and dusted some leaves off her coat.

“Thank you,’ she smiled gratefully at him and looked back but all she could see was the tree lined pathway, the normal sunlight glinting off the stone path. No wind rustled the leaves. Everything was still. No fox. No squirrels. She winced as she tried to wipe the dirt off her jeans and was shocked to see blood on her hand.  

“Looks like you’ve hurt yourself. Let’s have a look.’  The elderly man knelt in front of her, pushing his tartan flat cap back on his head as it slipped forward and inspected a jagged hole in her jeans.

‘That looks nasty young lady, I think you better get someone to look at that. Wait a minute. I think there is something sticking in your leg. Brace yourself.’

Freya gasped as she felt something cold and sharp being pulled from just below her knee.

‘Well would you look at that.’ He stood up and showed her the mud encrusted object he had pulled from her leg, ’You’re going to need a trip to the hospital just in case that gets infected.’

Freya took it from him and wiped away the dirt and blood.

The man peered into her hand, ‘looks like one of them old fashioned hat pins. I wonder how that got in the church grounds?’

‘My truck is just in the grounds over there. It’s only a short walk. Let me take you to the hospital to get that cleaned up.’

He took her arm and she felt grateful for his presence. They walked the short distance to a gate in the old stone wall which Freya hadn’t noticed before. She felt relief wash through her as they walked away from the church. So strange, they were normally such havens for her. She’d never once felt threatened. The kindly old man helped Freya into the battered old seat of the Land Rover and whistled.  

Moments later, a scraggy small dog bounded up to the truck and jumped into the foot well and curled around Freya’s boots.

‘Well, you are honoured. Our Eris don’t like many people. A bit like my wife.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Freya said, leaning down to stroke Eris’s head, ‘I was just going to say Eris is an unusual name for a dog and then I realised I don’t know your name and you’ve been so helpful. I’m Freya by the way.’

The man groaned as he slammed the door and turned to her as he settled his long coat.

‘I’m just plain old Bob. Eris here was named by my wife. Tells me that means Eris is the name of Goddess of discord or strife. Which is just about the best damn name I ever heard for a dog. Fits her to a T.’

He chucked as Eris barked her agreement.

Bob fired up the truck and they were soon at the walk in centre.

Later, Bob described the day to his wife as Eris was curled up in front of the fire in their cottage.

‘Beautiful young girl that girl; Freya, beautiful name. He would remark how her hair was wild about her face, her wide eyes in shock, but she had an air about her – a mystery, something he couldn’t explain. Something supernatural. His wife would laugh at him and tell him the sun had gone to his head again. Working in that graveyard had made him superstitious. But later that night after Bob had gone to bed and Eris asleep at the foot of the bed as usual, his wife returned downstairs.

To the side of the fireplace, she felt for the lever hidden inside and flicked it down. She reached in and took out the candle, paper and ornate glass ink bottle. At her desk she carefully removed the small piece of parchment. It had to be the right type of paper. She dipped the quill into the blood ink and wrote one name, Freya.

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