Agatha looked lost, sick and weak, so lost and sick that she never realizes I was in the room. I bet she did not immediately identify me till I spoke to her. She looked like a zombie, her eyes darker and her sclera appeared gray, and the white fading away. Part of her hair had fallen off making patches on her head, like the skin of a disgraced city gopher, her mouth foamed and dripped with muculent liquid. The veins on her hand unearthed from the skin, drawing a map of dry tree branches- her blood was dying slowly inside her and she risked death. I hated looking at her; she was ugly- not the Agatha I knew when we first met three years ago at the school lawn. This is what she had brought herself. A curse spell thrown by her ancestors who were the great witches of their time.
I checked on her because she had summoned me as my queen, idol and most important, my girlfriend. I was not from the family of witches, and never wished to be a witch .i joined the circle of witches for Agatha. She risked being sacrifices as a queen of the dark if she never reinvigorated new blood in the circle. I loved her and saving her from the mystery was a choice.
She speaks but her voice doesn’t come out clearly, her voice is coarse, weakened by the curse. I have no doubt that the curse is also chewing her from the inside. She tells me of a ceremony that will change everything, a ritual that will grant her forgiveness of sin against the rules and the will of the witches. Far more, the ritual will grant her mercies from the prince of the dark.
As we speak of the ritual, Yuri, her friend from Oracle, the school of witches’ pops in with a glass of chassis full of Armis- thick soup made from the forbidden rare plants that grow in the garden of demons. Witches use this to cast spells of wellness, health and longer life. The mix would keep her heart beating but never heal her. Yuri asks if I was ready for the resurrection ritual.
I am in shock to hear about resurrection rituals. My adrenaline hormones push me to my breakpoints and my head spins. Resurrection rituals are ever spooky and creepy. It means exploring the dark secret forces of life and death – the worst idea I had ever come across. I was in vertigo, standing there wondering what I had gotten into. I had choices.
I get concerned with my role in the thing. Joining the conclave of witches was never a smart idea, now I have to be sure of every step I make the least trouble settles on my head. I never considered myself a witch because of the obvious reason. I had no contract t with the witches and had not signed in the book of witches.
Yuri informs me of my role. I am to hold the bowl of spirits on behalf of Agatha and recite an incantation to provoke the spirits of Agatha’s mother to rise. She had the clue and protection spell which sealed the bowl that carried the solution to her curse. I agree to the role but deep down my heart bled with fear of coming into contact with the stench of the underworld.
The ritual was to be done in the dark night, exactly at 1.00 am, when the crescent moon is at a right angle with the earth. It is also the time when the wolves of the dark world respond to the soft whistles of witches. The time when the guards of the gates to hell are active in their role of opening the gates that seals the dimensions of spirits and life
Night falls and the time comes, the high priest of witch’s checks on his pocket watch. It is half past midnight, deep in the woods of the forest where the silent graves float in the air- a place dabbed the resurrection garden specifically reserved for the witches. The high priest hands me a bowl full of salt mixed with ashes of Anicote –a rare flower species known to the witches only. He orders me to draw a perfect circle with the mixture. Next, Yuri draws a pentagon star with the same ashes. The circle will build an invisible territory and protect us from non-witches .the high priest lights candles and places them on the circumference of the circle. They burn with unique blue flames.
Resurrection rituals are life for life; it means that someone had to be sacrificed in exchange for life in demand. Liberty, Agatha’s aunt picked the role as the rules demanded, the duo must share a bloodline. Agathe kneels in the middle of the Pentagon, aunt liberty at the head of the shape and the ceremony begins.
‘’Wolves of the underworld cry, guards of the hell we beseech you, open the gates’’ we recite the incantation five times. The moon disappears, and my instincts go wild. There was surely something wrong, although I was not sure if we have skipped some words. Any mistake in the ritual has fatal consequences; ritualists’ get thrown in the abyss of hell for not following the chronology. The last time witches performed a resurrection spell, things went out of control. They disappeared into thin air, and never seen again
Our silence is broken by the sound of opening gates and the sound of wolves. Then whirlwind cones like a tornado and the candles go off. Seconds later the moon appears – heavenly moon shining on sinners and withes. When God looked at me, he buried His face in His hands, shaking His head with displease. Last Sunday I served in the altar and even took the body of Christ, today am here in the devils alter.
The priest gestures to Yuri, who was given the duty to perform the sacrifice, without hesitation she pulls the knife from its sheath, stand s behind aunt liberty and as we recite the incantation ‘’ king of the underworld we offer you life for life, let Maggie Isla rise ‘’, Yuri slits her. I hold the bowl before Agatha and recite some words. I dip my fingers in the liquid and anoint it on her head.
After some minutes of waiting, Maggie appears from nowhere, and oh my spines pin me down because of fear. There was the smell of death and hell. I could read the rage and anger in Maggie’s face she spits the words that carry the spell to the canisters that hold the cure of the curse. She then kneels before the lifeless body of her sister liberty, and demands for the ritual to bring liberty back. This time we used different incantations. Before Yuri does the sacrifice, Agatha finds the audacity and power to say, ‘’ I love you mum, forever you will be in my heart’’.
We bury liberty and wait for her spirits to gain energy and rise from the dead, surely after down she appeared from the woods, with no mark on her neck. Back at Agatha’s room we break the spell and force the cure into her weaker body. It tasted like bitter vengeance.
Weeks later Agatha’s health is restored, from the workings of a bizarre ritual. Her hair overgrows and her voice smooth as ever. I realize it is Sunday, and I am back to the altar, serving as an altar boy, yet to confess my sins. A witch in church.