Page 62 - Phonebox Magazine October 2014

Halloween Story Competition
We asked you to get in touch with your own ghost stories, just in time for Halloween. We’ve
picked our three favourites, and have pub- lished them here for you to have a spooky read.
The Ritual
HCorranne Wheeler e’d be here soon.
Slamming the door behind her, Étaíne dropped the corner of the blanket she had heaved up
the stairs behind her. She’d forsaken the warmth and music of the feast hall for this dark chamber. Her breaths came rapidly, pluming in the cool air.
Unclasping the brooch holding her black robe together, it fell to the floor, pooling around her feet. She’d need to be quick. At the turn of the seasons, the dead always returned, and unless she wanted her husband to torment her from beyond the grave, she had to contain him here in his death chamber tonight.
The shutters were open and cold, silver moonlight stabbed through the thick glass, leeching all colour from the room. Étaíne glanced over her body. The light caused even greater contrast between the ivory skin of her body and the dark navy tattoo. The snake wound around her body, its tail coiling around her ankle, sliding across her flat stomach, with its head nestling at the base of her neck.
Moving to the blanket, she dispassionately revealed its macabre contents. Cocking her head, she stroked the cold cheek of the dead serving maid. Fresh blood drenched her dress and congealed in the cleft of her throat.
‘Yes,’ Étaíne breathed, ‘you will be a strong protector.’
Reaching further inside the blanket, she withdrew a knife, four nails, some rope and a dead crow, its corpse covered in glossy ebony feathers, its eyes staring and dull. Working hastily, she picked up the crow, her fingers delicate as though she were cradling a child, not a symbol of witchcraft. She carried it over to the bed. Retrieving the knife 62 Phonebox Magazine
and nails, she stabbed the pins through the wings, effectively crucifying the bird. Taking the knife, she made a jagged cut through the creature’s breastbone, forcing apart skin, ribs and sinew. From her finger, she took the heavy, gold ring that he had presented her with on their wedding day, the symbol of her enslavement to him. With vehemence she buried the ring inside the crow, pushing deep until her fingers were slick with blood. Pushing the wound closed, she turned her attention back to her servant.
Dragging the girl over to the window, Étaíne pulled on the thick drapes until the material tore under the weight. She clambered onto
the sill, created by the thickness of the stone wall, and looped two stretches of rope over the iron curtain rail. Binding the servant’s hands, she hauled first one arm, then another upwards, until the girl was suspended before the window. A guard to prevent things coming in... or out.
When the dead roamed the world tonight to seek out the living, he would not be among them. He would instead be imprisoned in this room as she herself had been so many times before. Tonight she had him trapped and refused to be haunted by him any longer. Tonight she was ready for him.
Étaíne threw back her head and laughed.
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