A Witch Museum Tour

Hello! I wrote this post for Mari. Go and take a look!

Mari Wells

I met Naomi when she contacted me about witch month back in August. She’s got some awesome stories on her blog, you all need to go read them. I need to set up a day to go and read through her stuff, it’s really awesome. She came up with an awesome idea for Witch month, a virtual tour of witch museums….
Thank you Naomi for being a part of this series and for the awesome article.

Her links are below.

Eeek! I am so excited to be writing for Mari’s blog. Talk about crammed full of amazing stories and articles on all the mystical and mythological themes on the planet. (If I’m exaggerating, I swear, it’s not by much.)

So right now it’s all about Witches. There are already so many fabulous articles and stories on here that it was difficult to know what to write about. After many many…

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The Captive

I’m just about to flip the indicator to turn into my office car park when something sharp digs into my side and a deep voice murmers in my ear.

“Keep drivin’ bitch or I’ll open you up right ‘ere, right now.”

I wince and shy away from the knife pressed to my side, clenching the steering wheel tightly.

“Take the M1 towards Northampton and keep your damned mouth shut. That clear?”

I nod jerkily as I make my way towards the motorway. My mind is spinning with a million questions. What does he want? Where are we going? Am I going to survive this? His breath is hot against my cheek but I just put all my effort into driving.

Once we get out onto the M1 he relaxes slightly. He orders me off the M1 and on towards Northampton, but then at the last second forces me out into the surrounding countryside. I look helplessly at the emptiness as he directs me up a small overgrown mud track. My chances of getting out of here are rapidly shrinking and my control on my fear and panic begins to slip. I scowl angrily at myself as a tear slides out of the corner of my eye.

I pull up next to this group of buildings and people stream out of various doors, surround the car. My shoulders slump as they greet my captor with claps on the back and hugs. My jaw drops when I realise they aren’t all men. A handful of them kiss him passionately, not seeming to mind when he fondles each one in turn. I sit silently in the car, hoping they forget about me so I can leave. My hopes are dashed when he opens my car door and hauls me out, shouting to be heard over the clamour.

“I will take this woman as my thirteenth wife. Make preparations!”

He drags me towards the largest building, the other women in tow, as all the men disperse, chattering and talking. We pass a huge room covered in mattresses on the floor and I’m shoved into a tiny room next door with big bolts on the outside. My captor looks me over with two women draped over him, making my flesh crawl.

“Once I have had my fill of my other wives it will be your turn. Get ready.” As he turns to leave, one of the women slips a knife from a sheath strapped to her thigh and drops it, carefully, behind the door.

Days later the grunts and moans slow next door and he swaggers into my tiny cell. I don’t hesitate and plunge the knife as deep as I can, dodging around him out to freedom….

…and straight into the crowds of people there to ‘witness the marriage.’ The stunned silence deafens me as I stand before them, their master’s blood on my hands. My eyes widen as one by one they drop to their knees, prostrating before me, each one mumbling.

“Mistress.”

Abandoned Blog

Picture from here

This post is an apology for abandoning you all. Things got a little emtional here in Naomi-land and its taken me a little time to sort everything out in my head.

Two weeks ago my uncle went into surgery for a triple heart bypass. My family and I have been stressing just a teeny bit about it all. He is my dad’s only sibling and for me he is the best link I have left to my dad, who passed away 10 years ago. He is also the person I want to give me away should I ever find someone crazy/stupid enough to marry me. We were all pretty scared we were going to lose him too. Fortunately the surgery went well and he was up and talking on the phone the next morning. (The hospital had tried to keep him sedated and sleeping for 24 hours but he was having none of that.) He is recovering quickly and looks much healthier. His skin looked grey for much of this year but now he is a much healthier colour. Massive sigh of relief from all of us.

Unfortunately our high was short lived. A week later we heard the news that my great auntie (My nan’s sister) had passed away. I don’t really know how to describe Auntie Betty to you and do her justice. The first time I remember meeting her I was very young and I can remember being pretty scared of her. I quickly realised that her stern manner wasn’t real and was just her teasing us. In reality she was friendly, fun, cheeky, sassy and boisterous. All the things I most like about myself. The women on my mother’s side of the family are all the same way and I only realised after hearing the news of her passing that we were all influenced by Auntie Betty and that I have her to thank for giving me all her awesome personality traits, passed through my nan, my aunties and my mum as well as directly from having the pleasure to have known her.

Picture from here

I always thought I used my writing to escape the (sometimes harsh) realities of my daily life and live in a little fantasy world where I was safe from painful emotions. The last few weeks have taught me that in actual fact, my writing helps me to feel and process the stresses, joys and tragedies of my daily life in a way I have never allowed myself to feel before. Knowing I have writing as an outlet for my thoughts, feelings and emotions makes me feel more confident in facing them head on. I make myself focus on how it feels, remember and write down the physical and mental effects these situations have. After all, writing is all about connecting with the reader on an emotional level. The best way to do that is not to hide from your own feelings and emotions, but to embrace them and get to know them intimately. Only then can you share them with the world in a way that connects with the reader.

Picture found here