A Witch's Feast by C.N. Crawford

Author:C.N. Crawford
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Gothic Imprints
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Thomas

Thomas rolled over on the stone floor, shivering in the cold night air. His tattered green outfit granted him even less protection against the chill than the wool sweater he’d worn before.

After choking him unconscious, the guards had left him in the cell last night. For the past twenty-four hours, he’d had nothing to occupy him but a few pewter cups of water and thoughts of his own grisly fate on Mayflower Day. He mostly passed the time sitting against a wall below the window in a stupor, trying to will his mind blank to keep the growing madness at bay.

When his mother had been sane, she would read him stories about the ancient Greek gods and goddesses. He’d loved curling up in bed to listen to the tales. To him, the gods were like superheroes.

But when she’d lost her mind, she would claim to be Prometheus, the light bringer. Zeus was always lurking just around the corner, seeking to chain her to a rock. And when she’d really lost it, she’d turned into “Lucifer.” There was always a set of clues she needed to follow to complete a mission—save the earth from the gatekeepers, destroy the universe in retribution. And above all, stay one step ahead of Zeus.

When he was twelve, she had run into his history class to pull him out, claiming that she’d needed to take him to Brighton straightaway to open the gates of Heaven on the beach. His throat tightened at the memory. Palace Pier, where children try to win stuffed toys in arcade halls, and men in striped shirts sell doughnuts and ice-cream. A likely place for the gates of Heaven. He’d sat in his classroom chair, avoiding eye contact and pretending not to know her. The humiliation still gnawed at him.

He hugged his arms tighter around his knees. What was it that had made her mad? She’d received instructions through the radio and coded messages from coffee adverts. She’d seen patterns where there were none. She’d point to a flame on a fire extinguisher and see it as a warning from the gods about the pits of Hell. She’d rearrange letters in street signs to form messages that made sense to no one but herself. Everything, every picture and quote in a newspaper, had meaning for her mission.

After a few months, the madness would burn itself out again, and he’d come home to find her trying to piece together the broken shards of their life: cleaning house, looking for another job, buying new clothes for him.

Whatever happened to his body, Thomas did not want to lose his mind. But in the oppressive silence, he could almost hear his own thoughts seeking out patterns, a constant refrain playing in his mind to torment him: seven points, seven towers, seven gods.

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