Thursday, 14 December 2017

The Bitches of Wirehill

Jim was lost. He’d seen a boar and gave chase through the woods; but he was too noisy and the beast was too quick; it had seen him the moment he decided to move towards it and had charged off into the undergrowth. Now he’d come off the trail and he couldn’t find his way back. Darkness had fallen and he was struggling to make out the difference in the ground between stream and undergrowth. In the distance a fog had crept in and he could also hear voices. Perhaps his family had ventured out to look for him; concerned that he hadn’t returned before sunset. As he got closer he noticed that the fog was actually steam, and the voices were of three hooded elderly women. They seemed to be stirring a cauldron of some kind. Bitches! As he turned to go back, his foot fell onto a twig which snapped.
‘Well hello sonny.’

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