The Haunted Traveler December 2017 Edition

now, don’t I?” “In my dreams she told me if I didn’t pay her to minister to my cattle,
they’d stop giving milk. Indeed, they were dry, so I did as the dream witch instructed.”
Tia conjured images to keep her sanity when the world coalesced into a hemp hanging
rope and hungry flame. With an incantation muttered under her breath, Tia summoned
her mother’s smiling face.
Mother fell to this threat, met this end, when she helped them, too. I should have learned that lesson
instead of herb lore and medicine.
Her body ached from the tortures. Dried blood scabbed over pinpricks. Private
refuges plundered with indelicate instruments. “Confess,” they yelled. She remained
impassive, numbed and muted by their betrayal.
The wind’s sighs drowned the swelling screams at her feet. With a crash, the trapdoor
slammed beneath Tia’s feet. The rope tightened, choked. Their angry faces blurred in a
swirl of muddied tears until their leering ended.
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