“Steady your pulsating heart,
for those beats of my witch drums
will be your last.”
My bare feet slice against splintered bones, strewn across the ground like a macabre, snow-covered field. I feel the warmth of my blood oozing out of those jagged wounds, but that warmth doesn’t penetrate my frigid, numb flesh. I hear the crunching as those calcified remains crumble beneath me and I begin to smell the copper permeate into the world around me, intoxicating and overwhelming my senses. Lifting my arms toward the full moon, my blood glistening like the night’s dew around me, I make my sacrifice to honor the dead, my ancestors that fill this boneyard. The wind picks up, bristling through the neighboring trees. Then, I begin to hear their whispers. And I wonder if you do, too. Do you feel that pounding beneath your tired feet as well? With my crown of crows, you’ll realize you’ve never known fear, like the kind I conjure when you see me. Steady your pulsating heart, for those beats of my witch drums will be your last.
© Sarah Doughty
Boneyard Sacrifices 2015
These beats, they are every word, every hit, and every plot meant to break me.
This piece was updated to combine two pieces together. I hope you enjoy this creepy tale.