Welcome to this week’s installment of many micro stories, ranging in length from 100 words to 500 words.
With each story we hope to deliver a little whimsy into the lives of our readers.
THE HOLLY OFFERING
The day was a long way from over, but it was already dark when Sarah took off. Below she could see lights of the town. The streets orange in its glow as the snow reflected the sodium lamplight back into the sky. The firmament was dark from her vantage point. Pinpricks scattered across it like splashed paint. She loved the wind in her hair, and it drew out behind her as she travelled tugging at its roots like a wild lover.
She had a task, to bring life with her. Life to ignite the ceremony and it was tucked inside her cloak, nestled close to her and secure. A newly taken and spruced up piece of Holly. It was an honor for her to be carrying an offering for the ceremony. Her first winter and already she had been asked to bring tribute.
She dropped down into the woodland clearing, the only way in from above. The trees crowded in and around, leaving just an opening that they guarded. There are witches already assembled, shrouded in cloaks. In the center rests an altar and the dark mother with the members of the coven gathered around her like a cloud of blackness and obscurity.
Sarah knelt in line before the mother, an aged, austere woman who had run the coven for decades. She waited patiently to give her offering. Behind the mother was an altar, greyish bluestone from hundreds of miles away and transported here in ancient times by their ancestors before being laid down. On the altar were already several pieces: a twig of oak, a sprig of mistletoe, a small horn beaker of oil. It was Sarah’s task to bring a piece of Holly. She was the last to arrive having had trouble collecting her offering. All the pieces would be combined shortly as offerings to the old gods in the ceremony. If any ingredient were missing the ceremony would fail. The blessings forfeit for the year, and the coven forsaken until next year’s offerings could be made in supplication to the Gods.
Reaching into her cloak, Sarah drew out her offering. In less than fifteen minutes the ceremony would start. Sarah smiled as she offered it up. Hers was the final piece; all eyes were on her as she extended it to be received by the mother.
“What is this?” asked the mother, eyes running over the offering. Her face creased in disgust, her mouth a scowl.
“A piece of Holly,” said Sarah. “It was not easy to acquire, and I am proud to offer it to the old Gods as part of the coven’s sacrifice.” She bowed her head as a sign of respect.
The Mother poked at the offering with a bony finger, dabbing at the cloth wrapping, the item below. Her finger hesitant to touch it, but her curiosity overcoming her. “Holly?” she said quizzically.
“Holly. My neighbor,” said Sarah, “the woman with the cats.”
“Twig! Holly twig!” was all the mother could stammer out.
Emma Steel is an expat from the UK and splits her time between Maryland and Western Central Pennsylvania. She writes both fiction in the genres of horror and fantasy, with a leaning toward the quirky twist!
After a career in software, she has lurched toward a more creative bent. Emma’s interests and inspiration for fiction often come from the myths and folklore of the British Isles, where she was born and grew up.
If you enjoyed this drabble you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash 2023 anthology.
Iron Faerie Publishing 