The Enchantress of Avalon (Part Two of Two)

Draft for a two-part story

An homage to HP Lovecraft

Part One at https://www.abctales.com/story/marandina/enchantress-avalon-part-one-two

The Enchantress of Avalon (Part Two of Two)

It would have been pitch black but for the fullness of the moon. I found myself at the wooden turnstile that signalled the start of the walk up the side of Glastonbury Tor. My eyes had long adjusted to the gloom with a combination of moonlight and further lighting afforded by the lamps, candles and gaslights from the town in the distance. I had contemplated taking an oil lamp to light the way but thought better of it preferring to stay in the shadows as best I could. It was rumoured that all kinds of ghouls and goblins roamed the Tor at night. Not to mention the odd drunkard from The George and Pilgrims. Often bonfires could be seen lit at the summit and it was suggested by many that occultism was rife in these parts. Quite why I was accepting an invitation to meet someone at the witching hour was beyond me. I had temporarily taken leave of my senses.

As I made my way up the steep, grassy bank, indented steps forged from earth were crossed by strips of wood to form rudimentary stairs. I looked out at the darkness that sprawled in front of me. The night was cold and I could see my breath in front as my lungs processed the freezing air. Nocturnal noises were all around with the occasional rustling of bushes and the sound of an owl hooting. The ground was firm with recent days seeing cooler temperatures and the return of ground frosts to the area.

Nearing the top, I could make out the outline of St Michael’s Tower, the roofless church that made the Tor a place of fame that reached far and wide. I glanced at my pocket-watch and could see it was ten minutes to midnight. I was now somewhat out of breath as I traversed the last few steps. I made my way towards St Michael's which stood on flatter ground. I assumed that the mysterious Agnes would be waiting there to continue our tête-à-tête from earlier in the day.

By now my senses had returned to some kind of balance. I did now regret entering this wild goose chase, remembering that this was the very day, one year ago, that my Lenore had disappeared. We had met in the most unusual of circumstances. Just three months before, I had been browsing shops along the High Street. I came across a gated entrance which gave way to a cobbled surface. Inside this urban alcove were shops that circled a stone fountain. There were some rum looking fellows milling about including one “gentleman” who had a hook for a hand and a tattoo on his forearm. I was quite taken by a glass-fronted establishment that had a banner above its window announcing it as Magic and Curios. Wandering in through the front door, I was greeted by exhibits standing on small tables and shelves of wooden cases. I must admit to a fascination with the macabre statuettes and other symbols of witchcraft I encountered.

Lenore had ghosted into my life, appearing as if from nowhere, asking if I needed any assistance. It turned out that the artefacts for sale belonged to her father and she helped out from time to time. She had the blackest of hair like that of a raven and the most beautiful hazel eyes. I was transfixed by her elfin facial features and slight figure. Her voice lilted lightly, her jet black dress made of cotton had symbols of half-moons and stars. She had the appearance of a queen from the underworld. I was particularly taken with a plaster figure of a blue cat from Persia. We had become immersed in discussion over it and Lenore informed about the ancient Egyptian Goddess – Bastet. This was an ancient deity of a fierce disposition who had the power to protect a home from evil spirits. I was enchanted and the next day followed with a similar encounter. After what turned into a whirlwind romance, we had decided to marry and her father had granted me permission to take his daughter’s hand in marriage.

I was now at the summit staring at St Michael’s Tower in front of me. The monument stood tall, built of stone and with an archway that formed an opening through which the Levels of Somerset could be seen on the other side during daylight. As I made my way inside, I could smell incense. I would imagine this was an ideal place to hold a pagan ritual. I could now see a small fire burning on the horizon. I made out shadows of figures vaguely as the flames reached out to the night sky. I felt a distinct chill and reluctance to get much closer to whatever was waiting for me should I go on. Instead, I continued to skulk in the church and hide in the cover offered to me, hoping that nobody else lay in wait in the darkness of the building.

I could now hear the low hum of singing. The words were obscure, the sounds more like a chant of some kind. I crept closer to the opening at the far of end of the tower. There were several shapes surrounding the blaze. If one of these figures was, indeed, Agnes, she was not alone. One could be forgiven for assuming the mysterious girl was with her two friends from earlier but there were at least half a dozen souls there that night. To this day, I am not sure if it was my imagination but, the closer I got, the higher the flames seem to leap and the bigger the bonfire became. By now, the bodies were more visible and appeared to be linked by hands and dancing to form a moving circle. The singing was getting louder accompanied by hideous cackling, the occasional scream and even some obscenities.

It was at this juncture that I decided to retreat and cut my losses. Clearly, this was all beyond my understanding and, once again, I questioned why I had made this journey in the first place. As I turned to leave, I suddenly heard a gusting noise. I spun around as quietly as I could and was greeted by the sight of a trail of billowing clouds that formed an arcing pathway from the dark sky to the edge of the Tor. My eyes felt as though they had grown larger as the cumulus bulged; something was travelling through them! I noted the movement from the figures still dancing, ever more frenetically. The singing had become more feverish. For a few seconds, the fire flickered out and all present were thrown into the deepest of glooms. This did not last long, however, and the flames licked up once more. A malevolent presence now hovered above the inferno. Floating there was a hideous creature. It had the head of a goat with two small horns protruding from its forehead. Its torso and legs were covered in fur. It hovered in the air, cloven hooves crossed over one another, its face grinning and leering at those gathered. It lifted one of its forelegs and pointed at a dark shape a few feet away. The chosen acolyte walked slowly towards this devil in goat form.

I could see it was a woman, dressed in a black robe, hair cascading down her back. She turned and stared at me. I was in shock. Up until now, I assumed that I had not been seen. As I took this in, the demon also looked across in my direction.

“Aashed?" The horned creature growled. This word meant nothing to me and yet I knew its meaning – Witness. Was I an attester to this unholiest of unions?  I peered at the woman staring at me. For a few moments, she had the face of Lenore and I realised what fate had become her those twelve months ago. She had been this devil’s bride. Now it was the turn of Agnes as the face staring back at me transformed back to that of the girl I had met in the tea shop. She was smiling grimly. I knew there was little to be done to stop this nightmare from going ahead. The Good Lord only knew what was to happen after the ritual was completed. As the woman levitated then drifted upwards and into Satan’s embrace, I turned once again and ran for dear life. I could hear the rest of the harpies crying out in anger and pursuing me as their dark Lord ascended into the midnight sky.

My escape remains a blur. I can still feel my heart racing and my head swirling as I ran down the side of the hill taking long strides as I prayed I did not fall. I may have tumbled over on a few occasions; panic and fear had gripped me to the point I simply got up again and continued to flee.

Now I can look back on that day and remember again. As I, once again this day, stroll down the High Street. Looking up from the pavement, I find myself surrounded by women all around. Every one of them staring intently; all whispering unholy words under their breath.

Footnote

*Aashed is the Aramaic word for “witness”.

Image free to use via WikiCommons at https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:St_Michael%27s_Tower_on_Glastonb...