The Last Coven

Prologue: Lies

‘Tis the witching hour of night,
Or bed is the moon and bright,
And the stars they glisten, glisten,
Seeming with bright eyes to listen
For what listen they?
John Keats (1795 - 1821)

Red.

The eyes blinked, watching.

The park was unusually full that night, painted golden by the bright lights of the city. The trees moved with the breeze and people walked to and fro, some doing exercise, some conversing with their friends or family, or merely walking for the fun of it. The sounds of voices and of shuffling feet were everywhere, and even from a distance one could hear the creak of the hinges of the games in the playground, accompanied by the shrill voices of the children. From far away came the echoes of horns and roaring motors on the highway traffic. Andorra la Vella, capital of Andorra, was filled with people doing their holiday shopping.

And others, too. The red irises flickered as they moved to see a small group that made its way into the park. Running children, panting parents, squabbling siblings, tapping feet, and the sound of crumbs falling from mouths to the ground.

Four, counted the eyes. Four children, followed by three adults: parents and a friend, no doubt, or some other relative.

A fight broke out. The eldest boy and the second eldest began to wrestle over a bag of chips. The tired mother hurried to them and pulled them away from each other with some difficulty. In sharp tones, she ordered them to go and play in the playground. Distracted by her suggestion, they ran off, the chips forgotten. The youngest girl, about four years old, followed them quickly, tripping over herself in her haste to go with her brothers. The adults walked to the nearest bench, some way off from the playground, under a thick tree, and sat down, conversing among themselves.

The other girl, about six years old, remained by the bag of chips. She stared at the spilled goods with disgust, and looked at the adults, as if considering something. Then, sighing, she followed her siblings’ footsteps at a slower pace. The eyes followed her, hardly blinking at all now, studying her carefully, and then glancing at her parents, who barely noticed their daughter at all.

The latter walked to the swings, picking up her pace slightly as she saw that one had no occupant. Other children ran around her, playing joyfully, but she paid them no attention, and sitting down gravely, rose her feet from the ground and began to swing. The eyes came closer. The child did not look up as they did. Red turned to black, shining eerily in the golden light of the streetlamps, and sleek hair moved with the breeze, imitating the weeping willows around the park.

It was only a few minutes later that the girl was aware that she was being watched. Looking up, she stared back, even as the eyes came closer. Around them, the children continued to play, and the joyful voices, playful shrieks, and the creaking of the hinges of the swings, the merry-go-round and the see-saw drowned out two voices in conversation, and running small figures and walking big figures hid them from view. The wind scattered the chips, and some time later people began to leave the park. The sky was dotted with twinkling stars that shone in different colors, and the sand of the playground was now marked with millions of footprints of different sizes and shapes. It was some time before the adults left their bench and called to their children.

The swing was now occupied by another child, who laughed with her friends and ran off suddenly for a game of tag. Two boys and a small girl went to their parents tiredly and reluctantly, and only then noticed that something was wrong.

First tired searching that slowly grew more frantic, slow paces that picked up speed, and after a while the park echoed with calls for a child’s name, but there was no answer. Police officers searched the area, but found nothing, and the family went home, now missing one child.

And now the eyes were not there, and the park was no longer being watched.