It’s the Dark Moon. I’ve been wandering these woods for hours, passing trees, each peak and valley in the bark a fingerprint, yet I circle them. Lost. Who did I fuck with now? I should’ve stayed home where I can control the energies. My hearth bubble of light. Each step I take cracks a leaf, crunches a stick. The sound jumps my skin, but I call for guidance. I know it’s here somewhere.


This backpack is heavy with dark workings and it’s weighing me down. but he deserves everything that’s coming his way. I stop to pull out my phone for light and hear little footsteps in the brush. An animal. I know my altar is around here somewhere.


I didn’t take into account how dark the forest can get when it’s lit by nothing but the stars; the leaves interlocking fingers at the canopy. The footsteps start again when I move toward an opening in the trees: the stars light the forest floor as the trees are freed from their seasonal embrace. A circle of rocks collects in the center.


I throw my backpack off my shoulders and dig for his picture; his stupid grin stares at me. Time for some moon work. I place my knife above his head and drive two rusted nails through his face. Crack on egg on top of that. Tiny feet crack leaves, and crunch sticks as they beat the earth in a sprint toward me. Nothing’s swifter than a witch in trance. This spell didn’t call for familiar blood, but now he has no chance of escape.