Flash Fiction number 7

This is inspired by the Pendle Witches, a group of people who were executed for witchcraft in England in the 1600s. They were imprisoned in Lancaster Castle, in the dungeons. You are able to go in the same cell they used, today as part of the tour.

 

The door clangs shut, the warder walks away leaving us in darkness so thick that it almost seems to be: in my terror as another body. Someone brushes against me, the husky aroma and unexpected brush of their heavy clothes making me jump backwards.

I came down heavily on someone’s toes, and am about to apologise, fearful that it might have been old Chattox’s feet I trod on, but relax a little when I hear Alizon’s voice say “That hurt!” I could feel the hairs surrounding my ear move with the exhalation of breath from the words, and instinctively, hopefully reach out. My fingers close over Alizon’s despite the gloom, and feel the cuts to her palm as familiar as if they mar my own skin.

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