Witches’ Hour
                            by Sam Hanken

    Moonlight danced on the nearly still pool, the hills looming up
from the horizon.  Trees surrounded the quietly lapping water, tall
sentries under the brightly shining stars. This was the lake of
summertime, transformed into a mystical place by the autumn’s chill and
the dark of the night. 
    The grass crunched with early frost under bare feet, prints smashed
into a thin, solitary trail leading from the streets down below. A
black hooded cloak shaded the figure’s face from view as it paused,
looking up at the full moon. Breathing softly in the frost-scented air,
afraid to disturb this ethereal spot. This would be the place of
fairies and old magic- The figure hoped to bathe here without
disturbing them. 
    The hood tilted down the hill as if listening; nothing was heard
but the whisper of night breezes in the pines. Good- They weren’t
looking yet. 
    The black cloak rustled softly, its wearer making the way up to the
lake’s edge. The hood fell back as she shook her head, her pale skin
shone a ghostly white under the full moon. Long, black hair made the
contrast even more startling, her eyes dark enough to appear black. Her
darkly red stained hands slipped from the folds of her cloak and
unfastened the Celtic knot that made its silver clasp. The cloak
slipped back off her shoulders with a final rustle, leaving her nude.
Dark, ugly welts marred her back, her slender frame seeming otherwise
untouched. She took her first step into the water.
    The dark water covered her ankles with hardly a ripple, inviting
her into its depths. The first shimmer of hidden tears crept into her
eyes, remembering pain -- humiliation! -- what it had forced her to do.
She slowly stepped further out into the water, feeling the bone-chill
of the water creeping up her thighs. The mud surrounded and pulled at
her toes, not unpleasantly. 
    Water lapping about her navel, she took a deep breath to steel
herself against the cold. And she let herself go, the water catching
and buoying her. She floated in the still of the water, surrounded by
reflections of a thousand stars, tears running from her cheeks and
joining with the lake. She  willed it all away, letting the lake take
it, wash the pain from her back, her soul. She wouldn’t be stained
anymore.
    "Goodbye, Peter." Faintly whispered. Forgiveness.
    The lake’s small tides drifted towards the shore, and she
reluctantly stood, leaving the chill water for the even  colder air.
The skin on her arms raised into gooseflesh as she made her way across
frost-bitten grass to her cloak, huddling her arms protectively over
her breasts for warmth. 
    A small smile began turning up the edges of her mouth, standing
there above her cloak. The cleansing had worked- For the first time,
she realized she was free.
    She picked the cloak up and smiled gently at it, momentarily
forgetting the cold. Straightening the cloak and slipping it over one
shoulder, she pulled it across her pale, unmarked back to her other
shoulder, fastening the silver clasp. The warm hood pulled over her wet
hair, she once again became no more than a mysterious figure in the
moonlight and slipped away into the shadows of the night.