Teaser: Every Witch Way but Dead

Like a restless spirit roaming the landscape, fog drifted in, abandoning the dark waters behind. A buoy moaned in the distance, shattering the silence. The first slice of the new moon dangled in the inky sky. It was a time for magickal conjuring.
The only light in his dank apartment came from black candles as they cast peculiar shadows upon a collage of photos tacked to the otherwise dreary walls. All were of a striking woman with sparkling peridot eyes. For a moment, the man in the darkness seductively traced the outline of her face with his finger.
I loved you, but you chose the wrong man.
Like Narcissus mesmerized by his reflection in a pool of water, he stared at the manic blue eyes in the mirror. A day’s worth of stubble obscured his lightly tanned skin. Sandy curls softened the hard lines of his face. Classically handsome, some would say.
Candlelight flickered and fitfully divided the shadows in his sparse dwelling. The night revealed nothing and only the sliver of the crescent moon peered down.
As the flame lit the remaining candle, his mind played over the last time he’d seen her. He cursed as the fire licked his finger, snapping his attention back to the present. In his tortured psyche, the burnt skin was her fault.
“Smitten, battered, haunted, torn. I stab at thee as if a thorn. Suffer now! I will not wait. With this pin, I seal your fate. Pins so sharp you can’t abate. I strike at thee with utmost hate. Smitten, battered, haunted, torn. I curse you now, your pain is born.”
In the center of his room lay a small doll. A lock of her blonde hair twisted around the miniature toy, bound with a thick black ribbon. He breathed in her essence. Thoughts of her consumed him. He picked up the poppet and stroked its face.
You will never find anyone who loves you as much as I do.
Tiny crystals of perspiration framed his angelic face and glimmered in the candlelight. Silver metal caught the flames as they danced. He lifted his ritual knife higher in the air and continued his chant.
“Smitten, battered, haunted, torn. I stab at thee as if a thorn. With this pin, your fate is sealed. Your deepest fears are now revealed. Smitten, battered, haunted, torn. I curse you now, your pain is born!”
He brought the knife down and sliced the palm of his hand. He made a fist and squeezed. Blood dripped from his clenched hand onto the doll, staining its hair and face, streaking down like tears from its dead eyes.
Tenderly, he massaged the blood over the silken plastic, felt himself stiffen — not yet, not yet — took a deep breath and focused once more on his bloody task.
Her face looked back at him, if only in his mind, as he stroked the knotted hair.
Oh, how I loved you.
An image of her plump, moist lips and slender neck filled his mind. His gaze trailed down to a full bosom that strained against the fabric of her lacy top. She reached out for him. She wanted him. He knew that much, but she could not admit it to herself. He set her down and ran his hands over her most intimate places.
You will be mine.
No longer was it a doll.
In his fantasy, the poppet was her.
The woman who’d captivated him, woven her spell around him and who’d left without a word. The mere thought of her sent him reeling. He had to take her. His lust commanded it.
“Smitten, battered, haunted, torn. I stab at thee as if a thorn. Suffer now I will not wait. With this pin, I seal your fate. Pins so sharp you can’t abate. I strike at thee with utmost hate.” The crazed thoughts that plagued his tormented soul caused his hands to tremble while he pierced the doll with thick pins aimed straight at its heart.
He clenched his jaw with fierce emotion, swaying back and forth. He raised his arms upward continuing, “Smitten, battered, haunted, torn. I curse you now. Your pain is born! Smitten, battered, haunted, torn. My love for you has turned to scorn. All those around that you hold dear, will know no peace, but only fear!”
His muscular arm slashed the knife across the throat of the poppet. Desire carried his craving to overflowing as he and the spell reached their climax. He shuddered. The night wind blew through his windows, leaving him in isolation and darkness.

*
In the predawn light after a night of fitful sleep, I’d finally succumbed to quiet slumber. Upon awakening, I grabbed my dream journal and jotted the images and feelings that were still clear in my memory. This had become a ritual of mine since my teenage years, writing in a daytime diary and nighttime journal. This was my latest entry.
In the distance, a sharp wedge of silver glittered before me, piercing the shadows. Was it the moon?
I struggled to catch my breath, but the air was thick and fetid. Stranded in a murky fog, I groped for anything to keep from free-falling. I reached forward, but my hands lashed out at empty space.
My throat tightened. It was so cold. Where was I and why couldn’t I breathe? I plunged into the deluge of darkness. My mouth opened to scream, but there was only silence. Waves of fear rolled over me. I was dragged down by the undercurrents and into the void.
Flashes appeared from out of the abyss, popping like a frenzied photographer’s camera. A creamy white specter materialized before me then evaporated in a cloud of crimson blood. The edge of a blade wavered in the mist then retreated.
My eyes adjusted to the dark, but I saw nothing. Nevertheless, I sensed a presence. I worked my way into the deepest recesses of my unconscious, hoping to find a clue, a key that would unlock this mysterious scenario. There was only darkness and a cold chasm. I had lost my way.
The last notation bothered me most of all. This is not a nightmare and I cannot wake up…