THE MEMOIRS OF THE TRINITY OF ENCHANTRESSES

This is a story about the infamous Witches from the statue in Auckland Domain who were murdered 150 years ago, and no one knows why. People also say the statues move in the dead of night and go to witness it happen.

This was a story that I have been looking for a home for and have been contacting horror magazines about. It is not my usual genre, and I am not 100% happy with it.

Connor Lawson woke himself up, coughing ash out of his lungs. He could not lift his arms and remove the debris from his eyes. Feeling anxious and disoriented, Connor wriggled his arms free and pushed against whatever was lying on top of him. The first thing he noticed wasn’t the sunlight burning his eyes. Instead, it was the bodies of his comrades above and around him. 

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Before reacting, he found himself on the cold floor of Auckland Hospital, dripping in sweat and shivering. Connor’s heart was racing at one hundred miles an hour. Surviving the airstrike on his base was one thing. Tasting the ash from the bombs and climbing through the bodies of his brothers-in-arms during a recurring dream was something entirely different. He stood up and walked to the end of his bed. There was a clipboard hanging on the footboard. Connor picked up his chart. Panic set in as he read his diagnosis. He found out a psychologist was going to assess his battlefield stress disorder. Until then, they were going to sedate him. 

I don’t want to get trapped in a nuthouse here in New Zealand and never see Scotland again. I am getting out of here. Thought Connor as he tried to figure out a way to escape the hospital wearing only a very revealing nightgown. He peaked through the door of his private room, and someone was sleeping on a chair outside. This man could have been only an orderly, a security guard, or a soldier. The risk of finding out was way too high.

Connor looked out of the window and realised he was only five storeys up, and another window was conveniently open three levels below. Fashioning a rope out of his bedsheets, he opened the window, leapt out and abseiled from floor to floor. Luckily, he was a royal engineer, and this was an easy task for him to perform. Climbing in the second-story window, Connor had hit the jackpot. 

He was in a doctor’s office, and hanging on a coat rack was a snappy outfit with shiny shoes that fitted him perfectly. The suit was tweed made from lambswool, and it was navy blue with a white pinstripe throughout. It was a three-piece suit with a matching waistcoat. A gold chain protruded from the pocket on the front of the vest. Pulling it out revealed a gold pocket watch. The doctor would not lose much sleep over some missing clothes and shoes, but he would over an Elgin DeLuxe 14-karat solid gold pocket watch. Connor gently placed the pocket watch on the desk so he wouldn’t damage it. The doctor’s shoes were two-tone black and white leather wingtip brogues. Something was moving around the left inside pocket of the suit. Reaching in, he found a pack of red Lucky Strike cigarettes with a lighter inside the packet. Connor opened a filing cabinet behind the doctor’s desk and found a ten-year-old 1932 unopened bottle of Chivas Regal. He immediately opened the whiskey and took a big swig from it. Unfortunately, in doing so, he burnt his tonsils. 

Connor put the bottle into his pocket, jumped out of the window, and followed the road until he reached a foreboding entranceway. He saw a man standing on one leg on top of a colossal sandstone column. Connor was confused if this was a real man or a gargoyle. So he took another drink. On his far right, on a smaller stone pillar, Connor saw a giant angry albatross with its back to him, pulling at its feathers. He did not want to argue with the unlucky bird, so he wandered through the stone entrance into the darkness of the Auckland Domain. Connor stumbled around the massive park, walking in circles, lost in the Domain where everything looked the same. That was until someone familiar appeared to him. 

“Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim’rous beastie, O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!” Connor proclaimed as he looked up at the Bard of Ayrshire himself and took a huge swig of whiskey. Before sitting down on the step at the bottom of the statue of Robert Burns, and lit up a smoke. 

Why on earth is there a statue of Rabbie Burns in this random colossal park in New Zealand? So he thought while finishing his smoke and headed toward a towering inferno of black smoke in the distance. Connor walked through a maze of trees and grass; nothing was exciting or memorable. Finally, as he reached a pond with three stone statues behind it, there was no sign of a fire.

From the giant oak tree above the statues, an old rope with a noose fell to the ground and vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Ghostly shapes floated out of the sculptures and hovered above Conner. He was no longer scared easily after being chewed and spat out by the war machine. There was a time when he hid in a storage bin and cried himself to sleep on the vessel that delivered him to Normandy. His friend found him and calmed him down. That was the night before Connor survived a beach landing that only the souls who perished or escaped death multiple times would ever understand. A Kiwi called Robert was that friend. He never knew his surname. His friend was an older man who taught Connor that fear is the enemy in war. If you conquer fear, nothing can stop you. Robert drowned before even reaching the sand. The witches levitated just above the water, became engulfed in flames, and spoke in unison. 

“Connor Lawson, why are you not scared of the witches of the Domain? We were wrongfully hung on this spot nearly one hundred and fifty years ago.”

“I have seen worse than three floating ghouls on the western front, faced death, defeated him and lived to fight another day,” Connor barked at the witches, showing no signs of fear.

Simultaneously, the witches flew up higher while a whirlpool appeared in front of him in the water. Before Connor’s eyes, the pond rapidly drained of all water. The stone pond then lifted vertically as a trap door opened up. Beneath the trap door were stone stairs with evenly distributed fire torches along the walls leading to the catacombs below. Intrigued by the mystical opening, he decided to venture into the catacombs. As Connor reached the bottom of the staircase, he noticed a book on top of a pulpit. He opened it, which was like no other he had ever seen. The book had pages, but on top of the pages was a three-dimensional world with a glowing blue protective dome over the entire text. Inside the dome, a black-and-white movie was playing. Connor poked at the forcefield with one finger. His hands tingled and turned bright blue. 

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It seemed he was no longer in the catacombs and was now inside the black-and-white movie. Well, it appeared to be the real world. Everything was black and white except for him. He was still in full technicolour. Connor looked around and took an educated guess that he was still in the Domain; he had time-travelled to the early 1800s. Being no historian, this was based solely on how people dressed, and the wooden buildings dotted around the park. He was distracted by three young Irish sisters viewing a large cottage. That was not far from the unique tree the catacombs were underneath. He could pass through the closed door like an apparition and hear their conversation. A man had asked the sisters if they could pay the weekly rent of one shilling to the current Lord of the Domain. The man asked the sisters what they would do with the cottage. He was shocked by their answer and then gave them some kind words. The man told them if they built an apothecary and fortune-telling business, they should make sure the local doctor did not find out. He was not a fan of the doctor as there were rumours of a secret society he was the leader of that feared anything unholy. 

In the fabricated world Connor had joined, time moved in real-time for him, and the rest of the world moved at an accelerated pace. He watched as the sisters grew and became vital to the local community. The shop thrived as their neighbour’s health increased from buying the girl’s home remedies. Others came from far and wide to receive fortune-telling readings. As the years passed in minutes before Connor’s eyes, he observed outsiders watching and reporting back to the local doctor. Who’s business was now struggling at the hand of the sister’s potions. His men regularly appeared and tried to scare the girls and damage their merchandise. However, the sisters did not get intimidated easily, and life went on for them. Finally, Connor noticed the youngest sister burying a book outside the cottage as the authorities came and arrested the girls on charges of witchcraft and acts against God. The local people objected to the trial. They brought the sister’s pies and other food to the prison and protested outside. The sisters were locked up long enough for the cottage to fall into arrears and to pass on to new owners, and this was when the trial began. 

The doctor assembled a powerful legal team on the day the trial began. Compared to a local man representing the girls for free out of the kindness of his heart. As the time for opening statements arrived. A mysterious man approached the judge and handed him a rolled-up piece of paper. The judge unrolled the document, read it and afterwards banged his hammer on the block and loudly proclaimed a mistrial. The Lord of the Domain had granted the girls a reprieve by pardoning them of all crimes as he was the highest authority in the land and superseded the judge’s powers. He also declared that the document stated the cottage was still in the sister’s name, and they could return home immediately. 

The girls were in shock. Connor watched again, time quickly passing before his eyes. Eventually, they were unshackled and walked from the courtroom to the prison, where their clothing and belongings were returned to them. After this, a horse-drawn carriage transported them home, where the Lord’s assistant was waiting with the keys. A welcome home party was happening at their house, as the assistant explained he had paid the rent and pleaded the girl’s case to his master. The locals were rejoicing; a pig was being cooked on a fire pit outside, and there was dancing and singing as their neighbours welcomed the sisters back home where they belonged. After that, life returned to normal for a year or so. Connor was unsure how long had passed before the sister’s last night on earth.

Time jumped forward for Connor. There was darkness and billowing smoke. He did not know their names, but he was in the youngest sister’s room, the one who had buried the book. As he was able to, Connor passed through the wall. He noticed the thatched roof was on fire, and the doctor’s men were using a tree stump as a battering ram on the door. Connor tried to stop them, but his body made no connection in his ghost-like state. With each attempt to hit one of the doctor’s men, Connor passed through them as he had with the wall before. Failing to save them, he sunk to his knees, feeling dejected and closed his eyes, hearing the screams move off in the distance towards that unique ancient oak and the noose that was their inevitable fate. 

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Once there was silence, Connor opened his eyes and was back in the catacombs. The book was closed. He returned up the steps, and the ghosts were gone. The pond quickly sealed behind him as he exited the trap door. After he made the short walk to where the cottage once stood, Connor noticed the outline of the foundations in the grass. Following them to the back of where the house had stood, he dug with his hands and found the book the youngest sister had buried. Ingrid was her name, and the journal was the account of her life. It was an insurance package against the doctor. It contained their birth certificates and travel documents to New Zealand and detailed their business dealings. Sadly, the book was the only proof they existed and showed their legitimacy. Connor could find historical documents of the trial, the doctor, and maybe something about the fire and the sister’s disappearance. Then, there was a chance to clear their names and help them pass to the other side. But, unfortunately, being an escaped military prisoner who had stolen clothes and items of value from a local doctor. It might make this task a lot harder.

Connor decided to return to the hospital. He would hand himself in and look for a journalist or a local historian to help clear his new friend’s names. As he exited the Domain and walked back to the hospital, he noticed flashing blue lights. These were not ambulances. There were three police cars and two military police jeeps. Connor began to question if the contents of his heart outweighed the darkness of his soul. Could he become the saviour the sisters needed? Connor got closer to the lights and signalled the nearest police officer. All of a sudden, in a country with a limited amount of crime, he had ten pistols aimed at him.

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1943, August 14th 

Leverndale Hospital, Glasgow, Scotland

Connor woke up and felt rigid, only able to move his neck. Using only his eyes, he looked around the room. Every part of the room was white apart from the solid metal door. The rest of the walls and roof looked like pillows or giant marshmallows. Connor could not comprehend why the walls looked more comfortable than his bed. Forcing his head up, he noticed he was on a metal stretcher and was strapped securely to the rail that ran all the way around. Suddenly, he started to feel more alert. Whatever they had given him was wearing off. Before his wits fully returned, the door banged open, and four orderlies in royal blue jumpsuits holding stumpy brown truncheons entered.

“Connor, are you going to play nice today? yesterday you turned nasty to Doctor Ferguson?” The orderly, who looked to be in charge, barked.

“Where am I? How did I get here… yes I am not a violent man… I will be nice to the doctor,” Connor replied very incoherently.

They wheeled him out of the room and down a hallway with a tiled floor and walls covered in patchy pink paint. The hallway smelled of bleach and was overly clean. As they reached a doorway, they uncuffed him, threw Connor into a wheelchair beside the door and reapplied his bracings in the chair. Connor was cuffed so tight he again felt paralysed. Aggressively, they wheeled him into the room, leaving him behind a desk, and exited. Several minutes passed that felt like hours to Connor. The door was wooden, and the room wasn’t a giant marshmallow, which was the only thing Connor could ascertain before the door opened and a man in a fancy suit carrying a file entered. 

“Do you remember me, Connor? I am Doctor Ferguson. I have been treating you for several months since they sent you home from the war?” After he spoke, he sat down in front of Connor and waited for a reply.

“Sir, I have no idea who you are. The last thing I remember was several police officers drawing a pistol on me outside a hospital in New Zealand. I also need to locate a book that I found to help some sisters I befriended?” Connor addressed the doctor confidently as the drugs had worn off, and he was again self-aware. 

“Okay, Connor, we go through this every day. You were sent straight home to Scotland after the army found you half-dead and the only survivor of a bombing raid on your base.” The doctor made eye contact with Connor to see if he would eventually understand his predicament.

“No, I was in a hospital that I escaped, and there were witches.” The doctor cut him off before he could finish.

“Son, you are very sick. You manifested this whole chain of events and fixated on finding a book to save some sisters that lived a century and a half ago.” the doctor walked around and put his hand on Connor’s shoulders.

“This can’t be true. What I experienced was so real.” Connor started to cry as he spoke.

“Connor, until you have a breakthrough and admit you made this all up, we will have to keep sedating you and using more extreme measures to treat you, understand?” After the doctor said this, he released one of Connor’s hands and gave him a handkerchief.

“Okay, I think I understand,” Connor said as he wiped the tears away from his eyes.

“Son, we have been having the same conversation every day for the last six months. You promise to break through, and you never do.” The doctor thought honesty was the best form of treatment.

Doctor Ferguson walked back to his desk. After he sat down, he pushed a big red button built into the table and said, “I think we have finally made progress today, Connor.” He spun around and opened his file cabinet. Then, taking a bottle of Chivas Regal out of the top drawer, he turned back around and poured himself a glass. Before taking a drink, the doctor produced a sparkling Elgin DeLuxe pocket watch. That was attached to the waistcoat of his fancy blue and white pinstripe tweed three-piece suit on a gold chain and checked the time. Connor looked around as the orderlies entered and wheeled him back to his room on the other side of the hospital. Once they reached his room, they removed his shackles and let him stand and walk into his room. The heavy door closed behind him with a thud that left his ears ringing.

Connor sat on his bed and thought. How can I escape this place and return to New Zealand to save Ingrid and her sisters? As a magnificent smile took over his entire face.