Alice knelt in the twilight hush of her cottage. One trembling hand clutching a small earthenware

jug. The air was dense with the sour tang of vinegar and urine as she dropped a rusted nail inside.

In the bottle's mouth, she packed clippings of her family's fingernails and tufts of hair,

each a humble token of the lives she was desperate to shield.

Her infant whimpered fitfully in a cradle nearby.

Hush now, she whispered, voice quivering.

From the rafters, dried herbs dangled like silent witnesses.

The house cat hid beneath the table, yellow eyes following her every move. Alice sharply inhaled and pricked her finger, just a drop of blood to seal the charm.

Then she remembered the wise woman's instructions. Fill the witch bottle with your essence,

with iron and thorns to draw in the evil and trap it away from its target. Outside, the wind

picked up, rattling the bare branches against a moonless sky was it merely the

breeze or something more malevolent lurking beyond the threshold she couldn't be

sure heart pounding she carried the jug into her garden. At the far corner of the garden, Alice dug feverishly.

The earth was cold beneath her nails.

Every rustle in the dark hedge row set her nerves on edge.

She imagined Malifisium, dark witchcraft, coiling unseen around her home

like a snake. Only this hastily prepared bottle stood between her loved ones and a rumored curse

afflicting her family. Into this shallow hole she lowered the jug,

now bristling with pins, needles, and broken glass amid the foul liquid.

Buried upside down at the property's edge, the bottle was meant to draw the dark magic in and impale it

on its bed of nails.

With shaking fingers, she covered it with dirt and fallen leaves.

...