- Welcome to FictionDB, Guest
- | My Account
- | Help
Nor Spell Nor Charm — Alicen White
The Sea Witch
What strange and unforgettable creature had become the wife of Moira's archaeologist father? Her name was Mornarch and she was simply a village girl of Ulster. Yet her haunting eyes, the color of the sea swirling below the ominous cliff-house of Dalriada, seemed to call forth ancient Celtic legends of magic and witchcraft...
Was it merely Moira's jealous imagination tormenting her - of a girl who had captured her long-unseen father's affections and had then sought the love of her own friend Hugh? Moira had come from America into a land of pagan mystery. Then a pre-historic tomb was opened - and her real terror began.
The Death Doll…
As I put my hands in the stream to cool them, I caught sight of a small doll-like object wedged between two stones. I reached for it, withdrew it -- and stared at it in horror.
I was an effigy of my father: the torso worn then b the water's lapping, but with the unruly hair, high-bridged nose and full lips that were unmistakably Neil's.
I did not believe in voodoo, not in modern Ireland; the effigy itself did not frighten me. But I was terrified nonetheless. Someone had wanted to body of my father to dwindle and disintegrate just as the doll was decomposing in the water.
And I knew who had made this doll. My little brother Fergus.
What strange and unforgettable creature had become the wife of Moira's archaeologist father? Her name was Mornarch and she was simply a village girl of Ulster. Yet her haunting eyes, the color of the sea swirling below the ominous cliff-house of Dalriada, seemed to call forth ancient Celtic legends of magic and witchcraft...
Was it merely Moira's jealous imagination tormenting her - of a girl who had captured her long-unseen father's affections and had then sought the love of her own friend Hugh? Moira had come from America into a land of pagan mystery. Then a pre-historic tomb was opened - and her real terror began.
The Death Doll…
As I put my hands in the stream to cool them, I caught sight of a small doll-like object wedged between two stones. I reached for it, withdrew it -- and stared at it in horror.
I was an effigy of my father: the torso worn then b the water's lapping, but with the unruly hair, high-bridged nose and full lips that were unmistakably Neil's.
I did not believe in voodoo, not in modern Ireland; the effigy itself did not frighten me. But I was terrified nonetheless. Someone had wanted to body of my father to dwindle and disintegrate just as the doll was decomposing in the water.
And I knew who had made this doll. My little brother Fergus.