“The Tale of Velda Blathere” by Nicole Heinz – First Chapter.

 

“I don’t fear broken men, I fear the day their brokenness will be put inside a box. A hidden treasure buried beneath logic and reason. I fear the day empathy will irrevocably become a contagion. Something to be cast away lest we all become infected with a feeling. I’m afraid this story will only grow into a rather old one, one that will be put to rest inside a weeping coffin. The blood of many calling out, only to fall in and out of sleep in hollow, perpetual death.” – Velda Blathere

The Arrival

 

Velda Blathere was born on a full moon, a pale moon some say was cursed by the fates. For the wind whipped and carried ashore six dead men that eve. Six men bound to hang from the King’s rope. King Herrick’s rope was known throughout the land, a land of severe order and a tight rope that lacked all resemblance of mercy. Yet, they say, no rope could hold Velda Blathere. That ghastly night, they say, all throughout the town a woman’s cackle could be heard, that every dwelling shuttered and shook. That cursed night, they say, the Reverend couldn’t rest.

“She’s coming!” Marta Blathere yelled to the cracked ceiling, causing the pictures on the stained wall to slide from their hooks and crash violently to the floor. At least, that’s how the story was told many years later.

“She?” Was asked by the midwife, for how could Marta know.

“Yes. My, Velda.” That’s how the rumor’s started.

Marta was an ordinary woman, twenty and three. She wasn’t especially beautiful, but intelligence shined in her eyes upon occasion. Straight flaxen hair, opposite to Velda’s black curls, fanned the feathered pillows. The windows were open, letting in the chill from the night air. The breeze lovingly caressed her chalky white face as eyes brown and dull stared lifelessly upon the babe’s first scream. Velda was forsaken, for her parents never wed were both now dead. With shaking hands, the midwife laid the babe down next to her unbreathing mother. As Velda’s glittering eyes opened for the first time, a small whimper left the midwife’s trembling lips. The bloody scene turned pitch black as the wind blew out the remaining candles, and so Velda Blathere was born.

***

The following morning a small funeral was held at Aldwick cemetery, the only resting place for the dead in all of Mayberry. The affair was brief and the mourners few. Traditional black was worn by all in attendance except for the small babe held by the Reverend’s wife. A tall and sturdy woman, Alva Barlow took no delight in her duty that dreary day. Cold rain splashed the muddy ground as the Reverend quickly ended his sermon. Blavis Barlow wasn’t an old man, yet he wore the expression of someone much tired of this life. Luckily this day he would have only one sermon to tell, for the six dead men that’d washed ashore were found to be only lowly pirates, pirates that’d been bound to hang. Blavis looked to his wife who still held the babe, remembering the midwife had pronounced the babe’s name as Velda Blathere. He knew this simply would not do as his wife took no fondness for children. They were unable to have any children of their own, and so his dear wife had formed a bitter heart, a bitterness that now lined her once tender lips.

“Seeing as the babe has yet to find a home, we’d be glad to take her into our care,” Stephen Abbott interrupted Reverend Barlow’s troubled thoughts. Stephen Abbott and his wife were kind folk that had yet to have any children of their own. Both were young and active in the church, and so Reverend Barlow was quite overjoyed to be gifted with such an expedient solution.

Without further ado, Alva Barlow promptly handed the babe over to Stephen Abbott’s wife, Winifred Abbott. Winifred was a small woman with soft features, even her voice was gentle. Velda Blathere couldn’t have known it then, but good fortune had smiled upon her that day. Reverend Barlow had begun to open his mouth in thanks but merely nodded and went about the business of appeasing his wife as she sulked next to the cooing Mrs. Abbott.

“Good day.” Reverend Barlow smiled in pretense. He had started to steer his wife in the direction of their home and out of the continuous drizzling rain when he remembered, “The child’s name is Velda Blathere.”

Blavis Barlow and his wife had only taken a few short steps when the babe’s joyous laughter filled the air, causing everyone within earshot to turn at the unexpected milestone from a babe so young. As Blavis took one last lingering look in the direction of the Abbots, the sun started to peek through the clouds and the rain came to an abrupt halt. The sun seemed to shine directly upon the babe’s face, creating quite the spectacle in the Reverend’s own mind. Quite odd, he thought, very odd indeed.

 

And now they say, when a pirate doesn’t hang…a witch is born.

 

First chapter of the upcoming novel

The Tale of Velda Blathere

N. Heinz 2017

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