Witch: A Horror Novel (The Cursed Manuscripts) by Iain Wright (nonfiction book recommendations TXT) 📕

to learn that he and Ashley had rescued her. It felt wrong to want credit for being a hero, but the thought of it, he had to admit, made him excited. In his fantasies, however, rescuing innocent women had always been a lot less frightening.

He took a few more moments to catch his breath and then surveyed the muddy slope before him. He planned to climb it in the same way he had yesterday – by using a sharp and sturdy stick. It took him several moments, but eventually he found one suitable. Before he started climbing, he pulled out his phone and considered making a call. When he saw he had no signal, the idea went away fast.

He moved to the bottom of the slope and planted the stick a couple of feet up. He heaved himself upwards and repeated the process several times until he was halfway up.

Then he cried out in pain.

A sudden jolt ran through his palm and shocked him, causing him to drop the stick. Before he could reach out and reclaim it, it was already sliding back down the slope.

“Shit!” Jude teetered without support, looking back at an eight-foot fall. He spotted the jagged rock he had only just missed yesterday.

Help me!

He threw himself down on his belly, clinging to the buried roots and pieces of stones that were embedded in the mud. His hand throbbed painfully, and as he lay there on his stomach, he pulled it in front of his face. The bandage his mother had applied came loose, the ends flapping and dirty with mud. Wanting to see what had caused the sudden jolt of pain, he grasped the bandage between his teeth and unravelled it. The fabric was short and soon came free of his hand. Not wanting to reapply the filthy piece of cloth, he let it fall into the mud. Then he turned his hand over to examine his palm.

He screamed and panicked. He nearly fell, and only just got hold of himself in time to keep from tumbling backwards. Forcing himself to breathe, Jude kept his panic at bay. He dug his left hand into the ground and raised his right.

The fat worm wriggled in his wound, thrashing back and forth like it was trying to get free. Blood leaked down his palm and dripped onto his wrist. He felt the worm’s every movement, sharp and dagger-like. Unable to let go of the slope, Jude brought his palm to his mouth and bit down on the worm. He yanked his hand away, stretching the worm until it burst free of his wound. The pain was immense, and he feared a pound of flesh had torn loose with the worm, but when he looked, there was only a normal-looking cut. The gash was open and sore, but it looked okay. All the same, Jude spat the worm out and shuddered with revulsion and fear. There was no rational explanation for how a worm had got into his wound.

Jude needed to focus on what was important: getting help for Ashley and the woman. His injuries would have to wait until later.

He continued dragging himself up the slope, but he suddenly slid backwards. Undeterred, he clambered upwards again, digging in his toes and pushing with his legs. Again, he slid backwards. He cried out in frustration, not understanding. The mud beneath him was shifting, liquefying. It was as if the ground itself was trying to keep him from escaping.

An anxious bird took flight in his chest and descended into his stomach. He panted and moaned.

Don’t panic, Jude. Do not panic.

I can do this.

The trusted mage will not give up. The warrior princess is relying on him.

With a defiant shout, Jude dug both hands into the mud and ignored the pain in his injured palm. He pushed with both feet, launching himself upwards. Before the mud had time to fight him, he dug his hands in again and launched himself a second time. With everything he had left, he scrambled up the slope.

The slope became a vertical swamp, as much liquid as it was solid. It gave off a stink, something awful, and it felt like Jude was wading through shit. He did not give up, propelling himself forward.

He slid backwards.

No. I’m getting out of here.

He threw himself upwards one last time, his hands sinking into the wet mud. He planted his feet flat against the slope and took a risk – he stood up straight. Gravity tried to pull him backwards, but before it had a chance, he threw himself toward the top of the slope. He landed painfully on hard, flat ground.

He rolled onto his back, panting and laughing.

He had succeeded.

The noble mage’s quest continues.

He spent the next couple of minutes on his back, knowing he had to get going again but needing to catch his breath first. Climbing the muddy hill had taken everything out of him, and he was absolutely caked in rancid mud. His stomach gurgled and begged him to puke. His legs were numb. Yet he felt energised and alive too.

He got back to his feet and continued on. It wouldn’t take long to get back to the footpath. Then he could race home and have his mum call the police. This time, PC Riaz would have no option except to believe him. Like Ashley, he wanted an apology.

I want to be a hero.

As he moved through the woods, it was as if the very trees were trying to impede him. Maybe it was his numb legs making him clumsy, but he tripped and stumbled every few feet and scratched himself on nearly every bush. Once or twice he had to double back and find an alternative route as the way ahead became impassable. It took a while for him to make it to the edge of the woods, but through the final swaths of bushes, he spotted the footpath.

He stepped into the shallow ditch and prepared to run the rest of the way home.