#big-notsobad-wolf

A cold feeling crept up her spine. Involuntarily, her eyes went to the door. Another knock.

"...Faust?"

Silence. The room seemed to hold it's breath. Astrid's fingers clenched on the book of fairy tales, knuckles turning white.

Out in the hallway, there was the sound of something rustling. Then a soft set of taps against the door, almost like...

...oh god...

Fumbling past the numbness of disbelief, her mind finally produced the word.

Fingernails.

In the same instant, there was a horrible rasping shriek from the other side of the door, and a sound as if someone were gouging at the wood with a pitchfork. The book fell from Astrid's hand and she threw herself across the room to her suitcase. As she rummaged frantically, something hit the door like a battering ram. She froze for a second, but the frame was solid and did not give way.

Wracking her brains, she finally produced the four white candles and the compass she'd procured before leaving Dublin. Her athame (that had been hell to explain at customs), a sachet of lavender, and a jar of salt were next.

Steel, salt, fire, DONE.

As she stood in the center of the circle, Astrid mused to herself that she might've set a new world record. Quickly, she pulled the scrap of paper from her pocket on which she'd written the spell Monroe had found, and said a silent prayer of thanks to her patron deity for those Gaelic lessons at St. Brighid's. Lavender in her left hand, she began the chant.

"A bheith imithe bean salach A bheith imithe ó mo shaol I gcás nach bhfuil mé an ceann a lorg agat Do rinne Do olc aon chumhacht os mo."

There was a sibilant hiss from the hallway and the hag...she was sure of it...hit the door again. The wood cracked. Astrid stood her ground and repeated the chant twice more.

"A bheith imithe bean salach A bheith imithe ó mo shaol I gcás nach bhfuil mé an ceann a lorg agat Do rinne Do olc aon chumhacht os mo."

Just as she was finishing, the door gave way. The hall outside was blacker than pitch, save for the illumination of a single candle, the flame nearly colourless in the dark. The black wax dripped down a gnarled hand. A grotesquely wizened face leered at her as the hag crept across the doorway, seeming to bring the shadows crawling along with her.

However, by then, Astrid was well past the point of backing down.

'Don't get scared,' she reminded herself. 'Get ANGRY.'

"You want it in English, you old bitch? Try this on for size." Planting her bare feet and raising both hands, she recited the spell verse she'd adapted from the Gaelic.

"Filthy hag, begone from this place Begone from my life; I charge you, flee! The one you seek has not my face You have no power over me!"

The hag spat and snarled, but she could not cross the circle, nor could she resist the wind that suddenly raged through the room, blowing her back out the door and slamming it shut behind her.

Astrid could hear her shrieking as she was dragged away down the hall. The air stank of ozone. She lowered her arms, chanced a look at the scrap of paper.