The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

The Keeper of Souls 
by Kathleen McCluskey 

Smoke curled into the morning mist, soft and fragrant, masking the bitter truth beneath. To a passerby, she was nothing more than a gentle village woman tending to clay pots and her fire. Her long hair shimmered in the dawn light, her hands moving with purpose. Her expression bore the serene patience of one at peace with the world.

But inside each pot, a soul screamed.

Mai knelt gracefully before the line of ancient vessels. Her fingers expertly fed wood into the flames that licked beneath them. Her checkered scarf fluttered slightly in the breeze. It was a token from her mother, a woman as cruel as she was clever.

“Not too hot,” Mai whispered to the flames. “They must simmer slowly, a rushed soul turns bitter.”

The wood crackled obediently. She touched the nearest pot, feeling the pulse inside. A faint vibration. Still conscious. Still suffering.

Perfect.

To the villagers, she was the cook for the temple festival. Preparing the sacred stew for the ancestors. They brought her herbs, roots, spices, and offerings. They never questioned what lay sealed beneath the lids. They smiled at her, bowed even, grateful for her devotion to tradition.

Tradition. What a delightful word to hide behind.

Mai’s lips curled as she opened the smallest pot, releasing a wisp of wailing wind. The sound was barely audible for human ears. But she heard it, and to her, oh to her, it was delicious.

“Sshhh…” She cooed, holding her face close to the pot opening. “You begged for mercy, remember? Did you give your sister mercy when you stood over her with a knife? Now you ask again. But, I am mercy, little soul. Well, I’m all that’s left of it.”

She resealed it and moved to the next.

Each soul she kept had a story. A lie exposed, a secret unveiled, a final breath taken in greed or betrayal. She didn’t hunt them. They came to her willingly. Drawn by her kindness. Her beauty. Her illusion. She took them in, not with violence, but with invitation.

“Come, sit,” she’d say. “Tell me your sins.”

And they did, God help them, they did.

No one ever saw them again.

Mai placed her hand on the final pot, the oldest. It trembled violently. The soul inside nearly mad with age. This one had been a tyrant once, the leader of a village razed with war. It was her first. The one her mother helped her trap.

“You’ll be the main course tonight,” she said lovingly. “The elders have grown thin. They need strength. Your torment will flavor the broth just right.” It was not meat that gave the stew flavor but their suffering. The flames distilled it drop by drop, leeching it out of the condemned.

She stood slowly, brushing soot off of her trousers. Her movements remained graceful, calm. She hummed an old lullaby. The one her mother used to sing as they stirred soul-steeped stew over the coals of their enemies.

Behind her, a child’s curious face peeked around the trees.  She had seen him before, always watching from afar, never speaking.

“Would you like to help me cook, little one?”

The boy stepped forward, cautious.

She would teach him, in time.

Someone would need to keep the fire burning long after her hands turned to ash.

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Fiction © Copyright Kathleen McCluskey
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

More from Kathleen McCluskey:

The Long Fall: Book 1: The Inception of Horror

Lucifer always cunning and intelligent challenges father to a battle of wits. Being the angel of light he casts a judgmental eye upon mankind. He begins a war with his fellow archangels and God. Michael, along with his siblings defend their home and mankind from their deranged brother. Broad swords and hand to hand combat drench heaven in blood. The four apocalyptic steeds are released, each having their own destructive power. Betrayal and lust are at biblical levels. Understand the very creation of evil and the consequences that transpire in the first of THE LONG FALL series.

Available on Amazon!