All my life, I’ve been warned about Pendle Hill. Specifically, to always make sure you’re elsewhere on 31st October at witching hour. Around here, it’s midnight, the creepiest time of day. Nobody ever explained why; it’s almost as if they wanted to tempt people into looking… Maybe a decent warning would have kept people away. Maybe if I’d known what was lingering there, I wouldn’t have gone myself. Maybe if I’d known, I could have stopped everything before it happened. Obviously, I didn’t stop it. I actually made it happen, or I wouldn’t be here warning you.
My name is Kai, I’m a standard 25 year old dumbass of a man, and I just couldn’t keep myself from finding out what was supposedly happening every Halloween. To clarify, this all happened two years ago, I’m trying to stop what I’ve unleashed, and warning everyone to stay away should I stop it, so it doesn’t happen again. Let me start from the beginning, and I’ll explain what’s been happening since I scaled Pendle Hill two years ago.
I’d decided that it was time for me to see why everyone warned everyone else away every year; I figured it was just some spooky story to tell the kids, or maybe there was a bunch of stoners climbing to the top to have a wild party. But 2020 had already made antsy enough so this was the year I was going to find out. Lockdown restrictions had been eased a bit, and I wanted to get out for once, maybe have a few spooks on the way to join the party (or find nothing). I drove to the bottom of the hill, arriving around 9pm on the 29th of October. I wasn’t sure which midnight they meant, the one leading into Halloween (originally known as All Hallow’s Eve), or the one leading into 1st November, All Hallow’s Day. I’d packed enough supplies to last me all day: a sleeping bag, food, a torch and headlamp so I could see where I was going, water, a bottle of vodka to warm me up if I started freezing, extra layers and an umbrella if it rained… I could have made it until 1am on the 1st of November if nothing happened. I started my ascent, and reached the top around 11:30pm, just in time to see the (non) action.
Unfortunately, there was nobody there. It had obviously been a hoax, just a scary story to tell the kids. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being… observed, for a lack of a better word. It was unsettling; my hair stood on end, it felt immensely cold, much colder than the 8℃ it was supposed to be, and everything was still. No wind blew, no animals moved, I couldn’t hear a single noise or see any signs that I wasn’t the only thing out here. The only sound was my heart pounding as I felt my heartbeat speed up. Something was making me deathly afraid, and I couldn’t identify what. I was definitely alone, except for a few silent critters, and I was in no danger of falling or freezing, or… anything, really. I was perfectly safe, but something was screaming at me to run, now, escape before I got hurt or worse. I chose to listen.
I got safely back to my car around 2am, and for some sanity-be-damned reason decided I was going back at midnight tonight. I had to know what was up there, and if I watched the bottom of the hill, maybe I’d see whoever it was come down, or see someone go up. Possibly get them back for terrifying me. I slept until 10am, and then settled in for a long day of waiting - I read books, played games on my phone, did anything except fall asleep. But nobody climbed the hill, or came down. I started to doubt my memory, and thought maybe I’d just scared myself stupid over a silly little scary story that all the adults told the kids in my small little town, that there nobody was up there. But I know different now. Because that night, at 9pm on the 31st of October, I climbed Pendle Hill again - I had to know for sure if my mind was just playing tricks on me.
The climb seemed much slower this time. I know it’s a 5 mile walk, but when I looked at my pedometer app on my phone, it told me I’d walked 10 miles already, and that it was only 10pm. I kept on walking, never seeming to gain any ground. Yet my pedometer kept increasing and increasing, while time just seemed to inch along. The more I walked, the more that primal feeling of fear snaked its way into the back of my mind, making me feel like every shadow was out to grab me and every minor scurry was the footsteps of a madman about to kill me. Eventually, I started crying and tried running up the hill to get away from whatever illusory thing was about to pounce on me. My pedometer told me I’d already traversed 45 miles before it was even 10:30pm, and I still hadn’t reached the top. That’s when I heard it. Or rather, didn’t.
Complete silence. Nothing breathed, nothing moved, the wind stopped blowing, and I started to get that feeling of being watched again. My heart started pounding, and I knew I had found what I wanted to come and see. I knew I hadn’t imagined it, or tricked myself into believing the scary story everyone was told. As I said at the beginning of this, there’s a reason people warn you away from Pendle Hill: there’s something here. I climbed more slowly now, and a glance at my pedometer app showed me I’d only travelled 4.5 miles. That gave me a small measure of relief, that maybe I’d drank too many shots while waiting to come up the hill, or it malfunctioned. There’s no way I could have travelled 45 miles in an hour and a half.
As the clock approached 11pm, I finally reached the top; I could hear whispering. No… not whispering, chanting. In very hushed voices. I shone my torch around until I could see who, or what, was chanting, and when I found it my blood ran cold. We had all learnt of the Pendle witches in primary school History classes. It’s a local legend, one of the “everyone knows” type stories that you learn about the boring history of well after you hear the less savory tales. Well, at the top of Pendle Hill as the clock approached midnight, all 12 stood before me. They chanted in what I now know is Latin, holding hands, with some sort of symbol on the ground. I stepped backwards, making a stray twig snap, and their coven leader looked straight towards me. Her eyes were pure black, and her lips twisted into a smile.
I could feel her invading my head, filling it with fear. Her. She is the reason everyone avoids Pendle Hill, she induces fear in anyone who comes near. I turned around and fled, but the feeling of her staring at me never left. If anything, it intensified, even though none of them moved or chased me back down. Once I reached the bottom, I jumped in my car and went home, vowing never to return, and to warn everyone away. But as you can probably guess, that didn’t happen.
Because when I walked into my bedroom, there was a grimoire sitting on my bed. I opened it and found a note that read: “Next year, be prepared. I won’t allow you to run away so easily next time.”