***

It was the middle of the night when a sound woke Stone in his cell. He opened his eyes to pitch black. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, he saw beyond the barred window the sky was wreathed in thick clouds, blotting out the moon and stars.

The sound again, a whisper of fabric and bare feet on rough wood. Jeremiah Stone sat up on the cot in his cell. He strained his eyes as he peered into the inky depths beyond the bars that held him. A figure resolved from the darkness, shrouded in a hooded robe.

“Mistress,” Stone whispered. “Oh mistress, free me! I’ve done as you commanded.”

“Indeed,” said the witch. “You have been a good dog.” Cold laughter slithered from the depths of the figure’s hood.

“Take care,...

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