The Witch Port Video Game: The Witch Port, #1

By Leonard Bassed

The Witch Port Video Game

 

Discription:

 

The tale of three school friends who play a mobile phone video game. The game seems awesome at first until a series of strange events occur which mirror what happens on screen. This is followed by the mysterious arrival of the MacQuoid brothers, with Bianca as their co- conspirator. The three newcomers are identical to characters in the game.

 

The friends get a little more than they bargained for when they start exhibiting supernatural abilities. What ensues is the ultimate battle for power, while trying to maintain the perfect GPA. 

 

You don't choose sorcery -

She chooses You...

 

Awards: Irwin Award Winner

 

Volume: 1

 

Pages: 225

 

Series: The Witch Port

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leonard Bassed
• Release date: Nov 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215883273

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

THEN AND NOW

SALEM MASSACHUSETTS, 1692 AD

Not so long ago in history, sorcerers were at liberty to practice their craft peacefully. Sorcery was ‘the thing’. Whether masters or apprentices; they all were encouraged to practice the craft, which they did openly. This regrettably is no longer true.

This story is a warning to those who possess the gift to turn away from the arcane or risk their lives; heresy is punishable by death.

My name is Martin Robinson, and I’m somewhat of a seer. I dream of things past, present and yet to come. Though I only see glimpses at a time, they remain a vivid sensory experience. This is one such recollection.

It’s on a windy autumn day, the sky a medley of pinks, oranges and yellows. The sun is about to make its long commute towards tomorrow. I see an old woman, conservatively dressed, in a dusty, almost farm-like kitchen, preparing a recipe of sorts from a book, as if reading from a bible, bound in leather, and placed in front of her. She’s not alone as I count, three other elderly fair-skinned women, wearing similar attire.

Reading a page from the book, of which the title spells ‘The Flight Broth’, the tall one mutters, The directions are as follows… Begin the brew when the moon is full. Submerge the barbs of a wounded bird in the red of drunken men’s ale. Add a wing of bat, aconite and a black tourmaline to make one soar. Bring to the boil, and then let it wait. Serve it cold for Hades’ sake.

I see three elderly men, possibly the women’s husbands, lying unconscious on the floor. There is also a young man in a corner. Odd and like misplaced furniture, he too is unconscious, but clutching a wide-eyed baby, seemingly fascinated by unfolding events.

Like by the flicking of a page, I see the same three women in a different setting… on the summit of a rocky hill, leaving a goblet with a crimson liquid, and something resembling a smudge stick, at the foot of a tall tree overlooking the sky-bled ocean. They seem in a hurry to get home, darting back into the greenery of the hill descent.

I’m unsure whether this takes place on the same day. In the recollection, the timelines seem irrelevant to the narratives and images. In the village, a few doors swing open. Women young and old, all dressed in long, ill-fitting apparel, run like lunatics into the woods, disrobing as they reach the ill-omened line of trees. Two of the women turn into cats as the clothes fall from their naked bodies.

I begin to hear an eerie chant being recited in unison as the first three naked women make it to the dark summit. Holding long, makeshift brooms, in their right hands, they chant: Drink the flight broth, wood in hand. Burn the root … An elderly woman with lanky hair picks up the goblet, takes a sip of its contents, and inhales the smoke of an already burning smudge stick. The chanting continues: Then dive from the cliff… This is perhaps the most startling scene I’ve ever witnessed. The woman runs off the edge of the cliff, seemingly to plummet to her death, but I hear Not by wind nor by wings, airborne sisters thou shall soar. Suddenly, the woman who vanished off the cliff reappears, hovering in mid-air on a broom. She begins cackling, and the louder her cackles, the higher she floats. Soon a host of other women mimic her actions, cackling into the night air.

I’m jolted back into reality, where I lie breathless in my soaked sheets, unable to decipher the meanings of my dreams. I always take care of writing them down. In time, their meanings always emerge.

NOW

You don’t choose sorcery, she chooses you. An unfortunate truth, my best friends, Francesca Rose Dubois and Mackenzie Hollister, and I soon come to learn.

My full name is Martin Anthony Robinson. I have an older brother: Cameron Robinson. A tall yet strappy fellow, the star athlete of our school. A jock who somehow manages to get decent grades – isn’t that a contradiction? Suffice it to say, I sometimes find myself cooling off in his oversized shadow.

It’s not all bad though, as we get along well, as two teenage brothers should, provided he doesn’t hog the TV with his all-day sport marathons.

We live with our mom and dad, Lorraine and Jeremiah Robinson. My mother is tall and slim with hazel brown eyes. Like Cameron, she’s lighter in complexion, compared to dear old dad and I. Charming, as my mom may seem, she’s a criminal attorney with her own law firm. My dad, Jeremiah, an accountant by profession, chose the business of buying and selling exotic cars instead.

Then, there’s little old me. I would describe myself as a momma’s boy in that we have a great relationship and similar interests. Dad and Cameron, on the other hand, are like two peas in a pod, although I sometimes get the idea that dad lives vicariously through Cameron. He’s always loved basketball, but had never really had the height for it. His man pouch would weigh him down any way.

I get decent grades myself. Well, I’d better, considering my ambition to make it into Julliard when I graduate, or to be signed up for theatrical representation by a top New York agency… whichever comes first. I’m not exactly what one would call athletic; though I could be seen as an athlete, if one considers dance a sport. I study musical theatre and, of course, ballet, tap and jazz, which are necessary evils.

Both Cameron and I are students at St Phillips Academy of Performing Arts. Cameron is a senior and I’m a junior. Truth be told, he has no interest at all in performance art. He previously attended Parkmore Academy, but switched schools in sophomore year, wooed by our school’s superior sports program. Ironic, when one considers it’s a specialized performing arts school, where twisting an ankle can prove catastrophic for would-be professional dancers.

The most hilarious part of Cameron’s enrolment in our school was his and Mathew Hollister’s audition. They performed mimes! The whole thing was a farce. Mathew Hollister, by the way, is Mackenzie’s younger brother, even though they are only one year apart in age.

When at school, I spend my days with Francesca and Mackenzie. Mackenzie and I have been best friends since the tender age of eight. Francesca and I, on the other hand, have known each other all our lives; our mothers are best friends. She’s the kind of person you stay friends with because, firstly, not being friends with her is social suicide, and for someone like me, things in high school could go south pretty quickly. Secondly, she’s also fascinating, an ethereal creature with blonde, curly locks and whimsical features; the typical prima ballerina. And, did I mention that she has blue eyes, the kind that would make the bluest oceans jealous. I know better than to say that, all ‘only children’ are spoiled, but in her case, this is true. Her parents are pretty loaded, so I guess, that makes sense.

Then, there is little Miss Southern Hospitality. I remember when we first met she was always fixing to do things, but her accent has since calmed down drastically. She’s, as the southerners’ say, quite the hoot. She’s warm, kind and one of the hardest working girls I know. Mackenzie can only be described as swan-like, with fiery red hair, usually done up in a bun. She somehow manages to be a bookworm and the life of the party all at the same time.

The girls are close too, although they met each other through me. Over the years, their friendship has morphed into its own weird thing. Now they pretty much speak their ‘own language’. I do think Mackenzie allows herself to be bulldozed by Francesca on occasion. Though, to tell the truth, we all do to a certain extent. It’s just that she exudes the kind of inner confidence a part of us all crave.

Their grandmother Lisa Hollister, aka Mrs H, a well-meaning elderly woman with the warmest smile, though on the plump side, raised Mackenzie and Mathew. They had a tough childhood, their mother being a constant source of embarrassment for Mackenzie. This didn’t seem to affect Mathew that much, but then he’d never worn his heart on his sleeve. He was the jocular, mischievous boy we climbed trees with. Of them both, he’d always been the most receptive to their mother’s fleeting attempts at parenthood.

Freya, their mother, had them in her teens, and has been in and out of their lives since childhood. She was always chasing the next fix, which left her unable to properly care for her children. They didn’t have much in the way of a father either, as their paternity had never been determined.

This has always been the rocket fuel driving Mackenzie’s ambition to succeed. She majors in dance, specifically ballet, and is passionate about it. She’s taken on a full load of Advanced Placement courses and works two part-time jobs to save up for college. She also helps around the house whenever she can.

The two girls, Mackenzie and Francesca, have come to be known as the ‘twins’ on campus. Alex Devonport, a reedy young man with ginger curls and what appear to be biscuit crumbs on his tinted checks, first coined this nickname. Alex is the resident bully on campus, whom no one has been able to bring to book, both his parents being members of the school governing body and having made countless generous donations over the years to the institute.

Alex Devonport called them the twins after noticing that, soon after Francesca wore a certain look, Mackenzie would be sporting the same in no time. He also took note of the beaten-up old car, which dropped and picked her and Mathew up daily after his transfer to the school, as juniors and seniors are not permitted to use the school bus. He realized that she wasn’t like the rest of us.

CHAPTER 2

PSYCHEDELIC LIGHTS OF NEW YORK

I’m lost in my own world, peering out of the window of our moving cab. A collage of vibrant psychedelic lights illuminates the evening sky. A signage reads Christopher Street, one block down. I feel a sense of exhilaration and apprehension simultaneously. Francesca and I had lied to our parents that we were staying over at Mackenzie’s place, when in reality we’re running wild in New York City, far away from prying parental eyes, for a night of underage drinking.

This isn’t our first rebellious night. The town of Cradle Creek, while praised for its clean and peaceful streets and vintage appeal, is rather dull. It’s also a small town, which means everyone knows everyone else. No teenage frolicking will go unnoticed, which brings us way out here, where the possibilities seem endless, where anyone can be or do anything they want. Francesca nudges me, drawing my attention to one of my favorite old school dance songs playing on the radio – ‘Infinity’ by Guru Josh Project. This of course reconnects me to the night’s festivities. We begin breaking the moves while still seated. I see the cabdriver looking back at us through the rearview mirror with great longing, but this is not enough to dissuade us from our party bus antics.

We arrive at the Exhibition Diner, a trendy New York hangout. It’s name is somewhat misleading as it’s a cocktail lounge, which sells finger food and provides free Wi-Fi. You don’t need an ID if your ‘plus ones’ are hot chicks, who won’t go in unless you’re allowed