Mandragora

A short story for the Spring Fever event

Mar 20, 2026

This is part one of my submission to the Top In Fiction event : Spring Fever brought to you by the wonderful Garen Marie and Erica Drayton and with artwork by Keith Long

Part two is here

Advisory Content

This story is a departure for me in that it contains graphic descriptions of sexual acts, implications of rape, and infertility, in addition to my more usual bloody violence and horror.

Mandragora

A strange woman was fumbling at the garden gate as Sarah approached her sister’s house. The woman was older, with close-cropped salt and pepper hair. She wore a greenish linen smock, colourful scarves about her neck and head, and silver jewellery hung from everywhere it could; beads and turquoise. Over one shoulder hung a patchwork tote bag, heavy with something. Her complexion spoke of an outdoors life and she could have been fifty, or ten years either way. She leaned on a gnarled walking stick whilst her other hand –a gauntlet of rings– explored the ironwork of the gate.

“Feckn thing,” she muttered.

“Let me help you.” Sarah reached over and clicked the latch down. The woman raised her head and Sarah realised at once, from the way her neck weaved about and the cloudy whiteness of her eyes, that she was blind.

“You’re so kind. I couldn’t find the bloody latch,” said the woman, smiling into space. She shuffled through the open gate and as she brushed past Sarah on the narrow path she stopped.

“Would you mind if I touched your face, girl?” She grasped Sarah’s arm. Sarah hesitated and the woman took it as consent. “I’d like to get a look at ya.” Her smile was wide and warm with a prominent gap between her front teeth. She brushed light fingertips over Sarah’s face, tracing jawline and eyebrows with particular care. “Ah! You must be the sister,” she said. “What do they call you?”

“Sarah.”

“I’m Bridget, but call me Bridie. Now, go in to Kate. She’ll be needing you.” She tapped at Sarah’s leg with her stick then walked away, swinging it briskly before her.

Tom opened the door and they hugged on the step before he bustled her in to the kitchen.

“Good trip?”

“Not bad. Would have got here sooner but had to stop for a pee and a coffee. How is she? How are you both?”

Tom shrugged. “Not the best.”

“You poor loves.” Sarah hugged him again. “Where is she?”

“Upstairs. She needs rest but go up, she’ll want to see you. Leave your bag, I’ll put it in your room.”

Sarah headed for the stairs, but at the kitchen door she stopped.

“Tom?”

“Hmmm?”

“There was a woman. A blind woman leaving, just as I arrived.”

“Oh, Bridie? Did you speak to her?”

“Yeah, she was struggling with the gate.”

“She was here for Kate.”

“How do you know her?”

“She’s sort of a…midwife I suppose. She brought something for Kate.” He pointed at a kilner jar on the kitchen table. “Herbal stuff.”

Sarah nodded slowly. “She wanted to stroke my face…I didn’t know what to say.”

“She’s not shy. Quite a character in the town.”

“Yeah. She looked a bit…”

“Witchy?”

Sarah arched her eyebrows.

“Bohemian, then? Esoteric?”

“Earthy, I was going to say, Tom. Earthy. She even smelled earthy, like she’d been digging something up.” Sarah walked back to the table and picked up the jar, studying the dry, leafy contents.

“I’ve just brewed a pot,” said Tom. “Why don’t you take it up to her?”

In a darkened bedroom Kate was buried under the duvet, her back to the door.

“Are you asleep Sis?”

The duvet stirred. Sarah sniffed at the mug of herb tea, then pushed aside candles and books on the bedside table to make space for it.

“I brought you some tea, Sis.”

The duvet stirred again.

“Sazzy?” Kate turned over, and her tear-worn eyes emerged from beneath the edge of the covers.

“Kazzer.”

Sarah opened her arms and Kate sat up to meet the embrace. They buried their heads into each others’ necks and hugged, desperate and hard. Kate keened, dry eyed and forlorn, and Sarah rocked her, stroked her back and ‘shushed’ softly. She breathed in the familiar smell of her sister’s skin, undercut with the sourness of days in bed.

“Nine weeks, Sazzy. Nine weeks,” Kate mumbled into Sarah’s jumper.

“Oh you poor love. You poor poor love.”

“I really thought that this time - this time - we’d done it.”

“I know. I know. It’s so unfair, Sis.”

Kate leaned back out of the hug. Her hopeless eyes brought Sarah close to tears herself. She reached for the tissues.

“I brought you some tea up,” she said, wanting to do something, anything. “Tom says that Bridie brought it for you? Smells rank, bound to be healthy.” Kate blinked but didn’t take the mug.

“They’re still inside me, Sis. They’re dead and they’re still inside.”

She burrowed back under the duvet and Sarah hugged her shuddering form beneath the bedding.

In the morning, the sounds of Sarah hunting for the teabags brought Tom downstairs. Cardigan drawn across a bare chest and still in pyjamas, he apologised, and dragged eggs and bacon from the fridge.

“How is she?”

Tom’s eyebrows told her everything. After a few moments, she spoke.

“Tom, Katie told me…She told me that they’re-”

“-still inside? Yeah.”

“Oh god…I can’t imagine. It’s bad enough…” she didn’t finish.

“Yeah. Yeah it is.”

“And she has to…has to, carry them inside her? I don’t understand. How long for?”

“We have to go back in. For a ‘D&C’? It’s basically an-”

“-an abortion.”

“Yeah. Tuesday.”

“Three days?”

Tom nodded. They stared at each other, Tom with the eggs and bacon in his arms, Sarah with a hand to her mouth, both contemplating that reality.

“I wish there was something I could do,” said Sarah eventually. “I’d do anything to help.”

“Would you?” Tom stared. Sarah shifted in her seat at the directness of his gaze but he didn’t look away. “Nobody can do anything, though, Sarah, can they. Nobody.”

Neither of them felt much like bacon and eggs, when they thought about it, so Tom made tea and toast and took some up for Kate, and Sarah went to explore the town. The spring equinox was close, Sarah realised, as dozens of druids, green men and white witches meandered the streets. Stalls touted flagons of mead and crystals; images of the famous local landmark were everywhere. Sarah resisted the temptations of phallic souvenirs, but not the allure of a Devon cream tea. On the way back, she bought a jar of local honey, remembering the bitter aroma of Bridie’s herbal tea.

“What d’you think of the place?” said Tom.

“Lovely. Very quaint, even with all the giant dicks everywhere. Busy though.”

Tom laughed. “Always is this time of year. You saw the Giant then?”

“I didn’t go to the hill, but you don’t need to. He’s everywhere!”

“It’s why we came here, in a way. Well, one of the reasons.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Fertility thing, you know.”

“Really?”

“Well, not just for that, but we were kind of looking for a place in the area and we thought, why not. It was funny. At the time.”

“How’s it supposed to work then? You go up there on a full moon and sit on the huge nob end with your knickers off?”

Tom looked sheepish.

“What? That’s never it, is it?”

“Bridie’s the one to ask about that.”

“I’ll bet; she looks the part.“ Sarah laughed and shook her head. “Jesus. Has Kate tried it then? Have you been up there?”

Tom shook his head.

“Did you feel a bit threatened? He’s a big lad, isn’t he!”

“About thirty five foot.”

“Including the balls?”

They both laughed.

“We joked about trying it, but the IVF-”

“-seemed more likely to work?”

“We couldn’t focus on anything else but IVF. It sucked up everything - time, money, and, well, you know…that.”

Rapping at the front door broke the silence. It was Bridie. “I’ve come to see how she’s getting on,” she said, her stick scraping the floor and rattling off the skirting boards as she swept in. Tom guided her to the table and pulled out a chair.

“Tom was just telling me you’re the one to ask about the Giant, Bridie.” said Sarah.

“Faeder Eorth, you mean? Your man on the hill?”

“Yeah, you know, the rituals and all that?”

Bridie turned towards Tom, white eyes glistening in a hard, sightless stare, then back at Sarah. “That’ll wait for another time, girl. It’s Kate I’m here for. How is she?”

“She’s not so good, Bridie. Still in her bed.” said Tom.

“Aye, she’ll want to be nowhere else while those poor dead souls are inside of her. She needs them out.”

“Tuesday, Bridie. We’re going in Tuesday.”

“Three days they’re making her wait? That won’t do, that won’t do at all. Did you give her the tea?”

“I took her some up yesterday, but I don’t know if she drank it,” said Sarah.

“She had some this morning,” said Tom.

“Good. That’s good. It will help to bring them out whole, the natural way. Not with all the scraping and scratching the doctors do. That’s no good at all, leaves the dead inside. Can you imagine that? Will you take her up some more tea now? Make it good and strong.”

“I bought some honey for it,” said Sarah, bringing the jar out from her bag. “Might take the edge off, it smelled really bitter.”

Bridie swung up her stick and banged it hard on the table. “Don’t you feckn DARE be putting honey in it, girl!”

Sarah jumped in her seat and the jar flew from jittering hands across the table. Bridie’s head weaved as she followed the sound of the jar sliding slowly to a stop just over the table’s edge. Sarah watched in shock. For a moment all was still then Bridie rapped her stick down once more and the jar fell to the floor, the smash of glass muted by the thick honey.

“Jesus, Bridie!”

“It cost ten quid that, you know!” Sarah butted in.

Bridie turned her head toward Sarah, the milk white, unblinking eyes fixed on a distant point behind her.

“Will you give me your hand, girl, so I know where you are to speak to?” Sarah hesitated, then pulled up her chair and stretched out her hand. Bridie took it in both of hers, as sure as if she could see it.

“Your sister is afflicted. There’s death inside of her and it must come out. The tea is bitter for a bitter purpose, and to put sweetness in it? Well, there’s more to honey than just the sweetness of it, you must know that.”

“Well I know it’s healthy.”

“And so it is, so it is, but another medicine needs to do its work. Do you follow me?”

“Medicine? You a doctor are you?” Sarah’s voice hid nothing.

Bridie’s voice took on an edge. “I’m a healer, girl; a healer of women. My medicines are older and better than any muck a doctor would put in you.”

Sarah said nothing; Bridie’s eyes were impossible to read.

“Well, there we are,” Bridie said, her voice warmed again. “Will we take some of the tea up to Kate? I’ve brought something for you, as well, Thomas. For after.”

“I’ll fill the kettle,” said Tom.

Bridie brought Sarah’s hand up to her face, unfurled her fingers and kissed her palm, then, with a sudden move, pressed her nose to it and inhaled. Sarah jerked her hand away, pushed back on her chair and stood up, face contorted. She threw a glance at Tom: Did you see that?! then glared at Bridie: If you weren’t blind!

“Tell me, Sarah. Do you have a child of your own?”

Sarah took a moment before answering. “No?”

“And have you never had one?”

There was a longer pause.

“Jesus Christ! Tom! Who is this woman? Who does she think she is?” Tears started in her eyes and she fled the kitchen and out of the house, slamming the door behind her. Moments later, her car revved and sped off. There was a long silence then Tom spoke.

“We need her. Kate needs her, Bridie, and you coming here? That was not what we agreed.”

“It’s as well I did come though Tom, isn’t it.” She hefted her shoulder bag from the floor and laid it on the table with a soft thud. The fabric of it folded around something large and shapeless within. She nodded her head towards the far end of the table. “Fetch me a taste of that honey, will you, be a shame to waste it all.”

Tom walked round the table and knelt over the smashed jar on the floor. He slid two fingers between the shards of glass, scooping up a blob of honey, then approached Bridie and held his dripping fingers just above her mouth. She opened it slightly, her tongue just visible.

“I sometimes wonder just how blind you really are, Mrs Geraghty,” he said, as a thin ribbon of honey descended. He trailed it over her lips and she tongued it.

“I don’t need eyes to know what’s in front of me, Thomas. Now, let’s have it.” Her words caught on the sweetness. He pushed his fingers slowly into her mouth and her lips closed around them. He slid them out then pushed them in again, deeper. Her tongue worked, while Tom used his other hand to unbuckle his belt. A moan of encouragement burred in her throat and she reached to unzip his trousers. She stopped sucking his fingers when she’d freed his stiffening cock, gripping it with one hand, cupping his balls with the other.

“That’s good, Tom. That’s good, you’ve kept them full, just as I asked. Heavy and full. Now let me bring home the harvest.”

She took him in her mouth and he moaned as she worked him with her hands, gripping his balls, weighing them, feeling the tightness of them grow as she brought him closer and closer to climax. When his breath quickened and he began to gasp and thrust into her mouth, she pulled back and gripped him hard.

“Hold it. Gather it. Summon it all up for me.” She groped in her bag and withdrew a bulbous, leathery tuber. The surface was mottled, earthy and green; wrinkled in places, taut and almost shiny in others. Nodules like stunted limbs protruded, each ending in a tangle of thin hairy fingers. One end of it was thick and round –a head on a short, neck-like stalk. She brought it close to the end of Tom’s engorged penis and a hole opened in the root, split and widened –a toothless mouth. Pinprick beads of sap grew on the rim and it moved, sensing the heat pulsing from him, its wet lips gaping now. Tom tensed and pulled away, but Bridie grasped his shaft and drew him back, guiding the tip of his cock into the sucking root.

“Now. Give it now. Take hold of it; feel it, give it up for me.”

She pushed the root onto him, holding the base of his cock steady with one hand, until the whole length of him had slid into its slick depths. His initial grimace of revulsion succumbed to helpless pleasure. They both took hold of the root now, her hands on top of his, using its organic contours and fibrous nodules for purchase. It pulsed and undulated with snake-like strength. Tom gripped it hard, exhaling in determined bursts through his nose. Together, they worked it back and forth, Bridie controlling the speed and depth of the strokes, muttering ancient words. Tom grunted, and she moved to cup his balls, feeling them clench, until he came with a shuddering groan. Bridie crooned, massaging him, feeling him spasm as he spent himself into the depths of the hideous swollen tuber.

“That’s it, good boy, every drop now.”

When he had nothing more to give, he pulled his hands away, the squeezing, milking sensation suddenly unbearable.

“Get it off me…get it off!”

Bridie chuckled and slid it off, leaving him aching, reddened and hard, glistening with trails of sap. The mouth of the root puckered then closed and Bridie placed it back in her bag. Tom collapsed back onto a chair.

“It’s not natural. It’s…It’s…” but he didn’t know what it was. He ran a hand roughly through his hair; his scalp itched and his cock was hot, angry.

“You gave a fine, full measure, Thomas. I felt it and the root knows. It knows and it gives back its thanks. You can’t deny the pleasure of it, not like any woman can give, eh?”

“What is it, Bridie? How is it…?”

“Magick. Old Magick; of the earth. Don’t be asking about the what and the how…what it does is all that matters.” She leaned towards him, feeling for him, grasping hold of his aching erection. “Now, you’re going to be blessed with this for a good while yet, I’ll work us up a little more Magick.” She stood, hoisted her dress up and straddled him, then sank down, the sap of the root warming her as he slid easily inside. Her whole sex pulsed and flowered as the sap took effect. She rocked back and forth, rolling her hips and cradling his head in her bosom.

When I’m done, I’ll need to be away; I’ve to get it back in the earth. Make sure you take up that tea for Kate.

At the mention of Kate’s name, Tom looked up, something like tears in his eyes. Bridie pressed a wet finger to his lips.

“None of that now. You know the bargain. I give Kate what she wants, and you–” she ground herself hard on him “-you give me what I need.”

She rode him, muttering words he didn’t know as she came; when she started again, harder, he asked her to stop but she wouldn’t.

“I need it, Thomas. I need the Magick of it.” She began to pant as another orgasm built. “And the sister, Thomas, will she give what’s needed to the womb, or must it be took? Does she know?”

“Not yet.”

“I’ll give you something that will help her hear the truth.”

Sarah spent an hour pacing the streets with no direction in mind, only a growing rage. Her first thought was that she would just leave, pack and go home, but that would mean going back to the house. She couldn’t face that woman. She was still shaken -how did she know?

She found a bar, sank a large gin and tonic and then another. Too drunk to drive back, a bottle of red became a good idea, and soon she was too drunk to go home. At the end of the bottle, she was drunk enough not to care if the witch was there or not. She called a cab.

When Tom opened the door to her, she jabbed him in the sternum.

“Is she still here?”

“She’s gone, Sarah. She won’t be back while you’re here. Come in, we were just about to eat.”

She weaved her way into the kitchen and sat at the table opposite Kate, who was tossing a salad. Tom brought a lasagna over.

“You’re up! How are you feeling Sis?” Sarah tried not to slur, but failed.

“Are you pissed?”

“I wouldn’t say pissed but-”

“-it’s barely half seven. What’s wrong with you?”

“She had a bit of a disagreement with Mrs Geraghty, love.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Sarah said, folding her arms at Tom.

Kate pointed at Sarah but spoke at Tom. “There’s no point asking her when she’s in that state.”

“I’m not that drunk.”

“You’re supposed to be here with us, Sarah, not off out getting hammered!” Kate stood, salad tongs held like knives. “My babies are dead inside me, Sis,” she screamed, hurling the tongs into the bowl sending rocket and cherry tomatoes flying. “I need you and you’re falling off the fucking chair!” She glared down at Sarah then stormed upstairs.

There was a long, long silence. “Do you want some lasagna?” Tom said, as if nothing had happened. Sarah snorted at him, eyebrows so high her brow hurt.

“I suppose so,” she said, eventually, inviting him to her plate with an open palm. As he served she said “What were you going to ask me then?”

“Oh...nothing. Best leave it for tomorrow.”

Tomorrow came and with it came the dead. Sarah surfaced through thick waters that muffled wails and frantic voices.

Something’s happened.

She lurched from the bed, thick tongued, glue eyed and desperate for water and a piss. As she opened the bedroom door a crack, the air about her seemed to pulse and push into the room. She shut it. Her stomach heaved.

The witch is here.

She felt it, knew it, overcame it and opened the door again. Bridie walked past, stuffing something into the patchwork bag with one hand and holding a large, steaming jug in the other.

“I’m seeing to Kate. The bairns are out of her. Don’t be going near her ‘til that skinful of drink ye had is out of ye. D’ya understand?” She barely slowed as she passed Sarah and disappeared into Kate’s room.