She hadn’t known what to expect from death. No one did. Still, none of her previous thoughts could have come close. This, and she was definitely having an atypical experience. For most souls, death was a release from the mortal coil. Complete separation from the life they’d once lived. She hadn’t been so lucky. 

Some parts of the system had been the same. Her soul had been scooped up. Taken somewhere. She vaguely recalled going over her life and having events explained. Gaining an understanding of the why; to the point she was no longer angry about things which had once made her furious. However, the entire encounter was now a blur. 

The powers that be had done this on purpose, but the awareness lingered instinctively. Either way, she knew she’d died, gone to the other place, and then thrown back. Before they could send her along to wherever she should have gone next. There’d been an issue. A snag. One which stopped her from moving along to the happy, bliss-filled world of the nether realm. Said snag bore one name: Chattox. Even in death, her frenemy was still causing her bloody issues.

“Hey, Demdike, how’s non-life treating you?”

Demdike didn’t answer, suddenly filled with the desire to bludgeon the other woman. However, she knew from experience it would be pointless. They weren’t physical beings any longer—even if they were still tied to the physical world. Unless she was willing to destroy the other’s soul, the spirit could reform. A tempting idea some days; this non-life was enough to make even the most patient saint a little homicidal. However, even in her worse moments, she wasn’t willing to land the final blow.

“The same way it’s been treating me for the past two and a half hundred years,” she eventually returned. Still not looking at the other, less she finally indulged her violent impulses.

“They’re having a bake sale soon, at the local church. Gods, I miss cake.”

Demdike sighed. The sad part was she couldn’t even get rid of the other. Without Chattox, she would be entirely alone in this exhausting existence.

“Their cake isn’t anything like the one we used to have. They have more access to sugar, for starters.”

Demdike wasn’t even going to comment on the reasons why. King James I’s and his ilk had done more than destroy her life. Stretching his greedy grip across the world. From the supposed lands of gold to the continent of darkness, James I’s influence had impacted many. She couldn’t help but feel for the poor souls stolen from these other countries. Their plights differed from the witch trials, but suffering was a universal language.

She would’ve liked to aid them, but she couldn’t even help herself. There was no one to hear her, anyway. Well, other than Chattox, but as she was in the exact same situation. It was no different than voicing her words to the void. Except the void didn’t reply. 

“Aye, I know, but it doesn’t mean I don’t miss the little pleasures. Few and far between, though they were.”

Demdike hummed. This was a conversation they’d had many times. When their new existence was mostly just the two of them, they often spoke of their past. Their past life, to be specific. A lot of it seemed funny now. Maybe it was their time in the decompression zone post life—or maybe it was simply the effect of being so removed from what they’d once been—but matters of life and death were suddenly much less dramatic and far funnier when you were already dead. Fighting over coin, linens, and food were memories they could now look back on and find humour in. 

Though she also missed cake, death was a lot simpler. Mostly. There was no fighting for survival when you simply just were. No hunger to push you forward or pain to keep you still. As much as she’d once lived with one foot in the ether, having both on death’s side was much simpler. If you ignored the limited company. Or how she feared her own mind and sense of self were slowly eroding over time. As though, without a physical body, she was slowly dispersing into nothingness; it was just taking a little longer.

– Excerpted from One Foot in the Ether: Whispers of the Pendle Witches by Kayleigh Kavanagh, Kayleigh Kavanagh, 2025. Reprinted with permission.