The Witch’s Vengeance

In the shadow of Hereford’s ancient cathedral, where the River Wye weaves its silvery threads through the heart of the city, a secret lay buried for centuries, waiting to be unearthed. It was the summer of 1960 when a group of labourers, digging foundations for a new row of shops along Broad Street, struck something unusual in the damp, loamy earth. Their shovels clinked against a small, tightly wrapped bundle, no larger than a child’s toy. Brushing away the soil, they uncovered a crude cloth doll, its features stitched with eerie precision, a grim caricature of a human face, its eyes mere knots of black thread. Tucked into the folds of its tattered skirt was a scrap of parchment, brittle with age, bearing words that sent a chill through the warm summer air.

The foreman, a pragmatic man named Thomas Hale, read the inscription aloud, his voice faltering: “I act this spell upon you from my whole heart, wishing you to never rest nor eat nor sleep the restern part of your life. I hope your flesh will waste away and I hope you will never spend another penny I ought to have.” The labourers crossed themselves, muttering about curses and old magic. This was no child’s plaything, it was an effigy, a vessel of malice crafted by a witch’s hand. The doll was handed over to the Hereford City Library Museum, where it remains to this day, locked in a glass case, its silent menace a curiosity for visitors. But the story of its creation, and the woman who wove its dark spell, is one of betrayal, desperation, and a fury that transcended time.