Witchborn

The knocking came harder this time. Ellen could clearly hear two voices just outside the cottage’s window, and behind them a low sea-swell of agitated muttering. It sounded like they had brought the whole village with them.
The house shuddered. She looked at the door, then down at the cooking pot slung over the fire in front of her, and then back to the door again. It wouldn’t take much for them to break it down, but it might buy her a little time while they tried.
Hastily, Ellen gathered up the last remaining objects from around the hearth – dried herbs, stones, figures of straw and bone – and threw them all into the pot, poking each one under the surface of the broth with a wooden spoon as she went. Then she heaved the whole concoction out of the fire and left it steaming on the earthen floor.