England fought the battle with ease. Malcolm commanded a force too great in numbers for any resistance to be effective; Macbeth's doom seemed inevitable. Within hours, it was confirmed. MacDuff presented the head of the Macbeth. Scotland’s putrid tyrant was dead. A time for a new and sudden era had begun.
Ripping the crown from Macbeth's bloody head, and placing it on his head, Malcolm became the rightful King of Scotland. The people in awe; cheering cries of joy and loyalty towards the new king. Malcolm soon stood high and firm above the crowd, silencing the loyal citizens. He preached of a new beginning. A new reign for the better, everyone listened with complete reliance and trust.
But then, Malcolm felt the presence of something ancient. Then that "something" appeared out of the corner of his left eye. Resting on top of a nearby hill were three unseen womanlike figures watching him intensely, conversing quietly. Time slowed down, everything froze as the figures suddenly appeared in front of him. They wreaked of death. You could see hatred in the look of their faces, in their stance, within their souls. It was this sudden presence of horror that Malcolm would later describe as “hell itself.” The figure’s appearance had knocked Malcolm off track, but he compelled himself to listen as they spoke.
"Macbeth's day is done, his doom has come and gone, and so must we," said the first.
"ah yes, a new game must be played, for is it not true that we bore easily my sisters?" the second one smiled.
"You speak truth sister, I find the petty affairs of men amusing and long for more." the third one stated.
"But this one will not easily be won dear siblings, for he is stronger than the last. the first warned, eyeing the others.
"No sister, he is like the rest. He desires power the way all men do, he simply contains it within his conscience, which is easily broken." the second one stated, all laughing in unison.
"But I do believe we will find him to be much more amusing than the last." said the third one.
"I do agree, he will be much fun." said the third one.
"Yes, indeed he will, but we must take or leave now sisters, as we have much planned to do." stated the first.
The wind then shifted, and the figures were no longer in his presence. Time resumed. Malcolm faulted, but then suddenly stood tall before his subjects, as they cheered for him.
In the middle of the night, when all should be asleep, Malcolm arose. He was awoken by a faint figure. A ghost. A ghost he had no fear of. It was if he had known this ghost for quite some time. Malcolm was not afraid, after al he had gone through, ghosts were not a fear on his list.
He was led outside, past the gates, and then past the horrific battlefield. He was brought to the hill to where he had seen the horrific three figures. His daze turned into fear as he saw the face of the ghost. It was Lady Macbeth. She was trying to warn him. She disappeared in the night, leaving him alone upon the hill, with nothing but his composure and a journal titled Macbeth.