The Witch Box
Laura A. Ellison
Copyright 2013
Books written by Laura A. Ellison can be obtained through select, online book retailers.
Part I–The Plant
Chapter One
“The Five of Swords is the worst card in the Tarot Deck,” Elizabeth said.
She held her toddler son in her arms, the card between her fingers. “The sacrifice won’t be worth it.”
“Are you having doubts, Liz?” Alice asked.
The seven women had gathered at the old Curtis property, the crumbling Victorian farmhouse close by.
“We are no longer five, but seven,” Rebecca said. “Seven of Swords is a positive card.”
Ruth, Lois, Marilyn, and Bonnie used hoes and shovels to create the pentagram, a five-sided star enclosed in a circle. The sun had set. Torches surrounded them in the clearing, only yards from the overgrown fields, where fruit and corn once grew, when the Curtis family was rich.
Liz dropped the card to the ground. “We have time.”
“No. We don’t,” Alice replied. “Nothing has grown for over a year. No rain. Just like the Dust Bowl, but no tornados. A slow death.”
“He’s your son, Alice!”
“He won’t make it to ten years old.”
“Harvester won’t accept him, Davey isn’t well.”
“What other option do we have?” Rebecca asked.
Liz glared at the tall, strong woman. Her dark hair was streaked with gray, cut in a pageboy. She was already wearing her white gown. She wore no jewelry or makeup.
“Mother,” Liz said, “I am grateful for Joshua, you brought him to me, but—“
“Please,” Alice said, “no more arguing. Harvester has guided us; he promised the rain would come.”
“How do you expect to get away with this?” Liz asked.
Joshua, no older than three, had been set down on the ground by Liz. He knew all of these women. He wandered over to where they were digging, shaping the pentagram in the dirt. The September night was warm. He saw a plaid blanket laid out on the weeds. Ruth, a long lock of red hair hanging over her eye as she straightened herself, gave the boy a warm smile.
“Do I sing tonight?” he asked.
Ruth shook her head. “Not tonight, honey.”
“Where’s Davey?”
“He’s asleep.”
The boy looked down at the fancy glass platter and the five swords; the long, thick blades shined from the torchlight.
“Let’s go,” Liz said.
He turned around and looked up at his mother.
“You can stay,” Rebecca said. “We could always use another witness...”
“Not with Joshua. Besides, I would think six witnesses are enough for the murder of a child.”
“Just wait for the rain to come.”
Liz looked over at her friends, laboring for Rebecca and Alice. She was responsible for all of this; her devotion to Harvester had inspired these women, making them feel powerful, having control over their lives, to be able to make their own abundance.
The women started to change into their white gowns, covering their clothes. The digging was complete, the circle was perfect. Five of the women grabbed a sword and stood at each point in the five-sided star. They raised their blades, creating a star within the star, an open space in the middle.
Liz took her son by the hand. “Where did you put Davey, Alice?”
“He’s waiting in the corn, sleeping.”
“You drugged him?”
“He’ll be able to stand.”
Joshua could see that his mother was upset; her cheeks were flushed, tears in her eyes. “Are you really going to do this?”
“You still believe, don’t you, Liz?”
“Yes. But Harvester would never—“
“This is how Harvester came to be. He was also a sacrifice.”
Liz turned herself and Joshua around, walking fast.
“I understand,” Alice said. “But will Harvester? He favors you most.”
Liz led her son out of the clearing, back to the dirt driveway of the Curtis house. She looked up at the old place and shuddered. She would love to watch it burn someday.
“Is Davey going to sing?” her son asked.
“No. Davey is going to sleep for a long time. Then it will rain.”
“We need rain, Mommy.”
Joshua sat on the edge of the bed, waiting to go home. He had come to the hospital emergency room with nothing, but left with a full suitcase.
He had spent almost two weeks at Falls River Hospital. He did not remember the ambulance ride or the raging fever. Viral meningitis. He had never been so sick in his life, even with the diabetes.
Dr. Warner had concluded his final check-up. Joshua’s eyes and head still ached a bit during the day. He had been given a series of tests, but the doctors could only attribute his memory loss to the fever and the spike in his blood sugar during his illness. Nothing else had been affected, although he still felt a bit weak.
“Joshua Hildebrand?”
He looked to the open door, and a tall, heavy old woman in a white sweater and black pants entered. Her thin white hair was cut short. She wore a volunteer tag, pinned above her breast. She seemed familiar.
Her blue eyes crinkled when she smiled, her bottom teeth crooked. She looked to be in her seventies, maybe older. “I hear you’re going home.”
“Yes. I’m a lot better.”
“Good. You’re a young man, you can bounce back. Someone my age would not be so lucky.” She raised her hand, a small box in her palm. “This is for you.”
Joshua took the box. He lifted the lid, finding a crystal in the shape of a small blade, attached to a chain.
“It wards off illness, promotes healing,” she said. “My people were Celts, we believe in these things...”
Joshua nodded. He didn’t want to be impolite, so he pulled the chain from the box and put the necklace on, the long chain going over his head, the clear stone resting at his chest.
The old woman chuckled. “You humor me, but I like it. Wear the crystal for a day or two, see if it helps.”
“Will it make my diabetes go away, too?”
She shrugged, her eyebrows raised. In that moment, she did remind him of someone. “Maybe help control it. But you have to believe you can be healed. We have more power to heal ourselves than we think we do, most people just don’t know how to...access it.” She looked down at his suitcase. “I’ll bet you’re glad to get home to your friends. School starts soon.”
“I graduated last June. I turned eighteen...in July. July ninth. Yeah, my birthday is July ninth.”
“You’re a Cancer.”
“Moody.”
She grinned and nodded. “My late husband was a Cancer.”
“What’s your name, ma’am?”
She glanced at the watch on her wrist. “I gotta go. Good luck, son.”
She walked out of the room, her stride a bit stiff. Her white sneakers looked worn. Joshua figured she was a bit deaf and didn’t catch his question about her name.
Joshua looked down at the crystal. When he held the smooth stone in his hand, he could feel a warm sensation against his skin. He decided to slip the crystal underneath his shirt, not ready to explain the gift to his father and stepmother.
The old woman was overwhelmed by Falls River Hospital, part of a sprawling healthcare campus that included a cancer center and a nursing home. Medical buildings surrounded the area, along with the downtown Falls River State University close by. All of the traffic and crowds made her anxious. She liked living in the country; she craved the peace and quiet, being close to the natural world.
She pulled the stolen volunteer tag from her sweater, dropping it in a corner trash bin be
fore getting on the elevator. She looked around her, hoping Joshua’s father would not bump into her.
The elevator took her to the underground parking garage. She could hear the noise of the city as soon as she stepped out. The day was warm, but she would walk to the McDonald’s around the corner before getting a cab to take her to the bus station.
She had no intention of staying in Falls River another day.
Max Hildebrand and his wife Brenda parked Max’s SUV in the underground garage just minutes before the old woman left the elevator. All Max and Brenda saw was her back as she exited from the garage to the sidewalk.
Max was in his late forties, a ball player’s build going to fat. He had taken some hits in high school football and in the military, his looks becoming more rugged with age. His bright brown eyes conveyed a warmth and intelligence, his smooth voice giving him a calm demeanor. He walked slowly due to an old knee injury.
Brenda, ten years younger than her husband, was a petite, buxom redhead with fair skin and freckles. She had a nervous energy that kept her thin. Her gentle demeanor hid a perfectionism and drive. She had been a pageant girl, her trophies and ribbons now kept in the bedroom closet, the scholarship money sending her to college for a few years.
Brenda had been Max’s second wife, but no one at the plant or at home mentioned Brenda’s secondary status, because they all knew competing with the memory of Elizabeth was futile, including Brenda.
The old woman walked down the busy street at the sidewalk. The time was around five and drivers were returning home from work. She looked up at the clear blue sky.
She was past the hospital, just steps from a McDonald’s. She could smell French fries and coffee as she came closer. At an outside table, a little girl was playing with a small plastic monkey with cymbals in each hand, the monkey clapped the cymbals together, making a hollow noise.
The woman heard a whisper in her ear, then she heard music. As the melody came in stronger, she identified the tune she had composed by ear on her piano over fifty years ago, but the notes were being hummed by another voice, a female.
She hadn’t played piano in years, too much arthritis in her fingers. She looked down at her hands, caught in a distant memory. She began to move her fingers on invisible keys, as she heard the humming.
The little girl at the table noticed what the old woman was doing, her fingers playing an imaginary piano. The woman’s eyes were closed, and she hummed to herself, “...da...da...dada...da...da...”
The girl left the table, toy in hand. Others had noticed the woman, but were too busy or occupied to care. As the child approached, the flip-flops on her feet clapped against the pavement. The woman opened her eyes.
The child dropped her toy and screamed.
The woman felt a warm wetness on her cheeks. Had she been crying? She looked down at her arms and hands, still in a playing position. She didn’t recognize the fingers; gnarled bumps, age spots, the nails kept short.
The girl had ran back to her mother, who grabbed her cell phone to call 9-1-1.
The woman started to feel dizzy. She touched her cheek, seeing the blood on her fingers. She doubled over, a spray of blood rushing from her mouth and nose. As she collapsed, the whispering, the voices, came in closer and closer, shutting out the sound of the people on the street. She knew these voices; the friends she had ran away from after the fire, when Elizabeth had burned. They all got what they thought they wanted, but Elizabeth was willing to pay the price. They all knew she wouldn’t be the last; time would make them all accountable.
“I see you’re packed,” Brenda said. “Colbie would have come with us, but she felt too tired for the drive.”
“Josh,” Max said, “we need to tell you something about Colbie...”
“Colbie?” Joshua asked.
Max sighed and Brenda looked away. Joshua, still sitting at the bed, looked from his father to his stepmother.
Max began. “Colbie—“
“She’s pregnant. You told me.”
“Right. Well, she’s moved in with us. We figure it will be easier that way. She’s due in December.”
Joshua had already been told that Colbie was his girlfriend, although he could not recall what she looked like or ever having dated her. He wished Dad had brought a photo.
He did not remember his parents at first, but he soon began to recognize them. Brenda brought him a puzzle book that included memory games. Dr. Warner considered the memory loss short-term, but Joshua would need plenty of rest to recover from the virus. Joshua’s fever had been dangerously high, along with the spikes in his blood sugar.
Joshua also could not recall the stiff neck and blinding headache before the fever set in, when the ambulance brought him to the emergency room. He spent almost two weeks in bed, semi-conscious the first three days, raging with fever while getting one IV after another, wearing a catheter. He felt like he was dying. He was given painkillers, his dreams fast and frightening. He tried to get out of bed; the nurses had to restrain him on the second night. Later, a nurse told him that he had been screaming for his mother, he said she was burning in the fire.
Elizabeth. Another face he couldn’t recall.
“Being at home will help you with your memory,” Brenda said. “Familiar surroundings, all of your stuff...”
“Let’s get going before traffic gets any worse,” Max said. “Do you think you need a wheelchair, Josh?”
“No. I feel fine.” He got up from the bed and felt the crystal against his skin. The stone felt very cold, like ice. He pulled the chain up from under his shirt.
“Where did you get that?” Brenda asked.
“Some old lady volunteer gave it to me. Said it would help me heal.”
Brenda looked to Max, who was now holding Joshua’s suitcase by the handle. She said, “I didn’t know healing crystals were being given out in hospitals as treatment.”
Joshua shrugged. “She was nice.”
Max eased his SUV out of the hospital parking garage. He turned a left, stopping at a traffic light in the intersection by the McDonald’s. The three of them saw a human figure wrapped in a blanket from head to toe, being pushed in a gurney through the back doors of an ambulance. A crowd was staring.
“Funny how someone can die right next to a hospital,” Max said.
“Probably a stroke or a heart attack,” Brenda said. “Someone can be here today, gone tomorrow.”
Joshua placed his fingers on the crystal, now warm. He did not tell them how icy the stone had become, because he wanted to keep wearing it. For some reason, he felt as if the old woman knew him.
The Witch Box Page 1