by Tom Deady
Are there thirteen in a coven? Is that what this is?
Mama Bayole stopped speaking and the group responded as one, but Hannah couldn’t make out the word.
Then they all dropped to their knees and there was Mama Bayole. She wore a black robe and some sort of headdress with antlers, but her face was uncovered. Her eyes blazed a demonic red from the torches’ reflection. Hannah watched the old woman’s lips move but heard nothing. The old woman was whispering now, her followers silent on the ground.
Then her voice boomed. “Who shall bring me the gifts?”
Hannah watched, mesmerized by the scene playing out in front of her. Two members of the group stood and walked toward Mama Bayole, each with their arms outstretched in front of them. One held a long, deadly looking knife. Mama Bayole took it and raised it above her head, chanting another prayer in the same unrecognizable language as before. It was all proceeding just as Susan had described.
The second person held what looked like an ornate cup, maybe a chalice. Again, Mama Bayole raised it over her head and recited another prayer. Hannah was reminded of the traditional Catholic ritual of bringing up the gifts at church. The two people turned to rejoin the group, when movement behind Mama Bayole caught Hannah’s eye.
One of the torches on the far side of the clearing was leaning, tipping over. The group was still kneeling, heads bowed, as Mama Bayole continued to chant. Mama Bayole and the followers were in the throes of the ritual and didn’t notice the torch.
The torch bobbed up and down and Hannah realized it wasn’t tipping over on its own—somebody was moving it. Susan.
Mama Bayole’s voice exploded above the dark quiet. “Show me the offering!”
Her voice held the strength of a woman half her age. One person stood and walked to the altar. Hannah stared, suddenly realizing how close she was to them. Something about the way the person walked struck her as familiar. The librarian? The thought disappeared when the sheet was pulled away with a flourish. A pervasive dread stopped Hannah’s breath.
A mewling sound escaped Hannah’s lips, but it was drowned out by Mama Bayole’s prayers. Ashley was indeed on the slab, tied down. Knowing it was her, and seeing her there, vulnerable and utterly helpless, were worlds apart. Hannah trembled, and she was suddenly sure she would sit there, paralyzed with fear while they murdered Ashley. Tharn, she thought, like the rabbits in Watership Down. Then the clearing became more illuminated, brightening with some unholy light.
The person that removed the sheet froze, stumbled, then turned to go back to the group. The source of the light wasn’t anything supernatural. The woods behind Mama Bayole were burning. Hannah watched as the flames crept across the clearing, fueled by the layers of dead leaves and pine needles that blanketed the ground.
She remembered one January when Dad had burned the Christmas tree after it had turned brown. It had gone up like it had been soaked in gasoline. She wondered how quickly the woods might burn.
“Fire!” the voice from one of the robed figures echoed in the clearing.
The congregation, or whatever they were, rose as one and looked in the direction of the flames. A cacophony of voices and screams rose as people began to mill about, unsure of what to do. Hannah waited as their fear and confusion turned the clearing into chaos. Some people were running toward the flames trying to put them out, others were running toward the small gap in the trees where the path was.
Mama Bayole, though, just stood staring at the origin of the fire. Then her voice rose above the confusion, silencing the people.
“Intruder, get her!”
Some of her followers obeyed and ran toward the tree line where the fire was the worst.
This is my chance, Hannah thought. She jumped to her feet, the tremors of fear gone, and scrambled through the last of the tangled bushes toward the altar.
She stayed low to the ground, using the altar to shield her. By the time she reached it, she had the knife out and quickly began slashing through the ropes that bound Ashley. Ashley’s head lolled toward her, revealing the glassy-eyed stare of a heavily drugged person.
Hannah cut through the final bond and tried to pull Ashley toward her. She was deadweight. Hannah leaned close to her and hissed in her ear. “Ashley, we have to go. Please.”
Ashley squinted and Hannah thought she saw her eyes clear for just a second. “Hannah?”
“It’s me, Ashley. Can you get up?”
The crackling roar of the blaze drowned out the cries of the followers. A blanket of heat hit Hannah’s face, carried on the slight breeze. She tried to push Ashley up but was afraid she would just roll her off the altar.
I’m running out of time.
Hannah grabbed the sheet from the ground and tossed it over Ashley. She was going to have to carry her and wanted to protect her from the bushes and tree branches as best she could. With strength she didn’t know she had, Hannah scooped her friend up in her arms and turned toward the woods. She felt Ashley’s arms loosely loop around her neck as she half-ran, half-staggered toward the safety of the forest.
“Stop them!” a voice commanded from behind her. Mama Bayole!
Hannah paused, compelled to turn around, not knowing why. Her eyes found Mama Bayole’s across the clearing and goosebumps sprouted on her arms despite the heat from the blaze. Mama Bayole glared at her and even at this distance and through the thickening smoke, the look of hatred was something Hannah would never forget. The growing flames behind the old woman made her seem more formidable, bigger than life.
A few of the hooded figures turned in Hannah’s direction. Hannah pulled her gaze away and ran.
She reached the edge of the clearing and crashed through the bushes, ignoring the scratches, scrapes, and gouges the underbrush inflicted. If only she’d been able to get into the woods before being seen, maybe she could have hidden until Ashley was able to move on her own. Now, she was at an impossible disadvantage.
She ran, the branches grabbing and clawing at her, doing their best to slow her down. The bloody scrapes and torn clothes would be a small price to pay for Ashley’s safety. A sharp branch raked Hannah’s face just below her right eye and she felt a gush of warmth spill down her cheek, but she didn’t stop.
It was impossible to tell if anyone was in pursuit. The sound of her own perilous journey—her harsh breathing and the branches ripping and scraping—echoed in her ears, drowning out the rest of the world. Hannah took the path of least resistance, darting left or right when she encountered anything she couldn’t get through with brute force or sheer will. Even when the ache in her arms became unbearable, somehow, she continued.
It wasn’t Ashley’s deadweight or the branches that finally stopped her—it was her own teenage clumsiness. Hannah tripped. Over rock or root, she didn’t know, but she went down hard, landing on top of Ashley. The fall knocked the wind out of her, and in her oxygen-deprived state from running it made sucking in air impossible. Hannah rolled onto her back, futilely scratching at her throat as if she could somehow help the air get through. Her head throbbed, pulse pounding in her ears.
She managed to catch her breath before passing out. She sat up, staring back the way she’d come, looking and listening for any hint of a red-robed figure crashing toward her. Or worse, Mama Bayole.
The forest was silent. The growing orangey brightness of the flames through the trees almost made her smile. It would bring help, she knew. But even more satisfying was the chaos it had caused.
How far had I run?
Hannah wondered if Mama Bayole’s people had all scattered to the wind, unable to do anything about the fire, unwilling to do anything about her and Ashley. She remembered Mama Bayole’s cold stare. It was all she needed to get moving. There was no way the old woman would stop pursuing her. Maybe ever. Hannah remembered Jacob’s words all too well.
“I ran until I found my way back to the rest of the crew, the old witch’s laughter in my head the whole way. I still hear it sometimes, when I’m feeling low.”
Hannah knew she was right. Mama Bayole would never stop.
A new thought, arriving with the suddenness of a summer thunderclap, threatened to paralyze her. Did they get Susan? She forced it away, burying it behind the need to save Ashley.
Hannah stood, and with a sigh, bent to pick up Ashley. She felt her friend’s body tighten at her touch. Ashley’s eyelids fluttered open.
“Mom?”
Hannah barked out a laugh, more relief than humor. “Ash, it’s me, Hannah.”
“Hannah. I dreamed you came...”
Ashley’s eyes shut again, and her body went limp. Hannah slid one arm in the crook of her knees and the other under her back and lifted. Her muscles screamed, trembling with fatigue, but she lumbered onward. Hannah was essentially walking blind, the darkness ahead of her absolute. Branches grazed her face and arms, and mosquitoes swarmed around them, but she kept moving. The sheet that she’d wrapped around Ash kept getting caught on branches and she’d heard it rip over and over. Hannah imagined there was nothing left but shredded strips of white.
Like hanging flesh.
At some point, Hannah had exited the thicket without realizing it, the going now much easier without the constant pulling of the branches.
She could no longer feel her arms and her shoulders howled with pain. Her legs wobbled with every step and she knew she’d have to stop soon. She wondered again if Susan was safe. Had Mama Bayole’s people caught her? Was Mama Bayole sacrificing Susan in place of Ashley? She tried to push the thought away again but couldn’t. Her exhaustion was making it hard to think. Her thoughts ran together until they were like a constant drone. Or buzz. Like flies.
She worked on pure muscle memory—one foot in front of the other. Then she was singing that song from an old Christmas cartoon. From there, a memory surfaced from when she was seven or eight. All she’d wanted from Santa that year was a new bike. She had outgrown the one she had been riding since it had training wheels.
I wake up early, well before sunrise, and pounce on Mom and Dad. Together, we go to the living room and I search for my new bike, but it isn’t there. Tears run down my face. Nobody should cry on Christmas.
Dad hands me a card and kisses me on the head. I open it with no enthusiasm, too disappointed to care about a stupid card. A piece of paper, more like parchment, falls out. I unfold it carefully and stare at the crudely drawn treasure map.
I look at Mom and Dad and they both shrug, both smiling. I follow the clues on the map, eagerly moving from one room to the next with my parents following. The map leads me to the kitchen, then to the back door. There is a big red ‘X’ on the map just beyond the door. There it is, on the porch. The pink paint glittering in the porch light’s glow, the pink and purple streamers flapping in the icy breeze. I turn and hug my parents, shedding tears of joy. Maybe it’s okay to cry on Christmas after all.
Hannah blinked and looked around, idly wondering where that bike was now. The thought of another bike, standing proudly on its kickstand in the hell of Mama Bayole’s dungeon, brought her fully alert. It dawned on her that she had sort of fallen asleep on her feet, or at least been close to it.
Fresh tears tickled her cheeks from the memory. She saw something ahead, looming—a rock formation. There was a small cave where she could rest and be well hidden from anyone looking for them.
She managed to wrangle Ashley inside the cave first without banging her around too badly on the rocks. Hannah climbed in next to her friend and adjusted Ash, so she at least looked comfortable. Every muscle ached and Hannah’s hands were all pins and needles as normal blood flow resumed. She felt the distant pain of scrapes and gashes all over her body, but for the moment they were both alive, and that was all that mattered.
Her thoughts became jumbled again, exhaustion and stress combining to force her mind to shut down.
She took a deep breath and the aroma of pine sent her back once again to that Christmas morning. When the sun had come up, the temperature had risen with it. After breakfast, Dad had let her take the bike for its inaugural spin up and down the road. Hannah couldn’t remember being that happy in her life. She had been a blur of pink, her winter jacket, hat, mittens and boots all the same color as the bike.
Back in the present, something dug into Hannah’s back as she drifted off. She reached under her aching body in a sleepy daze and grabbed it. The object felt funny, not like the stick or rock she’d expected. Her hand closed on it but before she could identify it by shape, sleep took her.
I’m walking through a long tunnel. I see a light at the far end, but it seems so distant. That’s where the voice is coming from.
“Hannah? Hannah Green?”
I turn to look behind me and see an army of red-robed people advancing. Dogs bark somewhere in the distance, but I can’t tell which end of the tunnel the sound comes from. I run toward the light but it’s like running in quicksand. I turn and one of the robed figures is right behind me, reaching...
The hand on Hannah’s shoulder shook her gently and she screamed. She sat up, bumping her head on the rocks.
A man peered in at her. “Are you Hannah Green?”
Hannah looked around, completely disoriented. It was light out and she saw a body next to her, covered by a dirty and tattered once-white sheet. The sheet was pulled up over the face, conjuring images of death in Hannah’s mind. She yanked the sheet and Ashley’s pale face lolled toward her, eyes closed.
“Ashley, wake up... please...”
Hannah leaned over and patted her friend’s cheeks, another lesson learned from television and movies. She breathed a ragged sigh of relief and mild surprise when Ashley’s eyes squeezed shut tighter, then blinked open. Hannah burst into tears and hugged her friend. Ashley returned the hug weakly.
“Let me help you out of there.”
Hannah pulled away and turned to the man, noticing his police uniform for the first time. Panic bubbled up in her gut. Is he one of them? No, she couldn’t jump at every shadow. The officer extended a meaty hand toward Hannah. She nodded slightly and reached out with her own, letting him pull her from the crevice. Pain ripped through Hannah’s arms, shoulders and legs. She grimaced, biting back a moan and wanting to collapse to the ground, but she reached in and helped the officer pull Ashley out. Ashley did collapse but the officer still had a grip on her and eased her to the ground.
He turned toward Hannah with a wistful, faraway smile. “Your dad is going to be happy to see you, young lady.”
At the mention of her father, fresh tears slid down Hannah’s cheeks. Was it possible to run out of tears? There had been dark moments since she and Susan had seen the car pull up to the house, moments where Hannah had wondered if she would ever see Dad again.
The thought of Susan sent another wave of despair over her, but Hannah held it at bay, needing to see Dad.
“I’m Officer Wilding of the New Hampshire State Police, by the way. We’ve got transportation en route. Your dad will be with them.”
“Thank you, Officer,” Hannah replied, marveling at how steady her voice was. “Did you get them?”
A keening sound rose, and Ashley started shaking. Hannah knelt beside Ashley. “What is it? Are you hurt?” Ashley shook her head and Hannah wondered if the mention of them brought it all back to her friend.
“Did you get them?” Ashley cried.
Wilding darted a glance at Hannah before answering. “We’re still trying to clear things up,” he said.
Ashley began to sob, as if knowing what that meant.
She’s still out there, Hannah thought.
The buzz of engines approaching caught Hannah’s attention. The sound quickly grew louder, and three ATVs crested a small rise, zigzagging through the trees to reach them.
Dad leaped off one of the vehicles before it even stopped. Despite her protesting muscles, Hannah sprinted to meet him. They held each other tightly, Dad whispering he loved her over and over. Hannah opened her eyes and noticed Officer Benson watching, smiling.
Someone cleared their throat and Hannah saw a young EMT standing next to her. Another helped Ashley to one of the ATVs and began working on her. Officer Wilding was talking to one of several other State Police officers on the scene.
“I’m sorry, miss, but we need to make sure you’re doing okay.”
The paramedic motioned to one of the other vehicles.
Hannah gave her father’s arm a final squeeze and followed the man.
“My name is Ian. You’re Hannah, right?”
She nodded and climbed onto the back of the ATV. Ian listened to her heart and took her blood pressure. He gave her a bottle of water and watched while she drank it down, then gave her another.
“You’re dehydrated, not too bad, but better safe than sorry. Drink this one slowly. Are you hungry?”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Hannah’s stomach responded with a growling rumble. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. She nodded and Ian reached into a pack and pulled out some crackers and a banana. Ashley was already digging into an orange. Hannah peeled the banana and ate it slowly, watching Dad converse with the police. Benson stood next to him, a hand on Dad’s shoulder.
The horror of the night before exploded in Hannah’s mind in a flash of red-hooded figures and flames. Ashley looked at her just as she turned to her, fear in her eyes.
Mind meld.
Ash grinned and held up her water bottle as if to toast them. Her smile somehow made it better. Hannah lifted her water bottle and returned the grin.
They eventually piled into the ATVs and headed out of the woods. Hannah sat with Ashley but could feel Dad’s eyes on her. She wondered if he would ever let her out of his sight again.
The ride was bumpy, but the motion had a calming effect on her. She felt her eyelids fluttering. The smell of burned wood and leaves mixed with the normal scent of the pine forest. Hannah was drained, running on empty both physically and mentally. Ian had given her ibuprofen, but the pain was still there. Weird, distorted memories teased her from the fringes of her mind but refused to come into the light. Hannah didn’t know if they were real or fading dreams.