Resting Witch Face

by Constance Barker

  “Holy freakin cow, Quinn, you almost put us in the ditch!” Harvest panted. “What the freak?”

  “I thought a goat was crossing the road.”

  Harvest twisted in her seat to look back. Then she stared at Quinn. “A what?”

  “A deer, I mean. It’s the rutting season.”

  “That’s two heart attacks you nearly gave me in half an hour. What’s up with you?”

  Quinn found it took an effort to free her grip on the wheel. “Just on edge, I guess.”

  “More like over the edge. You want me to drive?”

  She took a deep breath to steady herself before facing Harvest. “Yeah. That might be a good idea.”

  It was still early in the day after they dropped off the packages. Harvest dangled the car keys, but Quinn shook her head. “Since we’re down here anyway, why don’t we visit Mom?”

  “Cool. I was thinking the same thing.”

  Maybe a visit would settle her nerves a little. Quinn’s mind could not let go of the woolly monster. Whenever she saw the thing, he always had a message for her. Maybe she should’ve stopped and listened. Maybe he shouldn’t have jumped in the road. Of course, from her brief conversations with the beast, jumping out in the road was part of his deal.

  Harvest took Market Street along the Conewango Creek to the imperfect concentric circles of Hospital and Main drives. Quinn stared at the gloomy asylum that seemed to rise out of the ground to greet them.

  “Oh, see, I knew you’d find time,” a voice called as they exited the SUV.

  Piper Zimmerman stood a ways away on the enormous lawn. Quinn and Harvest crossed over to her.

  “I was thinking your mother might respond better without Dr. Pye in the room.”

  Harvest folded her arms. “A nursing student can arrange something like that?”

  “Well, no. But we were just out here getting some air.” She pointed to a wheelchair parked under a nearby tree. “I’m getting worried about her. She won’t eat or drink. We’re giving her a saline IV, but that’s not enough to sustain her.”

  The sisters crouched down in front of the wheelchair. Mom still sat erect, staring into space. “Hey, Mom, it’s Harvest and Quinn,” Harvest spoke quietly.

  Piper stood behind the chair. “Does she have a favorite dish? Sometimes the institutional food here isn’t the greatest. But she really has to eat. She’s losing a lot of weight.”

  Quinn took the grimoire from her bag.

  “Uh, Quinn?” Harvest started.

  This time, Quinn didn’t flop the book, only paged through the recipes. “Breaded pork chops are her favorite. Same as mine.”

  “I’ll let you have some privacy,” Piper said. “But just for a little while. I have to bring her back soon.”

  “We’ll cook up some pork chops for tomorrow,” Quinn said.

  “Tomorrow? That’s awesome that you’re coming so frequently.” Piper smiled and walked toward a group of patients standing around another nurse.

  ONCE PIPER WAS OUT of earshot, Harvest moved closer to Quinn. “I’m more worried about you than I am about Mom.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “What did you see on the road? I didn’t see anything. You nearly crashed the car, Sis. What was it?”

  “Leshy.”

  She felt Quinn start as her own heart skipped a beat. Mom had spoken.

  “Leshy? What’s a leshy, Mom?”

  Quinn sighed. “He’s the guardian of the Arcadian portal. He can guide people out of the Twih. Or keep them there and scare them to death. I guess that’s kind of his job.”

  Harvest blinked a few times. She’d heard Quinn mention a goat-man before. “And he’s a leshy, or his name is Leshy?”

  “I don’t know. He brought Echo out once, when Uncle Nick zapped her and the witches into the Twih.”

  “The patients here? Dr. Perkins?”

  “Yeah.” Quinn’s eyes were on Mom. “You know him, Mom? You know Leshy?”

  They stared at the wheelchair-bound woman for a long while. Just when the silence became unbearable, Mom spoke again.

  “Return.”

  Harvest caught Quinn’s eye. Quinn frowned and shrugged.

  “She’s right, it’s time to go back to the ward.” Piper walked back.

  “You heard her? She actually spoke. That’s a good sign, right?” Harvest pressed.

  Piper smiled. “I’ll let Dr. Pye know. He’ll be totally stoked.”

  They watched the nursing student roll Mom back to the building. Other patients followed, guided by the second nurse.

  “I don’t think she meant she wanted to go back to the ward,” Harvest said.

  Quinn headed back to the Tahoe. “I don’t think so either.”

  “You think she means return to the Twih? How do we even do that?”

  “Might be a spell. I don’t know. I can only think of someone who might know.”

  Harvest beeped open the doors. “That Leshy thing?”

  “That Leshy thing,” Quinn agreed.

  Chapter 10

  Echo drove south on Route 60. The big, puffy clouds of autumn hung in a blue sky, the leaves still a riot of color, but the trees half-bare now. Endless farms, fields and spread out residential went by on both sides, buildings infrequently gathering into little tows. Bunny rode shotgun, fiddling with the radio.

  “This thing has a CD player. Where are your CDs?” Bunny studied the old stereo. “Why doesn’t my BlueTooth work on it?”

  Sighing, she left the station on talk radio and hunched over her phone. Dr. Stagg sat in the back, also hunched over his phone. Soon enough, they passed under the through-way and into downtown Jamestown. As they passed the Lucille Ball museum, Stagg told her to look for parking.

  They crossed the street to a little diner. Given the hour, only two patrons sat inside. One was an older man in a golf shirt. The other wore a suit and had a trendy haircut.

  “This looks awks, Echo. Maybe I’ll skurt.”

  “You’re not skurting anywhere, Bun, you’re the one who wanted a road trip.”

  Dr. Stagg introduced Barry Fredrickson, a roly-poly blob of age spots and floaty white hair in all the wrong places. The former chief introduced Gary Higgins. “Gary was a kid back in the ‘80s, and he took a lot of guff.”

  The three pulled up chairs and sat at the table with the older men.

  “This is a project for school?” Higgins had intense eyes, swoops of gray at his temples.

  Echo nodded. “A term paper.”

  “Twenty-five percent of our grade,” Bunny added.

  The former chief held his hand up to the waitress. “Well, I’m more than happy to help. In fact, if it weren’t for a team from the University of Pittsburgh and professor of sociology from the community college here in town, things might’ve gone differently.”

  This made Echo sit up straighter. Her father’s alma mater was Pitt. She’d applied there, and been accepted, but she couldn’t afford it. She had a full ride at Fredonia. “All the way from Pittsburgh?”

  “Well, starting around 1980, the Satanic network was already a national thing. It was on TV all the time: Geraldo Rivera, Phil Donohue, Oprah Winfrey—”

  “Not Oprah!” Bunny gasped.

  “When we found alleged Satanic graffiti out in the woods, a spot where kids went to party, the panic came home to roost,” Fredrickson said. The waitress arrived, and coffee was ordered all around.

  “Church groups came in, giving presentations about how to spot members of the local branch of the Satanic Underground Network. Now, a lot of my guys back then were more church-going than I was. Somehow, they took this as a personal affront. They were hot to ‘get’ those Satanists. It was back in ’88 that the office started fielding daily calls. Scared parents worried that the Satanists were stalking their children. Pastors and reverends offered all kinds of evidence that the city was in danger. It really got into our heads.”

  Echo had her phone recording the conversation, but she didn’t fully trust the
old device. She scribbled notes as fast as she could. “So you, your department, thought there were Satanists in Jamestown.”

  “Yeah, we did. But there was nothing to do about it. We’re about protecting people, but our primary function is fighting crime. There were no crimes to investigate, only rumors. Kinda tough to track down a rumor. But people were afraid—really afraid. We did all we could.”

  “Sometimes,” Higgins jumped in, “you did more than you should have. You crossed the line.”

  Echo focused on Gary Higgins. “Were you investigating the rumors, too?”

  “Who, me? Oh no. I was one of the Satanists.”

  QUINN DROVE TO WEBBS Fairy—the public boat launch on the Allegheny. She had met Leshy here before, when he escorted Echo out of the Twih. Since the goat-man had charged out from the road that led there, she took it as a sign.

  “This is where you spun out,” Harvest noted.

  Parking for the launch was an elongated loop. Not a single car occupied the lot. She parked where it turned back and shut off the car. Harvest followed as she got out and headed for a forested hill. She sat on a fallen log, and Harvest sat beside her.

  “So, what, we text him or something?”

  Quinn hiked her shoulders. “He kinda just shows up when he has something to say.”

  “Typical male.”

  Blue light beamed through the trees.

  “Where’s the constable costume?” The goat-man strode through the woods, using a long-handled battle axe like a walking stick. “I was hoping for some role play.”

  Quinn felt Harvest tense beside her. When she spoke, her voice was even. “You some kinda bigfoot or something?”

  “What, with a rack like this?” He leaned his axe against a tree. Then he framed his face with clawed hands. His arms went behind his horned head. Shaking his hips back and forth, he lifted a hoof.

  Harvest gaped. “Are you voguing?”

  “Strike a pose,” the creature’s blue eyes gleamed. “You’re single, right? I’d hate to waste a mating display.”

  “A what?”

  “Why did you jump in front of my car like that?” Quinn interrupted.

  The creature turned its glowing orbs on Quinn. “I’m cool with the playing hard to get bit, Q, but vehicular homicide? That’s probably going too far.”

  “You jumped in front of me.”

  “You were speeding.” He smiled, fangs incongruous in the snouted face. “This is a dangerous road, you know. Maybe I was just telling you to slow down.”

  “Like hell.”

  He grabbed up the axe and leaned his arms on it. “You’re sexy as hell when you’re angry.”

  “Our Mom’s in the state hospital. Did you bring her out of the Twih?”

  “Straight to the point. No conversation, no flirting.” The monster sighed. “Okay, no. I didn’t escort her out. She was dragged out.”

  Harvest and Quinn shot eyes at each other.

  The creature went on. “I haven’t felt anything like it in years. That’s probably centuries, maybe millennia here in Slow World.”

  Harvest eyed the beast. “What was it before?”

  “Shaman magic, strong medicine.” He angled his head in thought. “Which is weird, because the sacred sites around here are all under water now.”

  “You’re talking about Native Americans?” Harvest asked. “The Seneca?”

  “Oh, no, long before that. First People, they were, back when the barrier between this slow world and the Twih was thin. Those shamans had some mojo, I gotta say. They were natural witches, like you two, but their power didn’t come from the Twih. They got it from your realm, back when there was actual magic here.”

  Harvest shook her head. “Why would shamans pull our mother to this realm?”

  “You got me. Your mom’s not exactly stable in this realm, not without a lot of help. She oozes Twih magic like crazy. You really need to send her back, before she loses all her power. The Twih wants her back, it’s pulling at her like a magnet. But if she ingests any slow world food, she might get stuck here. It makes her heavier, her vibration slower. I don’t know how—”

  The monster stood upright, goat ears rising. “What’s that?”

  Quinn heard a splash in the river. “Fish jumping?”

  “Sorry. I’ve been a little tense. No one but me is allowed to open the Arcadian portal. Since your mom got jacked, I’m a little freaked out.”

  “Well, we don’t know how to get Mom back home, but she’s going to starve to death if she doesn’t’ eat something. Or worse, maybe the hospital will force feed her. What can we give her?”

  “Well, she needs something from the Twih. Isn’t there something you can give us?” Quinn actually did touch his arm. His wool was softer than she would’ve thought. Still, she had to breathe through her mouth.

  The monster’s eyes went to her hand. “You’re pretty demanding for a chick who won’t even consider a ’ship with a stud like me.”

  “Oh, eew,” Harvest said under her breath.

  “She could die. There has to be something.”

  His horned head bobbed back and forth in decision. “There is one thing. However, Twih policy says I can’t give gifts unless you learn my name.”

  “There are policies in this other dimension?” Harvest squinted at the creature.

  “Mostly instinct, but rules are rules.” He held up a finger. “I do give myself some leeway in regard to... intimate favors.”

  “Leshy.” Quinn said. “Your name is Leshy.”

  “Oh, that’s cheating! Your mom must’ve told.”

  She took her hand off his arm and held it palm up. “Help us out here.”

  His shoulders dropped, head rolling as he looked at the sky. “Okay, fine.” From out of nowhere, an object appeared in his hand. It was triangular, and looked to be stitched together from big leaves. It sloshed when he handed it to Quinn.

  “What is it?”

  “Juice. I think. Might be wine.” Leshy snorted and stepped back at another splash from the river. “Okay, that was no fish. Someone’s onto us.”

  Quinn looked toward the bank. To her surprise, a family of otters squirmed onto land, playing. “Oh, I love otters. They’re so—”

  The monster let out a scream that sounded like a woman’s. With a blinding flash, Leshy disappeared.

  Chapter 11

  “You were a Satanist?” Bunny asked. “You look like—”

  “A square?” Higgins smiled. “A dweeb?”

  Bunny made an exaggerated frown. “Hey, you said it.”

  Echo kicked her under the table.

  “I was the kid who collected dinosaur toys. Instead of playing Little League, I took piano lessons. I had home cut bowl style hair and wore a lot of sweater vests. Girls didn’t look at me, guys bullied me. I entered high school as a non-entity. MTV saved me.”

  “MTV?”

  “Well, back when they played videos. I noticed girls really liked Depeche Mode and Erasure, Pet Shop Boys, Howard Jones, New Order—synth bands. Most of them had weird hair, which seemed to be even more of an attraction. I could play music, so I started a band.

  “Now, despite the girls being into synth pop, the reality of those times was that no one wanted to hear covers of Duran Duran—they wanted to hear covers of metal bands. So I learned to play ‘Mr. Crowley,’ ‘The Final Countdown,’ ‘Burnin’ for You—'”

  “Wait, those are songs, right?” Bunny asked.

  Echo cast as much shade as she could, hoping she would shut up.

  “Over time, we grew big hair, wore studded leather jackets, the whole ’80s thing.”

  “Spandex pants?”

  Echo felt mortified. Why didn’t she leave Bunny at school? But Gary laughed.

  “No, no spandex in Jamestown. We figured we’d get beaten up. Funny thing is, we got beat up anyway. The bands I was in were popular, we played after-school dances, parties, wherever we could. We all dated girls, even scrawny Gary Higgins.” His face lit up with a
nostalgic smile, but it quickly faded. “Then, in my senior year, things changed. Three guys from the football team shoved me up against the lockers one day. I figured I was flirting with someone’s girlfriend, or it was the usual, ‘get a haircut, faggot.’ But this was different.”

  Echo leaned forward, pen poised.

  “They said Satanists didn’t belong in Jamestown High.” Gary’s brow wrinkled. “They said they knew I was looking for a virgin to sacrifice. That my friends killed babies. It was so random. I was freaked out, hoped it was a joke. But it wasn’t. At the same time, those three big dudes were freaked out, too. I could see it on their faces.”

  Gary sipped his coffee, gathering his thoughts. Echo wanted to ask a question, but could come up with nothing.

  “Then the phone calls started. We’d get them in the middle of the night. ‘We’re watching you, Satanist, you won’t kill any more babies’ kind of calls. Mom was scared, and Dad got really angry. Not at the callers, but at me. Why was I pretending to be a Satanist? Why did I dress like a punk? He told me to cut my hair, quit the band. The cops started coming to the house. Sorry, Barry, but they weren’t there to take a report. They were accusing me of vandalism, of drawing satanic graffiti, setting fires, fighting. I didn’t do any of that. I was just a kid in a band.”

  “I’ve apologized to you about this before,” Fredrickson said, “but I’m not above doing it again. People were afraid back then, but they didn’t know what to be afraid of. So they picked you, and the people you hung out with.”

  Gary nodded his thanks. “The thing is, the school tried to expel me. This was based on all these random accusations. I’d never committed a crime in my life. I just wanted to meet girls, y’know? Finally, my father turned his anger from me to the school board. He hired a local attorney. The school backed down immediately—they didn’t have anything on me. That changed my life, really. My focus went from music to protecting people from that kind of persecution.”