The Stroke of Midnight: A Supernatural New Year's Anthology
Page 5
A bald spot has begun to spread atop the crown of his head. His beard looks unkempt and his cheeks gaunt.
Anne leans over to whisper to him and his head jerks up. He searches the darkness and I realize that it is me whom he searches for. I step through the hole that opens to allow me room to pass, quickly sealing in behind me once more.
A moan rises from my father's throat as he spots me. His eyes are puffy and reddened. I have not seen my father cry since my mother's deathbed, but tonight he makes no attempt to hide his weakness.
He reaches out for Anne's hand, but she moves swiftly past him with no care or thought. My throat constricts as I see the desperation in my father's face as he glances back toward me, wavering on his feet.
Anger begins to replace my fear as Anne snatches her skirts and approaches. All eyes are on her as Ernest and Samuel pull me to a halt near the center of the circle.
An eerie silence falls over my village. I look from face to face. Most of them I have known since I was a babe. My friend Margaret cannot meet my gaze.
Several faces are unknown to me. The women's hair flows freely over bare shoulders. Their long, full dresses are made of the greens of the forest and blues of the sky. Of violets and yellow butterflies.
Why does no one question these women? They do not belong here. They are not from among us.
One of the women leers back at me with a wolfish grin. Her long, untamed hair is as black as night, a stark contrast to her pale skin. A woman beside her, with a small nose and tight-lipped smile, watches me as if I were her last meal. The glint in her eye makes me shudder as I turn away.
There are six women at best count, mingled among my townspeople, but no one pays them any mind. Am I the only one that can see them? Has Anne poisoned my village's minds so completely?
Anne lifts her skirts to step upon the pyre platform. Her fiery mane of hair flaps about her in the wind, dotted with tiny snowflakes. "You all know why we are here. Damning evidence has been discovered in the home of my own dear daughter, Mary Albright."
She pauses for effect as several heads bob in agreement. "Witchcraft is a serious crime and must be treated as such. This night, during the festival of the new year, we must purge our lands of this blight. It is the only way to avoid certain ruin."
Her voice rings out true and clear as she lifts her hands. I watch as the torchlight grows in size and brilliance about me. My father glances up but instantly casts his gaze back to the ground when he sees me watching him.
His cheeks are ruddy. I cannot tell if it is from the cold or regret.
I straighten my shoulders and call out in a loud yet shaky voice. "You speak as if this were a real trial, Anne. We all know it is not. My fate is sealed, no matter how eloquent your words are."
Anne's blood-red lips curl back into a smile. "Death is not to be taken lightly, Mary. I would never presume to stand in the way if someone here were to wish to speak as a witness for you."
She turns slowly atop the platform, searching each face. Many eyes shift away, unwilling to meet her steely gaze. Others stare back with dispassion and indifference.
I swallow roughly as she turns to face my father. "And you, my love? What have you to say about your eldest daughter's crimes?"
Anger begins to warm my belly as I watch my father's mouth open and close several times, but no words tumble out. I can see his fear, feel his anguish. His eyes are wide with fright as he stares back at his wife, and I realize he is incapable of speaking. She has done something to steal away his voice.
Anne smirks as she turns back to face me. "You see? Not even your own father will rise to your aid."
"I will," a strong voice calls from behind me.
The crowd parts and I strain to look back over my shoulder. My heart plummets to the depths of my stomach as I see Thomas staggering forward. A deep gash has opened over his right eye. His hand clutches his side.
Never before has Thomas looked so wonderful in my eyes. "Go home, Thomas," I whisper as he comes to stand at my side. "I do not wish to see you hurt further."
Ernest shifts beside me, unsure of what he should do. Samuel gives up entirely and releases me to go and stand with his new bride, tucking her under his arm as if to shield her from Anne's sight.
"The words of a man in love are hardly suitable to sway those of guilt. Many of us here know the torment one would experience in the face of the certain death of a loved one." Anne's voice is smooth and laced with eloquent poison.
Thomas releases his side and raises his arm to place it upon my shoulders. I can hear the pain that makes his breath hiss between his teeth. He rises slightly on his right side to compensate for the damage done. "You all know Mary. You watched her toddle about as a young babe, listened to her songs on a summer's day while she picked berries in the fields. She brought you soup when you were sick, made you bread when you were too weak from childbirth to see to your other children."
He pauses as his mounting pain lodges in his throat, making his voice crack. "Mary is a good Christian woman. You have sat beside her each week at church, heard her sweet voice sing the hymns beside you. She is the most kind and generous woman I know. She could never be seduced by black magic."
I watch the murmur that begins to spread through my townspeople. I see nods of agreement and women's tears as they think back to the times I came to their aid. I am no saint, but I did my part to help as often as I could. They did the same for me when my mother passed. It is simply the natural way of life here in Salem.
Anne claps and draws my attention back to her. Her smile is filled with smugness. Thomas's fingers clench tightly around my shoulder.
"A rousing speech to be sure, Thomas, but none of Mary's past actions can atone for the present accusations. The book of spells was found beneath her bed. Do you deny this?"
"I do not deny that they were found there." The whispers fade instantly as everyone turns to stare at Thomas. "But I do contend that the book was not hers. It was placed there."
Anne laughs. She slowly turns, waving her hand toward each of my townspeople. "You accuse these good, hardworking people of doing such a crime?"
"No." Thomas shakes his head. "I accuse you."
I suck in a breath as I watch confusion flit across my father's face and many others surrounding me. Anne's smile freezes and her eyes turn bitter. "False accusations are most unchristian, Thomas Paine."
"That they are." He glares back at her with open enmity. Pride swells in my chest. I know Thomas's words will not be enough to save me from Anne's deceit, but I love him for it.
Anne shifts her gaze to those around her. No doubt she can see the effects of the doubt Thomas has birthed. Clearing her throat, Anne brushes back her wild hair from her face. She nods her head and Thomas drops to ground with a horrid scream. I stumble forward under the force of the blow. When I right myself, I turn to see Albert poised to strike Thomas again.
"Stop!" My cry rises into the night air, silencing everyone. I rise shakily to my feet and glare up at my new mother. "This is what you want? To injure an unarmed man? Thomas has no fault here. Let him go free."
Anne's smile returns. "In exchange for what?"
I glance back at Thomas and feel my heart clench. His face is scrunched up with pain. His leg below his knee is twisted. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Forgive me, Thomas.
I turn away. "I will confess to the crimes you bring against me if you will leave him be."
Thomas cries out as Albert slams his boot down upon his chest one more time. Anger simmers in my chest. My heart thrums wildly in my ears as I glare up at the witch that took my mother's place.
I would like nothing more than to steal that smug smile from her. "You will confess to your use of dark magic?"
"I will confess to your accusation. Nothing more."
Anne glances to the side and I follow her gaze to meet with the raven-haired woman stalking at the back of the group. She paces fiercely back and forth, like a wolf waiting to strike. The woman
nods her consent to Anne.
"Fine. Albert, be so kind as to drag Thomas back to his cabin."
"No!" Thomas fights against Albert's grasp, his eyes wild as he stares at me. "Do not do this. You are innocent."
I lower my gaze. "I know," I whisper.
Hands seize my arms and drag me toward the pyre. I do not fight back, nor do I assist by walking either.
I can still hear Thomas's bellowing screams as the ropes bind me to the tree. They bite into my flesh as the rough bark jabs at my spine. The wood is chilled, still damp from the fallen snow, but I know soon I will long for the cold.
I look out upon my town, counting each cabin, business, and storehouse. I love this place. I love its people.
It is the only home I can remember. As a child, we moved about in search of a place to settle down, but I have little memory of it. Hazy memories that never settle long enough to truly grasp.
As I look toward my home, I am stabbed with an intense longing to see my mother. I suppose I shall soon enough, but I had not hoped it would be like this.
Margaret has tears streaming from her eyes as I look upon her. She clings to her sister and great sobs wrack her petite frame. Her hair falls about her cheeks, tumbling from the white cap that covers her tight bun. "I forgive you," I call to her.
I am unsure if she hears me through her sobs, but I suspect she did because she turns away from me.
I can hear my father's moans from behind me as six men approach at Anne's nod. I look to the sky as the first of the torches dips low to set the kindling alight. The flames thrash about in the winds, threatening to quench the torch, but a flicker of flame births along the first row of kindling.
I dare not watch. My stomach twists at the sounds of crackling from beneath me.
I wish I could see the stars one last time, but clouds have pushed them from sight. Small flecks of snow settle upon my nose as the flames rise along the wood, charring the bark black. The dried cow patties placed beneath the kindling have ignited hot and fast.
Sweat beads along my brow as I fight to focus on the snow overhead. Never before has it looked so beautiful to me. I inhale the strong scent of pine, savoring it. I hear the lowing of farm animals and the small whisper of a child.
"Mary!"
I whip my head around and cry out as I see my little sister tearing toward me, her nightdress flapping madly in the wind behind her. Tears cling to her cheeks as she reaches for me.
Two men rush to stop her, capturing her only scant inches from the flames. She beats against their grasp, screaming my name. I bite my lower lip as it trembles, with regret and something so much deeper: rage.
I roll my head to the side to glare at Anne. "You wretched woman. How could you let her come?"
My new mother's smile is wide and gloating. "It is a lesson she must learn; they all must learn. Witchcraft is a sin and will be punished as such."
Heat begins to brew deep within my soul, even as the flames begin to lick at the bottoms of my feet. I shift against the ropes, straining to move away from the singeing heat.
I can feel the skin on soles of my feet beginning to bubble, melting away calluses and soft flesh. I bite down so hard against my lower lip that blood pools between my teeth, but still I do not cry out. Instead, I stare straight into the eyes of the devil. Anne's smug smile only enflames my rage.
She must pay for this, I vow silently.
She will, a voice whispers back.
I turn my head, searching for the voice that spoke in my ear, but there is nothing beside me. How could there be? The entire platform has erupted in flame.
Time seems to slow as I grasp each tiny moment, locking them into my heart. Will I be able to take these moments with me to heaven?
Is it heaven you seek? Or revenge? the raspy voice calls again. This time I know the voice came from within.
The first of the flames rises to consume my feet, lighting the hem of my underdress. I curl my fingers back against the flesh of the wood, snapping off my nails as I fight against my cries. The snow no longer matters as I writhe against the ropes, nor the smells or the sounds. Only the pain.
I seek revenge! I buck against my restraints as my scream bursts forth, loud and guttural. I can feel the waves of heat licking ever higher on my body, and I pray for death to come swiftly. The scent of my charring flesh drives my townspeople back. What was once stoic expressions of disinterest have shifted to horror.
You can make them pay.
Somewhere in the distance I can hear Thomas's wail and I know he is coming for me. Somehow, I know that he will have bested Albert, perhaps even left him for dead.
He won't get to me in time. Not with his leg twisted and broken. For that I am grateful.
No, I shout silently to the mysterious voice. Just her. Only Anne.
My head lolls to the side as I scream endlessly. The pain is unbearable. The scent of charred hair stings in my nose. I can feel my skin beginning to melt, dripping down what remains of my legs. My blood has been set alight, bubbling within my barely concealed veins.
Never before could I have imagined such pain. Endless, rolling in wave after wave of agony.
I will come for you at the end.
I cling to the whispered words with all the strength I possess. Hope is gone. My life is gone, but revenge… this I can hold on to.
And that is when I hear it… the chanting.
Anne steps before me, as if a ghost escaping from a mist. No one seems to notice the women flocking to her side or hear the words that rise and fall like the tides.
I have never heard this language before. It is fluid and beautiful.
The flames at my feet begin to shift as darkness overtakes them. The vivid oranges and blues blur into obsidian, tipped with brilliant green.
Anne's eyes are no longer the color of normal flame. They are black and lifeless to match the consumed pyre. She raises her hands and the winds begin to rise.
The women part and form a circle around the fire, never ceasing in their chanting. I look past the flames to see my townspeople staring blankly back at me. The tears have dried up. The fear and confusion is gone. They are under Anne's spell.
What are they doing?
Dark magic. They call upon Janus.
My screams rise with the same intensity as the chanting. I look to the heavens and see the clouds begin to swirl overhead. A tornado of snow bursts forth onto the land, encompassing Anne completely. Her hair whips about her face, lashing against her unblinking eyes. Veins begin to appear under her pale flesh, dark like sin.
Are you Janus? It is hard to think, hard to focus on anything beyond the feel of the flames burrowing into the marrow of my bones.
No. I am something more.
Anne's laughter draws back my attention as the fire reaches the neckline of my dress. I stare at her through the flames, my thoughts fragmented by the searing heat eating away at my flesh.
"Janus is pleased." She grins. A black mist seems to drape about her head like a cloak, moving and flowing in the winds.
Help me seek my revenge. My thoughts splinter as the flames consume me. I thrust back my head and shriek as the fire dives into my mouth and incinerates my throat, burrowing deep into my chest. I cannot see. Only feel.
My death swiftly approaches, but I know I am not alone in the flames. I can feel a presence, dark and hungry. It shouts to me now, calling me forth.
Dark interloper, heed my call. Purge the land of all impurity.
"What is happening?" a frantic voice cries out as the winds begin to shift. A rain of ice falls from the sky. Screams rise around me, but I am immune to them.
The pain is gone. I no longer feel the flames consuming me.
"Hold the course," I hear Anne scream, but there is terror in her voice now.
Come to me, the voice whispers in my ear with great intimacy, as if summoning a lover.
I obey, if only to be free.
"You fool!" A woman's gravelly voice rises above the crackling of the
blaze as I feel myself separate from my earthly body. "She was of pure heart!"
I rise above the flames, looking down upon my charred remains. There is no part of me that can be recognized. My flesh is gone, my bones crumbling. I can smell the acrid scent of death in the air, see whimpering children clinging to their mother's skirt as they wake from their daze.
The obsidian flames twist about my former body, spiraling high into the sky. Anne's stricken eyes make rise to look upon my new form. I am no longer bound to this earth but have become a spirit cloaked in shadow. Hunger and rage merge as I stare down at my tormentor.
Feast upon her unholy flesh, the voice commands. Have your revenge.
I smile.
"You summoned a wraith!" The cry sends the circle of witches fleeing. Anne's mouth hangs open wide as the whispers call to me.
It is time.
"No!" Anne shrieks as she holds her hands aloft to protect herself.
With hardly a thought, I dive for my new mother, my fingers curled into deadly claws, eager to sate my hunger.
You thought you knew the truth behind the Salem Witch Trials, but you were wrong. Many innocents were burned at the stake, just like me. The witches lived on.
I will find them and I will consume them.
And when it is time… I will come for you.
Suffering
A Demon Legacy Short Story
J.M. Gregoire
"Pure and weak, I suffer when I dream.
Cleansed of me, I suffer when I dream.
'Cause I want you to stay, you take the pain away.
I want you to stay. I need you here to keep me sane."
Seether, Take Me Away
It is New Year's Eve, and rather than being curled up on the couch with Dez watching the Times Square ball drop, I am walking into my penthouse covered in blood. Following a visit to Onyx to check on things at the club, I tracked a demon halfway across New York City. Thanks to a carjacking I stumbled across, I got sidetracked and had to find the demon all over again. When I followed the scent, the demon was waiting for me, hidden high up in an alleyway with a broken beer bottle in hand. As skilled a fighter as I may be, the demon managed to take me by surprise, jumping down from the roof of one of the buildings. In a flurry of motion, the demon knocked me to the ground, kicked the gleaming chrome Desert Eagle out of my hand, and with one boot-clad foot on my throat, used the jagged edge of the brown glass bottle to slash across my stomach, ruining my three hundred dollar shirt in the process.