Season of the Witch

by David L. Golemon

  “I’m sorry, you have to have a clearance pass from security inside the main terminal. Get that and I’ll allow you through.”

  The old woman, Elsbeth Barlow, watched from the passenger seat as her driver made as if he had misplaced his pass. Elsbeth became bored at the situation, and with a small glance into the backseat to make sure the small green alien was covered completely with the blanket, she leaned forward to make eye contact with the uniformed security guard.

  “Young man, we have a plane ready for us. Now, I be afraid of flying and this delay isn’t helping. As you can see, I’m not the only elderly person in this vehicle,” she turned her head indicating Charlie Ellenshaw who sat silently with a reassuring hand on the covered Matchstick Man.

  “Ma’am, as I was saying, you have to have clearance to get into the private aircraft area.” He looked closer at the shabbiness of the occupants and then looked up at the line of battered and rusted automobiles behind the first and knew these people didn’t belong. “Now, you yokels don’t look like you belong here, so why you turn yourself and these other cars around and head back to the hood?”

  “Who you be calling a yokel?” the large man behind the wheel asked as he started to go for the door handle. Elsbeth placed her old and wrinkled hand on the man’s arm and he relaxed.

  “No call to be rude,” she said as Charlie Ellenshaw winced in the backseat.

  “I think you should just allow us to pass,” Ellenshaw said.

  “Okay, playtime’s over. Get these cars moving or I’ll call for assistance.”

  “Warned you,” Charlie said as he slumped lower in the seat making sure Matchstick was covered well.

  As the security man watched, Elsbeth placed a package of butterscotch pudding cups she had been opening on the seat next to her and raised her right hand toward the guard. Suddenly his head slammed forward into the doorjamb of the station wagon. He rebounded like a basketball bouncing off a backboard and went flying backward into the guard shack as the sliding door slammed closed.

  “Oh, man, you got a way about you Granny, I swear you do,” the driver said as he laughed.

  “I hope I didn’t hurt the boy too bad,” Elsbeth said as she peeled the aluminum lid off one of her pudding cups. She turned and offered it to Charlie who just shook his head from side to side quickly with his eyes wide behind his wire-rimmed glasses.

  The driver looked through his window and the glass of the shack. He saw the guard’s booted feet propped against a desk where he had landed. They twitched and then became still.

  “Nah, he ain’t hurt none too much Granny. Wake up with a powerful headache though.”

  “Well, I’m not for puttin’ up with insultin’ folk like that young man. Yokels indeed. He won’t remember a thing other than he bumped his head some.” She took a plastic spoon full of pudding and put it in her mouth. Then with the spoon outstretched she waved it through the windshield. The gate magically swung up. The cars drove through.

  They drove directly onto the taxiway. Charlie Ellenshaw was wondering what they were up to when he saw the sparkling, new, Boeing 737 waiting with boarding ramp already at the door. The station wagon and other cars parked. Elsbeth Barlow tossed the empty pudding cup into a trash bag dangling from one of the radio knobs and then turned to the driver.

  “Now, them fellas out in the desert are no fools. Won’t take ‘em long to know what to look for. Get the folks back east after you split up. Go separate routes. That evil bastard will eventually start getting’ an idea where we are at anyways. So be watchful.”

  “Yes, em.”

  She turned and looked at Charlie Ellenshaw. “You ain’t feared of flyin’ are ya beanpole?”

  Crazy Charlie looked from Elsbeth to the shiny new Boeing aircraft, confused as never before. He saw the female pilot walk to the door and wave at the cars on the ramp and saw arms poke from windows in a return wave. Ellenshaw just shook his head negative and watched as the crazed, white-haired lady cackled.

  “How ‘bout you, Matchstick, you ‘fraid of getting’ in the air with old Granny?”

  Matchstick popped his head from where he had been hidden under the blanket. He saw the plane and he just looked at Elsbeth while blinking his eyes. Elsbeth shook her head and cackled again.

  “I’m not sure if I’ll ever get used to your eyelids slidin’ in from the sides of that lightbulb shaped head of yorn.” She cackled laughter again and Charlie and Matchstick both exchanged worried looks.

  “Well, let’s get goin back to old Massachusetts. Fuel for that plane is costing me dearly. Sorry I ever bought it. Only used it this once.”

  “Is this your aircraft?” Charlie asked, amazed that someone who looked as if she couldn’t rub two nickels together could actually own a huge airplane like the Boeing.

  “What did you ‘spect skinny, me ridin’ a broomstick?” Again, the cackle as she opened her door and got out of the battered Ford. Charlie and Matchstick watched as the female pilot came down the rolling stairs and hugged the old woman.

  Ellenshaw turned to Matchstick.

  “And I thought you digging yourself out of that grave was the strangest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  * * *

  Ten minutes later Charlie Ellenshaw, the Matchstick Man and Elsbeth Barlow were streaking toward Salem.

  Chapter Seven

  Event Group Complex,

  Nellis Air Force Base, Nevada

  Most members of the Event Group never ventured down into the realm of the Cryptozoology Department on level eighty-seven. With a staff of only fifteen men and women, Charles Hindershot Ellenshaw III kept the strange club as exclusive as he could. The main reason for this was that most of the sciences on staff still believed the entire department was a joke regardless of how many of the theories expounded by ‘Crazy Charlie’ had been proven by their own sciences to be just more than correct. Now, since the abduction of Professor Ellenshaw, the limited staff saw the dark chambers of their work environment even darker than normal.

  Major Anya Korvesky was far more depressed than the young men and women around her as she and them created a search plan going on her theory that Director Niles Compton seemed to dismiss out of hand because of the subject matter—the Witch Queen, Elsbeth Barlow. Thus far Niles had her on the subject because when Xavier Morales ran Barlow’s profile in Europa, not even the Cray supercomputer could find any official accounting of her actual existence.

  “Major, I don’t want to get on your bad side here, but Professor Ellenshaw always demanded we look at any outrageous theory with a dose of skepticism before we even begin,” said Ellenshaw’s long-time confidant, Lisa Ingram, a female anthropology major from the University of Maine at Orino.

  Anya laid down her pen, frustrated that she couldn’t delve right into the subject, but then again, she realized these people had learned the hard way not to allow personal feelings to get in the way of actual scientific research.

  “Please, never be afraid to speak up if you think I’m going down a path here that someone disagrees with. I’ve been around Charlie long enough to know how thorough he is.”

  “Well, is it possible your grandmother in Romania was only passing on an old legend? I’ve read your grandmother’s file. We know she was the Gypsy Queen in Europe, but may I ask Major, did you believe her?” Ingram asked, hoping she didn’t offend the Israeli intelligence officer.

  “I always took my Grandmother’s tales with a sensible dose of skepticism growing up. But when it came to the occult, yes, she has been proven more right than wrong. I did believe her. Perhaps it was when she spoke about Elsbeth Barlow of America, there was a reverence as if she wasn’t telling us about a legend but telling us about a life that she actually witnessed.”

  “Excuse me,” said Jake Witherspoon, a boy with glasses so thick they could have been used for a window in a pressurized submarine, “are you saying your Grandmother knew this woman?”

  “I can’t say that. Frankly the story was so unbelievable at the time I did
n’t think about it twice.” Anya stood and paced Charlie’s office.

  “Europa is the best at finding people. Yet she has not found one historical reference in regard to even a legend or old wives’ tale concerning an Elsbeth Barlow,” said Lisa Ingram.

  “Although I proclaim it from time to time, perpetuating a myth began by your old friend Pete Golding, Europa has never been infallible.”

  The members of the crypto team turned and just inside the door was Doctor Xavier Morales in his backless wheelchair and alongside him was Carl Everett. How long they had been there was anyone’s guess.

  “Captain, Doctor, sorry we didn’t hear you come in. We’re not used to visitors down in the dungeon,” Lisa Ingram said.

  “What are you saying Xavier?” Anya said as she exchanged looks with Carl. This was the first she had seen him since her reprimand and had started to wonder if he shared the same opinion as the Director of her duplicity in Charlie’s kidnapping. “Are you saying you believe me?”

  Doctor Morales used his strong arms to wheel over to the center of the room. His eyes wandered over jars filled with the strangest animal specimens he had ever seen. It reminded him of old Universal black and white movie props. To his brilliant mind it was a tad off-putting.

  “No, I don’t particularly have any reason to believe a non-eyewitness account, especially when Europa can’t find any reference to Elsbeth Barlow. However, Director Compton does believe you. He sent us as sort of a peace offering. Captain, please explain.” Xavier’s words dwindled away as his eyes caught sight of the hand and forearm of the creature specimen that was found in the Amazon rainforest twelve years before.

  “You, Alice, Virginia and Sergeant Sanchez aren’t in trouble for your actions, although an official reprimand has been placed in your files for disregarding Niles’ orders, not suspensions or retirement has officially been ordered.”

  Anya stared at Carl. “In English, please.”

  “Your faces have been exposed to this Congressman’s, excuse the term here, witch hunt. Niles had to get you officially off any active roster so if the President is confronted with your faces or names, he can honestly say he has no knowledge of you and the others ever being on a government payroll. It’s called—,”

  “Plausible deniability,” Lisa Ingram finished for the Captain.

  “Right.” Everett walked up to Anya and smiled at her. “I guess you can say Niles has offered up Xavier here as a peace offering. He’s here to help you find your elusive witch queen,” Carl turned to leave. He couldn’t help dig at the men and women looking at his retreating form. He stopped. “So, I’ll leave you to it. It’s too damn weird down here for me. Its like the old mall store, Spencer’s Gifts, only stranger. Get some blacklight posters down here or something people.”

  They watched the naval Captain leave the room.

  Xavier, his eyes still on the weird display of extinct creatures or animals that legend says couldn’t exist residing in their specimen containers, shook his head and clapped his hands.

  “Well, shall we get started?” Morales rolled over to the computer terminal and brought the mic down to his level. “Europa?”

  “Yes, Doctor,” she said, her Marilyn Monroe voice coming through loud and clear.

  “We have some people here that think you’re wrong about the existence of Elsbeth Barlow.”

  “Is that right?”

  “That’s right Europa,” Xavier said with a smirk while looking at the men and women of crypto who couldn’t believe Europa actually sounded indignant.

  “Then Doctor, shall we prove it one way or the other?”

  “Indeed.”

  * * *

  Mystery Deep, Exploratory Well # 3,

  sixty-eight miles off the coast of Louisiana

  Dmitri Sokol watched as the video link was completed. The face that began to appear was one he recognized immediately—Number Seven. He noticed immediately that the man in charge of the Congressman Briggs team was on an aircraft. The shaking of his surroundings explained in no uncertain terms that it was also a Russian military plane. Sokol wanted to smile for the way these men constantly underestimated his intelligence.

  “Number Seven. How nice of you to contact me to check on how my meeting went with the American asset you have worked so hard on. I admit you were right—he will be a most useful fool in acquiring eventual American cooperation in Russian expansion in the future. Tell me, is Number One available, I would like to also submit my report to him.”

  Number Seven made a foolish show of turning and looking around as if he were actually in Siberia. “No, I’m afraid he conducting business elsewhere at the moment, I just wanted to relay the content of a most disturbing phone call I received from the Chief of Staff of the Congressman. He said you had a rather aggressive plan that does not coincide with what we have discussed at the Presidium of merely exposing this American Group. Is it true that you may have another direction you wish to venture down?”

  Sokol, again wanted to laugh at the amateurish way Number Seven approached the subject of his betraying the committee. He really didn’t care as he already knew he himself had been betrayed by his own assistant, Vexilla Trotsky, and that Briggs would go directly to the committee superiors after his meeting on Mystery Deep. The delay in their response time to his treason would be the committee’s very undoing.

  “Mr. Briggs is mistaken, my friend. All I wanted from him was more extensive cooperation if I am to assist Number One in exposing this Group. The material delivered by the good Congressman fell well short of the extensive list of people we need. I merely informed him. I may have bluffed some on the extent of our displeasure, but that is all. Inform Number One that everything is well in hand. I will of course reach out to the useful American fool and calm his nerves.”

  “Yes, that would be appropriate. I’ll immediately inform Number One of the misunderstanding. I have a personal meeting with him in five minutes. Rest assured my friend—I will handle everything.”

  “Thank you, Number Seven.”

  The monitor clicked off.

  Dmitri Sokol looked over at Vexilla Trotsky. She was bound hand a foot to an ornate chair in his office. He smiled at her as the Grey stood over her menacingly. It had been the Grey that had informed him of Vexilla’s treacherous call to Siberia.

  “It seems we have to advance our plans somewhat. I didn’t actually think Number One would have the balls to come at me so soon. But Number Seven is obviously onboard an IIyushin-Il-476, jet transport and also needless to say has a commando team in his accompaniment.” Sokol looked at his watch. He hit an intercom switch on his desk. “Captain Tomsky prepare your men for an air assault on Mystery Deep. Time frame within the hour. If I know my superiors, prepare for a maximum effort by Lieutenant Colonel Petrolovich and the 15th Special Guards Brigade. Plan accordingly.”

  Sokol stood and walked to where Vexilla sat with tape over her mouth. He again smiled down at her. “Now the game truly begins.” He looked at Asmodius the Grey. “The three ladies on the list provided by Congressman Briggs, you can begin.” He turned as the Grey became excited. “Your choice of which. Just one of them for now until you prove to me your long-distance abilities.”

  The Grey spit in anger at only being allowed the one target. It angrily stomped from Sokol’s office.

  The Russian turned and watched the automatic door slide closed. He looked at a bound and frightened Vexilla.

  “That is what is so encouraging about our new friend. He is very excitable about performing his duty.”

  * * *

  Logan International Airport,

  Boston, Massachusetts

  The large Boeing 737 eased slowly into the private hangar on Logan’s north field. As Charles Hindershot Ellenshaw III and a sleepy-eyed Matchstick were taken from the aircraft by two very large and better dressed men than those in Nevada, Elsbeth Barlow continued to face out of the window. Her eyes were closed. She wasn’t aware she had been approached by the pilot of the Boein
g plane. She reached out and gently nudged the old woman.

  “Granny, we’ve landed. Your guests have already been taken to the cars. Your escort is ready.”

  Elsbeth Barlow didn’t move. The pilot threw her captain’s cap to the left-hand seat and then again, gently touched the old woman’s cheek. She let out a sigh of relief when she felt the old woman still breathing. But then her relief faded when her own mental abilities picked up on a vibe that came from the far-off mind of Elsbeth. That was when the female pilot realized the old lady was off on a trip of her own and unlike the private jet, had yet to land.

  The pilot reeled backward when Elsbeth sat straight up as if waking from an intense nightmare. Her eyes were wide, and her entire body was shaking.

  “My God, what is it?” the pilot asked, quickly sitting in the vacant seat next to Elsbeth.

  “It is calling itself Asmodius now.” The old woman looked at the pilot with wild eyes. “It’s going to attack someone. I feel it.”

  “What do we do?” the younger woman asked as she gestured for her co-pilot to assist.

  “Take skinny and Matchstick to the compound. I need to be alone. Seal up this flying bucket of bolts. You and the others stay clear of what’s goin’ to happen. This could backfire and send that evil bastard right to me.”

  “Granny, maybe we can—,”

  “Go child, it’s moving closer to its prey!”

  * * *

  North Flamingo Road,

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  Virginia Pollock closed her cell phone. She half-heartedly smiled at Alice Hamilton as they both sat at Alice’s kitchen table.

  “That damn Niles just said for us not to worry and that things aren’t the way they seem. He said he will come over and personally see us to explain.”