by Oakes, Tara
Something deep below some unknown level of consciousness in my being screams to run, to get out of here. I hear a noise. I stiffen from fright.
This can’t be it. This can’t be the end. I hear the noise again. Another twig snapping. It’s getting closer, whatever it is that haunts me.
I scream at the next snapping sound. I close my eyes tight, speaking calming words to myself. Words that are probably futile but nonetheless must be said.
I remember Mamia Magda. I remember her words. “You must remember the song.”
The wind passes by again, carrying the long lost voice from before.
“Remember.”
A strong resolve sets in. I will not let this happen.
I open my eyes, adjusting them to the darkness and piercing the space around me. I breathe deep and say the first thing that comes to mind.
“I will remember.”
The taper candle in hand, long extinguished, ignites itself, lighting a dim path ahead of me.
CHAPTER SIX
The phone miraculously comes to life and I quickly hit the call button, the phone dialing the last entered number from its memory.
Two rings. That’s all it took.
“Amelia? What’s wrong?” he asks.
I stand with the bushes behind me, afraid to step forth. “I-I’m sorry to call you so late.”
“Don’t be sorry. Just tell me what’s wrong.”
I hold the candle out before me. Somehow the protection the light casts in a circle around me is felt. As long as I have this light, I’m safe, I tell myself.
“I-I don’t exactly know what happened. I’m standing in the middle of the old cemetery and I’m scared.”
I hear a bustling sound from his end. “Don’t move. I’ll be right there. I- It’ll take me no more than five minutes.”
I breathe a breath of relief. He’s coming. I won’t be alone for much longer. “Will- can you stay on the phone with me? Please? It’s helping.”
He’s winded. “I’ll stay on the line. I’m leaving the house now. Moose, truck, now.” I hear him command to somewhere other than the phone receiver.
“You’re bringing your dog?” The happy thought gives me a moment’s respite from my situation.
“We’re already driving.”
Oh, thank God. I know he said he lived on the other side of town, I wonder how long it will take him. Another branch snaps and I yelp.
“What was that?” he asks, worried.
My hand is shaking now… the candle with it. “I-I don’t know. I can’t see anything. But I keep hearing something.”
I can actually hear his engine revving faster through the phone. He’s gunning it, for sure.
“Listen to me, Leah. Close your eyes.”
Is he crazy? The last thing I want to do right now is close my eyes. If someone comes at me, I need to see it.
“Will, I don’t want to close my eyes.”
“I know, baby. Just… trust me, okay? Close your eyes and breathe slow.”
Something in his voice is honest, soothing. I believe he would never hurt me. I don’t know how I know that given I just met him all of two days ago, but somehow I know it. I begin to sob slowly and close my eyes.
“Have you ever seen the Buddhists chant?” he asks. He must be trying to distract me from the thoughts carrying away with me. “A low, even chant? Try it. Slow and steady.”
I feel a tear roll down my cheek followed by another on the other side. I do as he asks and hum deeply. I half expect to hear him laugh through the phone, but he doesn’t.
“Now repeat after me. Project your voice strong and steady, Leah, okay?”
I swallow hard, willing my voice not to shake. “Okay.”
“I am one with the night,” he speaks
I answer, “I am one with the night.”
“I am one with the light,” his next verse.
I swallow again. “I am one with the light.” And this is how it goes, until the last verse.
“But in the dark…”
You’ll see my mark.
Stay at bay,
Or see not another day.
For if you come near,
And cross in this sphere,
The death will be slow,
And your body with glow.”
He pauses. “Now open your eyes, Leah.”
I open them, and see the light cast from my candle increased ten fold, illuminating a perfect circle around me. I’m speechless. Could it just be a trick of my eyes? Some manipulation of some sort from the dark?
“I think it worked,” I inform Will. “I don’t hear any sounds.”
He breathes across the receiver, the sound crackles in my ear. “Good. I’m turning the corner now.”
I hear a loud engine, and tires screeching, followed by the tight squeaking of brakes suddenly stopping. I can’t see anything beyond my cocoon of light, but I hear a car door slam and a dog barking in the distance.
That must be him. He’s here. He really came.
The barking grows louder as the dog grows closer. It stops about two feet away. Several more barks are let out, but he won’t come to me for some reason.
“Leah, I’m here. It’s all right now.” Will’s voice breaks into my circle now, but I can’t see him either.
“Where are you? I can’t see you,” I call out in all directions, unsure where he is. The dog barks again and again. It sounds so close, I could reach out and touch him but he’s nowhere to be seen.
“Blow out the candle, Leah. You’ll see me then.”
I look down at my candle. I remember the words of the chant. This light is what’s keeping me safe. I don’t want to blow it out.
“Will, I can’t blow it out!” I shout out to be heard.
The dog barks again. “Yes you can. I’m right here. It’s over. Trust me.”
Trust him. He asked me to trust him before and he kept true to his word. I trust him again. I blow out the candle.
My eyes are blinded momentarily, like walking out of a bright room into the darkest of night. I may not be able to see him, but now I feel him.
He scoops me up into his arms holding tight. I drop my candle and phone and hold tighter. His size is large enough that I’m lifted from the ground, my toes dangling just above the earth.
His mouth is near my ear. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”
I close my eyes and nuzzle into his neck. I make myself believe it. I’m safe now.
I feel paws jumping up against my leg, bouncing back and forth between Will and me. There’s no more barking, but now I hear the heavy panting of the dog.
Will holds on, smoothing his hand over my hair. Once I’m placed back on solid footing, he holds me out to inspect me.
“Are you okay?” He’s truly worried.
I nod my head up and down. “I’m fine.”
His hands cup my face, eyes boring into mine to detect the slightest untruth.
“I am, really. I’m fine now. I just got separated from my tour group, and then I wandered over here and saw this gravestone. My candle went out and then I started hearing noises,” I explain. It sounds so much less horrifying when I retell the story. Was I over reacting?
“Gravestone?” he asks. “What gravestone? Leah, the cemetery is thirty yards that way,” he points. “This area’s just a patchy field.”
I look at him like he has two heads. “No. This gravestone.” I turn to show him the marker that’s behind me. The one from his story. He follows my pointed finger with his heavy duty flashlight, but it does nothing but cast light onto solid ground. There’s no stone, there’s no inscription, no candle perched on top. Nothing but weeds.
“I- I don’t understand. It was here. I swear it was here.” I whip my head around sharply to him, to convey my sincerity. “It had her name on it.”
His eyebrows are scrunched together. He’s deep in thought. “Her who? Who’s name did it have on it?”
“Marcelle de les Songe,” I answer.
&nb
sp; His face turns pale. Moose barks. Then again.
“Let’s get out of here. Get you some place warm.” His arm snakes around my side moving us away from the space in question and in the direction of his nearby truck.
I glance back over my shoulder at the empty space.
What the hell is going on here?
~*~
“You sure about this?” he asks.
I snuggle myself up in the blanket, inching closer to the fireplace. I nod to him. Moose rests his paw on my knee, nudging his nose into me to continue scratching behind his ears.
Once I had finally gotten ahold of Nina and Courtney, they offered to leave the tour early and come meet me. They had no idea I was even gone, thinking I was just lagging behind the group, caught up in the history of the sights they were being shown.
The last thing I wanted tonight was a bunch of fuss or to be alone in a hotel room with nothing but my runaway thoughts, so I accepted Will’s invitation to head back to his place to settle down a bit. Truth be told, I had many questions and my best shot at some answers was Will.
It’s nearing one in the morning. Will’s house is peacefully quiet. I sit and watch the fire and find that is has a calming effect on me. The crackling and popping of the wood is mesmerizing.
“Here. This will help settle your nerves.” He hands me a small crystal tumbler with a shallow amount of caramel colored liquor.
I take the drink from him. “Liquid courage?”
He laughs and clinks his glass to mine. “Bottoms up.”
Moose grunts at the movement I make, it clearly disturbs his slumber.
“Sorry, boy.” I resume my scratching of his ears and he quickly settles.
Will takes a seat next to me on the couch, picking up the corner of the fallen blanket and drapes it over me. He’s been watching me like a hawk since we got here about fifteen minutes ago, waiting for me to either get all “damsel in distress” on him from my ordeal, or to further prove that I’ve lost my mind and flip out.
To tell you the truth, I’m not exactly sure myself where I fit on that spectrum.
“You want to talk about it?” he asks.
He’s been careful not to ask any questions yet. In the ride over here, he just held me as I shook from the shock of it. Once we got to his place, he quickly set about making me comfortable.
The only time he left my side was when he went to fix me a drink. Moose kept watch, though, taking his place.
The fire is bright, offering a soft light for our conversation.
“Part of me does. Part of wants to forget it.”
He sips his drink, eyes flickering with reflection from the flames nearby.
“Those words you told me. The ones I repeated… what were they?” I ask my first of many questions.
He bites his lip. “Did they make you feel safe?”
I think back to the moment I said them aloud, the moments after. “I think they did. Where did you learn them?”
He smooths his hand over my hair. It must be a mess from all the commotion.
“An old friend told them to me once. I remembered they made me feel safe. I was hoping they’d do the same for you.”
I nuzzle my cheek into his palm and bravely rest my lips against the heel of his hand, kissing lightly. “Thanks for coming to get me.”
He watches my lips work on his flesh. “Thanks for calling me.”
Will leans forward swooping his lips over and around mine. He licks his lips almost immediately before they touch mine, softly pulling me into a long kiss. He shifts, situating himself closer.
Moose isn’t happy about the movement and rolls off the couch, splaying out on the floor near the fire instead where he can lay undisturbed.
“Will,” I ask as his lips go to work on my neck.
“Mmhmm?” he asks. The deep vibration his sounds make on my flesh sends a deep jolt. I feel my skin break out in tiny bumps from it.
“The grave.” I press my neck into his mouth, urging him to kiss deeper. I’m torn. I want answers, but I don’t want him to stop to give them to me.
“I know I saw the grave. And it wasn’t just any grave. It was her grave. That can’t be a coincidence. Tell me the rest of the story.”
His lips pause in their movement. He sits back, eyes searching mine.
“When I heard how scared you were, panicked… I thought the worst. I just found you and I thought that something was happening that would take you from me.”
The intensity of his words are profound. They take me off guard actually. I’m more attracted to him than I’ve ever felt for anyone. I see beautiful things in him. But to hear him say these things to me is overwhelming. I feel the need to change the subject back to my question.
“What could take me? When I told you the name I saw on the grave… I saw fear on your face. You’re probably the--” my eyes dart to the bulging muscles of his arms, sleekly showing themselves through his thermal shirt, “--strongest man I’ve ever met. If something has the ability to scare you, then I’m curious to know what that is.”
He exhales deeply. “It’s not her that scares me.”
I reach forward and take his warm, lightly calloused hand in mine, stroking the blue lines that adorn it.
“She loved her daughter. She even loved the daughter she had given up, from afar. Where the one daughter lived simply, honestly… her twin was spoiled by Malcolm and his wife. She was very similar to her father, selfish in ways. It wasn’t all her fault. He raised her that way.”
Will lifts my hand, kisses it and pulls me in close to him. I throw my legs up on the sofa, raising the plaid woven blanket to cover us both as we lie down and watch the fire.
I rest my head on his chest, the strong beating is music to my ears.
I can hear the fatigue in his voice as he continues. “Malcolm saw opportunity. He knew that both his daughters possessed magic by birthright. There’s more than one type of magic. Some are more powerful than others. A person can learn magic, how to harness the forces of nature. But others are born with it. Malcolm wasn’t. But with true-born witches as daughters, he saw potential to one day claim the power of the Triad to be shared among them. With him able to steer them, he thought he’d be able to control their power as well.”
I find myself slipping, matching his breathing. The thick sweatpants he wears wrap around my legs as we adjust ourselves to share the same space. I use a feather light touch to place my hand near my head on his chest, the hardness beneath his shirt tempts me to explore under it but I resist. I think he likes my gentle touch because I feel him hiss when I move about, tracing the hard indentations of his muscles.
“Marcelle wanted nothing more than to please him, and he used that to his advantage, manipulated her with it. He left her in charge of her daughter’s education in magic. Her slave Josephine helped in the lessons. Malcolm’s daughter was taught in a different way. He couldn’t risk his wife finding out about his talents. He had seen hysteria in France as well as England and knew what could happen if someone was accused of witchcraft. So, he concocted a different way for her to learn the ways.”
I close my eyes, his voice hypnotizes me.
“Josephine was friendly with one of the other slaves in town. Tituba, the Reverend Samuel Paris’s slave. Tituba was from Barbados whereas Josephine was from Africa. Both came from people who regarded magic seriously and knew the ways of healers and Shaman. He bartered certain things with those women, an exchange of services so to speak, for teaching their ways to his daughter. They entered his service, his coven, and did his bidding.”
“The two daughters grew up as schoolmates but had nothing more in common. They were both beautiful but shared no sisterly similarities. Malcolm’s daughter grew jealous of the witch’s daughter who was kind and generous although she had no worldly goods of her own. There was a boy who fell madly in love with the witch’s daughter. Malcolm’s daughter also had love for the boy but he only saw her as a friend. This further drove a wedge between the girls.�
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I feel myself on the edge of sleep.
“After many months, the boy convinced the witch’s daughter to marry him, to join with him forever. This was in the midst of the hysteria that had taken hold of the town. Josephine and Tituba had found popularity of sorts with their magic lessons. Malcolm’s daughter had invited some of her friends to join in the rituals. One of the new students was the Revered Paris’s own daughter Betty.
“The boy knew of the power the witch’s daughter possessed but he also knew she was not like the others. She took no part in their selfish magic. Most of the victims that were caught up in the accusations were innocent. The motivations were either personal or political. Decades-old vendettas were settled by accusing the person who wronged another years before. It was the worst kind of retribution. Land, property, money… they were the real motivators behind the accusations. For anyone who was convicted of witchcraft forfeited all rights to their homesteads. Their heirs lost legal claim as well.”
I can hear Moose breathing deeply in his sleep by the fire.
“The townspeople were beginning to see the farce for what it really was. Malcolm had done his best to shield his coven from reproach, but even he grew nervous that they would be touched by the frenzy. He left for Boston to use his wealth and clout to help secure a legal end to the trials. While he was gone, the witch’s daughter was accused. The judges, mainly Judge Hathorne, had become crazed themselves. They believed they were purging their flock. But, they knew that the end was coming, that they would be stopped from serving the justice they wrongfully believed they were charged by God to uphold.”
Will’s hand snakes under the blanket, where my sweatshirt had bunched up. His large fingers splay out over my flesh, and I feel safer than I ever have before.
“When the witch’s daughter was accused, they moved fast to render a conviction before they could be interrupted. They ordered a hanging to be carried out the next morning. That night, the boy had used a year’s worth of wages to bribe the bailiff to allow him to visit the witch’s daughter with a priest. He had convinced the bailiff he was there to grant final absolution to the prisoner before her death. The priest secretly married them that night, right there in the dark, dank holding cell.”