“Naomi did my makeup. Can you believe it?” Holland added, careful to not mention a word about Jarrett Sloan. “She has this sudden interest in fashion and beauty, and she knows what she’s doing.”
“With Naomi’s head for science and chemistry, I wouldn’t be surprised if one day she developed her own line of beauty products.”
“She’s thinking about becoming a makeup artist, but developing cosmetics seems like a much better career choice for someone as smart as Naomi.”
Nodding, Holland’s mother took a sip of tea. “Oh, guess what? I got a call from a woman that I met in the grocery store. She booked a money attraction spell.”
“Is she coming here?” Holland asked anxiously. It was bad enough that her mother dealt with kooks online, but bringing them to their home was a bit much.
“Yes, she’s coming over at ten o’clock tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“If business takes off the way I hope, I’ll probably put up a wall and add a door. You, know, partition off a section of my workroom and use it as a private consultation area.”
“Oh, great, now we’re gonna have weirdoes showing up at our front door,” Holland said sarcastically.
“Witchcraft is my passion, hon. Being able to make money while helping people is an extra bonus. Be happy for me.”
Holland made an exaggerated, pained expression. She and her mother broke into peals of laughter. She kissed Phoebe on the cheek. “I’m happy for you, Mom.”
“Thanks, hon.” Phoebe returned her gaze to the computer screen. “Your dinner’s in the microwave,” she said absently.
“What’s for dinner?”
“Your fave,” her mother answered.
Holland glanced in the direction of the microwave. Without looking inside, she knew that she’d find pre-packed chicken strips and other frozen food that her mother had hastily slapped on a plate. Phoebe wasn’t much in the cooking department. Holland hadn’t actually considered chicken strips as her fave food since elementary school. But she didn’t complain. Her mother meant well.
All of a sudden, the microwave began beep-beeping without pause. A series of random numbers began flashing on the display screen.
“What on earth?” Phoebe frowned in the direction of the microwave.
Holland shrugged. She pushed the END button, but the racket continued as if an invisible finger were poking the number pad without cessation. She opened the microwave door, but that didn’t stop the commotion.
“The microwave is going crazy—acting like it’s possessed,” Holland complained.
“Unplug it,” Phoebe suggested.
Holland yanked the plug out of the socket. She waited a few seconds, and then plugged it back in.
The microwave was soundless. No longer alit with flashing numbers, the screen displayed the correct time.
Holland shook her head. “That was creepy.”
“The spirit world loves to play around with electricity,” her mother commented. “Someone’s trying to get a message to you, Holland. Maybe it’s your dad.”
“Dad would never pull a prank like that. I think the microwave is on its last legs, and that malfunction was a warning that we need to start looking for a replacement,” Holland said logically.
Phoebe nodded in acceptance, and returned her gaze to the computer screen. Then she looked up, her face taking on a troubled expression. “Something odd happened today . . . while I was chanting.”
“Oh, yeah? What happened?” Holland asked as she examined the plate inside the microwave. She wrinkled her nose at the sad-looking meal: pallid-looking chicken strips, a few wilted broccoli spears, and congealed macaroni and cheese.
“Well, as you know, chanting puts me in a sort of trance-like state—a connection to spirits. I suddenly felt your presence in the room . . .”
“Oh! There’s an explanation for that. I came in your workroom because I wanted to show you what I’d done with my hair, but when I saw that you were chanting, I decided not to disturb you.”
“Uh-huh,” her mother said with her brows furrowed thoughtfully. “But for those few moments that you were standing there, I literally felt and heard something click inside my head. It seemed like a passageway had opened.”
Holland scowled. “What kind of passageway?”
“I don’t know. I do know that something opened. A gateway to a higher state of consciousness, maybe?” Phoebe scrunched her face and shrugged.
“That’s freaky, Mom. You just gave me the shivers.”
“And the really odd part is that it didn’t happen until you came into the room.”
Holland scowled. “What are you implying?”
“Well . . . you’re sixteen and I’ve read that that’s the age most witches come into their power. Have you sensed any changes? Did anything strange happen today?”
“No! And I’m not a witch. Geeze, Mom.” Holland thought about the bizarre footprints that she’d photographed and decided that she no longer wanted to discuss the weird images with her mother. In fact, she planned to promptly delete the picture as soon as she had some privacy.
“Your grandmother had special gifts,” her mother said fondly. “She was a born healer and she communicated easily with the spirit world. I have to work hard and do a lot of studying to get my spells to work, but you may have inherited your grandmother’s gifts. I hear it skips a generation.”
“This conversation is way too creepy for me. Can we change the subject?” Holland pulled out a chair to sit at the cluttered table. Seeing something from her peripheral vision, she froze. The planchette that sat atop the Ouija board was inching its way from the center of the board, moving on its own accord.
Her mouth agape, Holland stared at the Ouija board. The planchette picked up speed and suddenly scooted over to the letter F.
“M—Mom,” she stammered. “Look!” Holland pointed at the Ouija board. “The Ouija board is spelling something—the planchette is sliding around the board!”
Holland’s mother shot out of her seat and stood next to her daughter. Mother and daughter gawked at the planchette as it glided around the alphabet.
After spelling out the word, “footprints,” the planchette became still.
“Oh, my God! I can’t believe that freaking thing moved!” Holland blurted.
Perplexed, Phoebe squinted in thought. “Footprints? What could that mean?”
Knowing the exact meaning behind the singular word, Holland swallowed hard. “I don’t know what it means and I don’t care. It’s nonsense! You should get rid of this thing. Or keep it boxed up somewhere. I’m sick of all this creepy, witchcraft stuff. Why can’t you act like a normal mom?” Holland shouted, finally letting out her pent-up frustration over her mother’s peculiar ways.
“The spirits are trying to communicate with you, hon. There’s obviously been some kind of breakthrough. I can’t interpret that message because it was specifically for you. You have untapped potential, and you should embrace your powers.” She stroked the front of Holland’s hair.
Holland edged away from her mother’s touch. “I don’t have any powers!” Carrying her dinner plate, she stormed off to her bedroom and slammed the door.
CHAPTER 6
During the pitch-black night, Jonas hunted. Animals couldn’t hide from him. His olfactory sense told him their exact location. Pacifying the raging hunger, he fed on possum, snake, and wild rabbit. Devouring animals sustained him, but didn’t take away his craving for the taste of human flesh and blood. It was a repulsive, fiendish longing and Jonas feared that he’d lose his last shred of humanity if he ever gave into his unnatural desires.
With his stomach full, Jonas returned to his resting place in the woods. Hidden from sight, behind bushes, and covered by a blanket of underbrush, he lay in the fetal position, wondering if he’d ever be able to reclaim his soul. It wasn’t likely. He was literally lost, with no idea where he was or how far he was from his relatives in Miami.
A bug meandered across the
sole of Jonas’s foot. Jonas uncurled his body and sat up. Swatting at the insect, his fingers brushed across the odd-looking markings on his skin. In the velvet darkness, he could clearly see a series of circles, triangles and squiggly lines. The strange markings appeared to be branded into his skin.
Haunting recollections took him back to the boat. As if reliving the horror, Jonas let out a howling sound that was so loud, night birds fled from trees, squawking in fear as they flapped their wings and soared into the dark sky.
He tried to fight back the grotesque memories, but failed.
Jonas and the other “marked” passengers had slipped on their shoes to avoid detection. Throughout the night, Jonas had slept fitfully.
At sunrise, the captain’s men walked amongst the passengers, scrutinizing their faces, searching for signs of anyone becoming ill from the poison.
While Jonas was able to maintain an unreadable expression, next to him, his friend, Emille, began to flinch and tremble violently.
“Emille! Are you okay?” Jonas gasped.
The scraggly-bearded crewman regarded Emille suspiciously and pointed at him. “What’s wrong with that man?”
“He’s upset by the tragedies we’ve witnessed,” Jonas spoke up.
Emille’s teeth chattered noisily as he shuddered and shook.
Attempting to comfort his friend, Jonas placed an arm around Emille’s shoulder. “It’s going to be okay. You’ll get medicine in America. Hang on, Emille.”
Emille jerked and jolted as if electricity were coursing through him.
“Grab him by his ankles,” the henchman spat bitterly.
“But he’s not dead,” Jonas said desperately. “The sharks will eat him alive if we throw him in the water.”
“Do as you’re told; hold him!”
Following orders, Jonas grappled with Emille’s quivering legs. During the tremors, Emille’s scuffed shoes thumped together so harshly, one shoe fell off of his foot.
“Oh, God!” a woman shouted when she noticed the enflamed markings on the sole of Emille’s foot. By now, the other crewman rushed over, pushing Jonas out of the way. Jonas watched helplessly as the two men grappled with Emille. After finally restraining him with chains, they lowered him to the floor of the boat.
Shackled and laid out on display, Emille’s face was grotesquely distorted as he thrashed and writhed.
Shortly after Emille had been contained, two others—a man and a woman—that had unwittingly stepped in the powder fell ill and began to exhibit similar symptoms. The couple was constrained with rope. On the floor of the boat, three squirming human beings were lined in a row and fastened together like chattel.
The ghastly sounds that emanated from their throats expressed anguish and unbearable suffering.
It seemed as if Jonas was in the midst of a horrific dream. The few people that had not been overcome by the terrible illness were shrieking, moaning, and weeping like mourners at a funeral. The journey that had held so much hope and promise continued to worsen. It was indeed the voyage of the damned.
Finally, the groans of agony from the captive, sickly trio began to quiet down. Their bodies stiffened and became still, and Jonas was hopeful that their suffering had ended.
Captain Henri ordered his crew to take Emille and the couple below deck. Jonas was relieved that the captain didn’t demand that they be thrown overboard. He was also perplexed. Were they actually dead? Feeling renewed hope, Jonas prayed that Captain Henri had a remedy below deck that would restore their good health.
Jonas anxiously waited for news of Emille’s fate, but the crewmen dodged questions, and finally outright told him to mind his own business.
Trying to take his mind off of the three stiffened bodies that were shrouded in mystery, Jonas retrieved from his satchel a dog-eared copy of The Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison. He hoped to lose himself in the novel. Hopefully, by the time he finished the book, he’d be stepping onto American soil.
But his escape from the harsh reality of the dangerous journey he’d embarked on was short-lived. Alarmed by a sudden tingling sensation at the bottom of Jonas’s feet, Jonas closed the book and began chanting a mantra: There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m healthy. I’m fine. The tingling grew more urgent, traveling up his ankles and legs, causing Jonas to involuntarily twitch. There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m healthy. I’m fine, he fervently repeated in his mind.
But something was horribly wrong. No longer able to control himself, facial tics and body spasms drew attention from the scant few passengers that had not been exposed to the poison. Jonas grunted. He twisted and turned, and thrashed. Regarding Jonas with their mouths agape, the onlookers began to ease away from him.
Jonas dreaded being chained down like Emille and the others. Instinct told him to run. There was nowhere to flee except the dreaded, shark-infested water; yet, in a haze of panic and confusion, escaping by any means was the only thing on Jonas’s mind.
It took a painstakingly long time for him to pull himself to his feet, and by the time he’d managed to rise from his seat, the crewmen had been alerted. Before Jonas could put up any kind of struggle, he was gripped and dragged to the cramped area below deck.
He tried to speak. Tried to reason with his captors, but only garbled nonsense spilled from his lips. He was tied next to Emille, and a fleeting glimpse of his friend’s wide open, unblinking eyes assured him that Emille was out of his misery and now lay dead. But why were they keeping Emille and the couple on the boat? Jonas could not think of any reasonable explanation.
Time passed slowly. Nights were cold and windy and days were scorching hot. Jonas had gone from violent trembling to a deathly still paralysis. He could hear, smell, and see, but he couldn’t utter a sound or move a muscle. His tortured mind raced with fearful thoughts. Would Captain Henri mistakenly believe that like the others, Jonas had also succumbed to death? Would he be hurled into the unforgiving sea?
The loud motor of the boat died down. Lying on his side, Jonas couldn’t get a clear visual of what was going on, but judging from the excited murmurs and the numerous pairs of ankles that scrambled past him, he surmised that at last, they were close to the American shore.
But this would be no ordinary arrival. This boat would not dock in a normal manner. Passengers wouldn’t be welcomed by family and friends as they disembarked from a ramp.
Loud splashes could be heard as people began jumping from the boat, frantically swimming the few miles toward the land of opportunity.
Untie me! Jonas longed to jump into the water with the others.
His heart leapt with joy when he heard the sound of ropes being untied and chains being unlocked.
“Stand up! Do as I say,” the captain commanded. Jonas’s fallen companions began struggling clumsily to their feet.
“Take three steps,” Captain Henri implored them.
In a mechanical manner, Emille and the couple took three sluggish footsteps.
“Too slow! Do it again. Take three swift steps,” the captain said furiously.
Jonas was elated that Emille and the couple had survived the poison, but he was appalled by Captain Henri’s lack of sensitivity. Only a few moments ago, Emille and the couple had been on the brink of death. Captain Henri hadn’t so much as offered them a sip of water before he’d begun ordering them to demonstrate their physical abilities. What would the heartless man demand next—an arm-wrestling match?
“What is your name?” Captain Henri barked, testing their verbal skills.
Emille and the couple spoke their names in coarse, discordant voices that were low-toned and incomprehensible.
It didn’t matter, he told himself. Despite Jonas’s annoyance with the captain, he was elated that they were alive. The nightmare was over! Soon they’d be back to their normal selves.
Anxiously, Jonas waited to be untied. He was still unable to move or speak, but he assumed that at any moment the poison would wear off and his limbs would begin to function properly. He also assumed th
at he, too, would soon be swimming to shore.
Jonas was eager to begin his new life. His relatives had a job waiting for him. He’d work every day after school and all day on the weekends. He’d work tirelessly to pay back the money that his mother had borrowed to give him a better life.
“Alain!” Captain Henri clapped his hands impatiently.
From his position on the floor, Jonas could see the scraggly bearded crewman hurrying toward the captain.
“Yes, sir, captain,” Alain said respectfully.
“I’m keeping the woman for myself, but I want you to take the two men to Madame Collette in Little Haiti. Tell her that she can have ten-percent commission if she puts you in touch with buyers that are looking for free labor.”
“Sure thing, Captain,” Alain replied. Then in an uncertain tone, he asked, “Are they able to swim?”
“The poison took away their will. They cannot make decisions anymore. If you order them to swim, they’ll do exactly as they’re told.”
That his fellow passengers had no will of their own was outrageous and very sad. He was grateful that he didn’t share their fate. Though he remained paralyzed and mute, his mind was intact, and he still possessed opinions and intelligence. He’d be back to his old self after the white powder released its paralyzing grip on his muscles.
“Emille,” the captain called out sharply. “There isn’t much time. You must follow my instructions to the letter.”
Emille groaned a sound that wasn’t quite a word, but indicated that he understood.
“Terrence,” the captain said to the other bewitched man. “I’m taking your pretty wife; you don’t need her anymore. She’ll be in good hands with me.” Captain Henri chuckled spitefully. His two crewmen laughed along with him.
“Listen carefully, Emille and Terrence. You must follow my men and obey them. Swim swiftly, and stay by their sides when you get to shore. Do you understand, Terrence?”
Terrence and Emille both gurgled in assent. Spellbound, they would have agreed to set themselves on fire if they had been ordered to do so.
Midnight Cravings Page 4