The Witches of Dark Root

by April Aasheim [paranormal]

  “Bitch!” He backhanded me, twisting my neck into an unnatural position. He kissed me hard and I spit blood back into his mouth.

  “That’s it!” he said, “I’m done with this!”

  He covered my entire nose and mouth so that I couldn’t breathe. I could feel myself losing consciousness as his hand reached for my breast. With my last ounce of strength I pushed his hand away and found Michael’s crystal under my shirt. I gripped it as I slid into a long, dark tunnel.

  Just as suddenly, I was back, gasping for air.

  Steve’s hand no longer covered my face.

  The rear car door was open and a muscled arm thrust itself inside, pulling Steve’s body across mine. He yelped as he was thrown into the parking lot. The front door opened and the arm returned, ripping Johnny out the door.

  I sobbed as I pulled down my skirt and listened to the scuffling outside. At last I gathered myself and scrambled to the opposite door, away from my attackers.

  “Wait!” A voice called out as I raced into the darkness of the trees that surrounded the parking lot. The forest was pitch black but I didn’t care. I just ran, tripping and terrified through the woods. The sound of footsteps followed me. I looked right, then left, unsure of where to go.

  Two strong hands seized my shoulders from behind and I screamed.

  “Maggie. It’s okay. It’s all over.”

  I knew that voice and it wasn’t Steve or Johnny’s.

  My knees buckled and I went limp in his arms. He pushed my wet hair away from my forehead, cradling me like a baby. When I was strong enough to stand on my own, he wiped my tears away then guided me out of the woods.

  “We called the cops.” He nodded towards two large men who had my two assailants slung over the back of an old Cadillac Eldorado. “...They will be here any moment.”

  I heard a siren in the distance, careening in our direction and I knew that he was right.

  “I’m taking you home, Maggie,” he said.

  I nodded and followed Shane to the truck.

  Seven: Witchy Woman

  The Haunted Dark Root Festival, Dark Root, Oregon

  Halloween, 1993

  Bump, bump, bump! The last jolt startled Maggie, practically sending her spiraling over the side of the wagon and into the crowd.

  Luckily, Merry caught her by the arm and pulled her back.

  Maggie gave her an appreciative smile and returned to the task at hand. She still had half a sack of Halloween candy to throw out, and the parade was coming to a close.

  Some younger kids propelled out of the crowds, running alongside the wagon. “Candy!” they screamed, arms stretched overhead and eager mouths open. Maggie reached into her bag to scoop out a handful, but Eve was quicker, dumping the entire contents of her own sack overboard. The children cheered. Eve stuck out her tongue triumphantly.

  Maggie moved to pinch her, but then caught sight of their mother. Miss Sasha was waving to the crowd at the front of the wagon. If Maggie did anything to ruin her special day, she would be in trouble.

  “Maggie, Eve, Merry!” Ruth Anne called to them.

  Maggie tottered to the other side of the wagon to catch a glimpse of her sister. Ruth Anne stood with Aunt Dora by the entrance of Miss Sasha’s Magick Shoppe, smiling and cheering the girls on. Maggie felt a small tug at her heart. This was the first year Ruth Anne wasn’t accompanying her sisters on the parade route, and that his suited Miss Sasha fine.

  Still, Maggie didn’t like it. Ruth Anne was doing her own thing more often these days, and she could feel the chasm between Ruth Anne and her younger sisters growing deeper every day.

  “We’re almost done, girls,” Miss Sasha said, turning in their direction.

  Her black, pointed hat almost fell off her head as she spun around, but she caught it and pushed it firmly down over her ears. Maggie adjusted her own hat and straightened her simple, black dress. The ‘Witches of Dark Root’ were expected to play the part the entire day, and that meant staying in character, even if the costumes were itchy and a size too small.

  Bump! Another sharp jolt as the wheels hit a crack in the road. Maggie looked ahead. There were three floats and a band in front of them, crossing the parade’s finish line.

  Just in time, Maggie thought. She needed to use the bathroom really badly and the jostling of the wagon didn’t help.

  “Do you have your candles?” Merry asked, as she produced her own white, tapered candle from the pocket of her dress. Maggie and Eve nodded, earning them a look of approval. “Good. Hold on to them for later, for the lighting ceremony...”

  As the horses that pulled the cart proceeded towards their destination, Maggie caught sight of a woman with spiraling, dark hair weaving in and out of the crowd. She was speaking, her voice a deep growl as she kept pace with the wagon.

  Maggie was used to seeing strangers during the Haunted Dark Root Festival, but there was something sinister about the woman that Maggie couldn’t explain.

  “Mother!” Maggie called.

  Miss Sasha turned and Maggie pointed to the woman.

  “Larinda!” her mother gasped. Miss Sasha hurdled the bench that separated her from her daughters. “...Girls, come close! Hurry! The circle cannot be broken!”

  As the horses crossed the finish line, Miss Sasha swallowed her daughters into the folds of her black cape, and they vanished into the night.

  Shane Doler’s Pickup Truck, Central Oregon

  September, 2013

  Bump!

  Whatever we hit, startled me awake. For a moment, I forgot where I was, but as my eyes adjusted to the dark, I recognized the driver gripping the steering wheel and I remembered.

  “Sorry about that,” Shane said, glancing in my direction. “I think I dozed off a little there. I was fine until the radio lost reception. I’m glad you’re awake now.” He yawned and blinked several times. “Want to keep me company?”

  I shrugged. After what I had been through, I wasn’t in the mood to entertain anyone, even if it was my rescuer. I took a moment to study him. He wore a goofy grin and a large silver belt buckle. But at least he looked friendly. And safe.

  I sighed and wedged myself back into my corner of the bench seat.

  “What are you looking forward to the most?” he asked, cracking his window. The smell of moss and rain filled the cab of his pickup. “Seeing your sisters, I bet?”

  I shrugged again, wishing he would stop talking. My body was heavy and achy and I wanted to sleep.

  “You know your ma’s shop closed up, don’t you? About three years ago, I guess. Darn pity, too. There’s a small college a few towns over and I bet you, dollars to donuts, those students would swarm that store if it reopened. I know your ma isn’t in any position to...” His voice trailed off and his eyes softened. “...I’m sorry. I’m being insensitive.”

  “Do you have any aspirin?” The pounding in my head was getting worse. I was starting to feel nauseous.

  “I got some headache powder,” he said, reaching into his console. He produced what looked like a Kool-Aid packet and ripped it open with his teeth. “It’s powder, so works quick. Swallow it and chase it with a drink of my coke. Don’t worry,” he said smiling again. “I don’t have cooties.”

  I looked at the packet. I had never heard of headache powder before, but I was willing to try anything. It tasted like chalk and I practically choked as I chugged down the soda to wash the taste out of my mouth.

  “You don’t do anything quietly, do you?” he laughed, as I wadded up the wrapper and threw it on the floor of the passenger seat. “When we were kids, you were always making noise, too.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping the medicine would kick in. I pushed my fingers to my temples, trying to squeeze out the pain.

  “Do you remember when we used to play hide and seek?” he continued. “Whenever it was your turn to hide, we could always find you, because you would squeal whenever you thought we were close.”

  I opened my eyes and looked at him again, tr
ying to dig up old memories of us playing hide and seek together. The process made my head hurt worse. “I’m sorry,” I confessed when he began another do you remember story. “...I still have no idea who you are.”

  Shane’s face tightened. He looked hurt.

  I leaned my head back, pressing my neck into the headrest and wishing that I had said that a different way. “Sorry.” I offered him a weak smile. “It’s been a tough night.”

  Shane nodded and leaned forward, peering into the deep darkness that surrounded us.

  Even with the high beams on, we moved sluggishly through the winding wilderness of central Oregon. The trees closed in around us, tall monstrous beasts that loomed even larger in the night. Their branches canopied us like long, twisted fingers. Through the crack in Shane’s window, I could hear the sound of the restless wind moaning. We cut through the darkness like it was unexplored jungle, carefully hacking our way into the moonlight.

  “I understand,” he said, as we reached an area where the trees were less dense and we could finally see the moon. It hung in the sky, a sliver of gold punctuated by a few dim stars. But it was enough. We both relaxed.

  Shane continued, “...I’m sure I look different, now. Do you remember Joe Garris?”

  “Yes,” I answered.

  Uncle Joe, as he was called by all of us, had owned Delilah’s Deli. He had been part of my mother’s coven and had been responsible for helping me and my sisters with some of our lessons.

  “Well, he was my Uncle. My biological Uncle. I would come down from Montana every year and spend the summers with him. I was that skinny boy with freckles and glasses. You girls used to come to the deli and we’d run around the tables after it closed.”

  A light of recognition hit my brain.

  Shane Doler. The dorky kid who used to go frog-hunting with Eve.

  I recalled how Eve had gotten him to kiss one of those frogs once, claiming that if he did, it would turn into a beautiful princess. It didn’t, of course. Just because Eve practiced magick didn’t mean she was any good at it.

  After that event, I had nicknamed him Frog Frencher. I smiled at the memory, even though it hurt. “Yes, I remember you. Sorry about the nickname.”

  He laughed, bobbing his head. “I had it coming. Who kisses a frog?” He shook his head, and his brown hair shook with him. He had filled out since I had seen him last. He was still thin, but thin in a handsome sort of way.

  Not that it mattered. I was done with men. Especially the handsome ones.

  “So you work with Uncle Joe now?” I asked, remembering that he was on his way to buy restaurant equipment for his cafe. The headache powder was working and I could feel my temples relaxing. I took a deep, slow breath and let my shoulders settle, too.

  “Well, after Uncle Joe passed, I...”

  “What?” I stopped him. “Uncle Joe is dead? How? When?” I shook my head in disbelief.

  Uncle Joe had been such a huge part of our childhood. After Mama closed her shop each night, we’d wander over to the cafe and he’d serve us a special dinner. Afterwards, he and Mother would talk ‘business’ while we played in the restaurant, hiding under tables and serving phantom customers. At the end of each night, he’d let us pick out one candy from a jar by the register. He had always been kind and patient, even with me.

  People like kind, Uncle Joe weren’t supposed to die. They were supposed to live on forever.

  This day was only getting worse.

  “Sorry, I thought you had heard.” Shane took a sip of his coke, then passed it to me. I declined. “He died three years ago. Heart attack. People from all over came to say goodbye. Boy, I tell you, my Uncle Joe had some interesting friends.” He chuckled softly at the memory and took another sip of his drink. “He was very popular.”

  “Yeah, he was very loved. I just can’t believe he’s gone.” I could feel myself tearing up but I gritted my teeth and willed the feeling away. I had done enough crying lately.

  We continued to jounce along in his pickup truck.

  Shane talked enthusiastically about how he had taken over his uncle’s cafe and was working it himself, but I was mostly tuning him out. The news about Uncle Joe, coupled with rest of this day, was too much. Going home seemed more depressing than ever.

  “We’re making good time,” Shane said, glancing at the clock, but his voice sounded uncertain. “I’ve never driven this route this late at night, or this time of year.”

  There was only one road that led to Dark Root, he said, so we couldn’t be lost, but we could be...absorbed? A small, wild creature with red eyes darted out from the wilderness trees and was caught it in our headlights.

  Shane slammed on the breaks, throwing us forward, and the animal scurried away unhurt.

  “You’re going to kill us,” I said, the pain in my head returning.

  “Did you want me to hit that raccoon instead?”

  “No,” I admitted, wriggling my legs, which were beginning to stiffen. “But now I have to pee.”

  Shane pulled to the side of the road and motioned towards the woods around us.

  Reluctantly, I left the vehicle in search of a bush. Peeing in the woods wasn’t new to me, but it certainly wasn’t pleasant. Especially in the dark. When I returned, I fished around in my suitcase in the backseat, adding clothes to keep back the chill, while he politely shielded his eyes.

  “Interesting outfit,” Shane grinned, as he noticed my new ensemble, a tank top over three long-sleeved shirts, a skirt so long it covered my feet, and checkered socks.

  “Just drive,” I said.

  He complied.

  “Dark Root, Oregon. The most magical town in the Pacific Northwest...” Shane recited the town’s slogan after a long silence. “Bet you are excited to get back.”

  I was leaned over the seat, rummaging through my open bag in the back of the cab.

  It was less full now that I was wearing half my wardrobe. Finally, I found my package of Oreos and pulled them into the front. I hadn’t eaten since morning and my stomach was not happy. Once I had scarfed down a half-dozen cookies, I responded to him.

  “First of all,” I said. “Towns can’t be magical. Secondly, you are terrible at small talk. Thirdly, I’m not staying in Dark Root. It’s just a stop until I figure things out.”

  “How can you say towns aren’t magical? You of all people should believe in magic, considering your upbringing.”

  I snorted. “Why? Just because I am a supposed descendant of Juliana Benbridge, our town’s first witch?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “It’s just lore. And lore isn’t necessarily true,” I said, offering him a cookie which he took. “Especially when a town’s economy is based on it. Lore is used to sell postcards.”

  “Well then, Dark Root needs a new slogan,” he laughed.

  “Among other things,” I said.

  Shane flipped on the radio, settling on one of those sad, storytelling songs on the country station. It was sappy in all the wrong ways.

  “No one has ever proved that magic exists,” I argued, realizing I could have let it drop and wondering why I didn’t.

  “No one has disproved it either. And...” he added thoughtfully. “Sometimes people want to believe. Nothing wrong with that. Makes life more interesting.”

  “Doesn’t mean they should.” I thought of Michael, staring absently out the window, wondering why Woodhaven was failing. “When you get too locked into a set of beliefs, you can’t see anything else.”

  I blew on the window, watching the fog cover it. I began to etch out my name, or at least the first few letters. The fog had lifted before I could write the letter ‘g.’

  “No magic, huh?” He opened his console and handed me my cell phone. “Well, how do you explain the fact that your phone called me, even though you had dropped it in the parking lot? Had I not gotten the call and heard you scream, well...” Shane scratched his head and blinked his eyes.

  Was that how he had known I was in trouble? I had ne
ver asked.

  “I had just programmed in your phone number,” I replied, trying to come up with a logical answer. “When it hit the ground, it dialed you. Lucky coincidence on my part.”

  “Uncle Joe used to say there are no coincidences. He said there are forces in the world at work, whether we see them or not.”

  “That’s the problem with coincidences,” I said. “You can never prove them.”

  “You’re jaded, Maggie. I’m not sure why, but it’s kind of sad. I hope Eve hasn’t become jaded, too.”

  Hearing him speak Eve’s name darkened my mood. I turned the radio dial away from his hillbilly crying music. I found a station playing Metallica and I blasted it, mostly because I thought it would annoy him.

  Instead, he started banging his head to the beat.

  “I’m going to sleep,” I said, closing my eyes.

  Surprisingly, he kept the radio on the heavy metal station. We listened to songs from Van Halen and Motley Crew. Then ‘For Those About to Rock I Salute You’ came on. My eyes flipped open. Shane was drumming his fingers against the wheel.

  “Please, turn this off,” I said. But he didn’t hear me. I sat up and repeated my request, this time louder. “Please, turn this off.”

  He gave me a curious look. “You picked the station.”

  “Turn this off now!”

  Pop!

  A spark shot from the radio and then it went quiet. Shane did a double take as he fiddled with the knobs. Nothing came on, not even static.

  “You did this?” he asked, his face a mixture of fear and incredulousness.

  I didn’t respond.

  “You did this,” he repeated, a smile spreading across his face. “Maggie. What they say is true. You are––”

  “Careful,” I said, looking at him out of the corner of my eye.

  “...Special,” he concluded, shaking his head in disbelief. “I always knew Eve had ‘something,’ but it was never tangible. But this. I can’t believe it.”