The Witch's Ladder

by Dana Donovan

  “You mean like what you saw at Lilith’s?”

  I nodded and held up the witch’s ladder. “I told you it works. For a moment, I could read her every thought. And what’s more, she knew I was doing it.”

  Wanting to believe, though not wanting to admit it, Carlos pressed me for more details. He listened with intrigue as I explained how Valerie had seen the Surgeon Stalker wrapping his victims’ liver up and carrying it off in the monogrammed towels.

  “Carrying them off for what?”

  “I don’t know. But I believe it has something to do with the phrase, attraction of blood.”

  Carlos grimaced. “What’s that mean?”

  I turned back and glanced toward the second-floor window overlooking the pool. I saw Valerie peering out discreetly through a small break in the blinds. “I don’t know, Carlos. Though as curious as I am to find out, I hesitate to use another knot in the ladder to see.”

  He smiled teasingly, and the raised brow over his right eye indicated that he either questioned my reluctance to untie the knot, or my sanity for suggesting that the knot might actually yield the answer. I suspected the latter. I looked down at the little black device that Valerie left behind and noticed something unusual. I picked it up and studied the image on the screen, hardly believing my eyes.

  “Whoa. Did you see that?”

  He grabbed the device, prying it from my hands in hopes of seeing what had excited me so. Instead of a candid shot of bedroom voyeurism, which he probably expected and perhaps preferred, he saw only the image of a small white kitten scampering about playfully.

  “It’s just a kitten, Tony.”

  “No, Carlos. That’s Lilith. I saw her. I swear.”

  He looked again at the screen. His face grew long with worry. The hours, the exposure to all the stories about witches and ladders and psycho-voodoo, he had to believe they were taking their toll on me.

  “Tony, maybe you should take a couple of days off from this investigation. It’s been a busy week for you.”

  I grabbed the device and began randomly pushing buttons, causing the image on the screen to go static. “Carlos, I’m telling you, I saw her. I saw Lilith standing in one of the bedrooms, and then right before my eyes she turned into a kitten, the same little white kitten I saw at her house.”

  “Oh, so Lilith is a kitten now?”

  “Yes. I know it sounds crazy, but I’ telling you….”

  We both glanced again at the screen, me for validation and Carlos for another glimpse into Valerie’s bedroom.

  Static.

  “A white kitten?”

  “Carlos, I know what I saw.”

  “So you say, but don’t witches turn into black cats?”

  “Oh, and if she turned into a black cat then you would believe me?”

  “I didn’t say that, exactly. I suppose it would make more sense though. I mean if a witch could turn into a cat, wouldn’t it be a black cat so that she could prowl the night in stealth?”

  “Who says witches prowl the night?”

  “Of course they do. They prowl at night, make potions by day, and the rest of the time they fly around on broomsticks.”

  “See, now you’re just pissing me off. You think you’re funny?”

  He shrugged.

  “Okay smart aleck, I’ll show you.”

  I pulled the witch’s ladder out, turned my back to the window and untied another knot.

  “What are you doing?” Carlos’ eyes relayed nervously between the window and the witch’s ladder.

  “I’m going to find out what she’s thinking. Keep an eye out for tornadoes, locusts, or anything strange like that.”

  “Strange? Tony, you really should see someone. I mean it. You—”

  “Shut up. Something’s happening.”

  “What? Are you starting to see something?”

  My hands froze along the line, my eyes shifted left and right as I strained to hear, see or feel whatever it was I started. “There’s a rumble,” I said, “coming from down low. You feel it?”

  It seemed almost undetectable. Carlos didn’t feel it, not yet, but it was there just the same and coming fast.

  “Noooo,” he said, sounding unsure.

  “It’s happening again.” Though I could not say for sure what it was, I knew it was not another of Valerie’s flashbacks.

  “What’s happening?”

  “Something. I don’t know what, but something.”

  Then Carlos felt it, too: a rumble down low in the Earth, not exactly an earthquake, but a tremor. “Yes,” he said. “I feel it.”

  I looked up at the window in time to see the blinds snap back into position. I wondered if Valerie had taken cover, perhaps knowing the fate Carlos and I would share. I suddenly felt extremely vulnerable. I turned to Carlos, who stood with buckled knees.

  “All right, Tony,” he said. His voice sounded shaky from the ground tremors. “Tell me what we need to do.”

  Various options raced through my mind. I knew that every second we wasted could cost us our lives. But what could we do? If an earthquake were coming, then going inside the house could prove tragic. On the other hand, if a tornado hit, standing out in the open could be unhealthy, too. I decided that in either case, our best bet might be to jump into the pool. That would get us down low in case of a tornado, yet keep us out of the house in case of an earthquake.

  I reached for Carlos’ arm and prepared to give the order to jump into the pool when a thundering rush of wind blew in suddenly from the southwest, a burst so powerful it nearly swept us off our feet. The phantom force moved swiftly and without discretion, sending lawn furniture and patio chairs sliding along the length of the terrace and into the pool. It came in like a gunshot, quick and abrupt, but for only a moment and then it was gone. Carlos looked at me with skeptic restraint, and before he could react, another microburst exploded, this time from the north, and seemingly more powerful than the first. I ducked as a renegade tree limb sailed past my head. The branch caught Carlos across the back, knocking him to the pool’s edge and leaving him dazed.

  I knelt and attempted to help him, all the while sheltering him from the wind with my body.

  “Stay low,” I warned, fearful he might try to stand again. We retreated on all fours, away from the open area of the pool-deck to a less vulnerable location behind a brick and mortar barbecue. Just as we reached our refuge, it happened again. The north wind, which so fiercely tore through Valerie’s back yard, suddenly ceased, and the tremors gave way to a cold, eerie calm.

  I looked down at the witch’s ladder. “What Pandora’s box have I opened up this time?” I asked.

  Carlos tried to explain that it was only the wind. “A meteorological freak of nature,” he said. But I knew better. I had seen it already in Jean’s kitchen, and like then, there could be no denying that the wind had a mind of its own. Like the hit-and-run tactics of a Great White, it let its presence be known with a curious nudge and returned to the depths to strike again.

  Carlos attempted to stand with the help of the barbecue’s brick wall to lean against. I reached up, grabbed his coattail and gave it a yank. “Not yet. It’s not over.”

  The words barely left my mouth, when the ground began rumbling again. The southwest wind returned, this time stronger. It howled unmercifully, turning the skies gray in its wake and taking on a visible form as if fueled by a vitreous, molten matter spewing from the pits of hell. Unlike before, however, this returning wind seemed more concentrated, as if blowing through a clear horizontal tube or wind tunnel. It had definite boundaries that I could see and a perimeter of confinement of perhaps only ten feet in diameter. It had a direction, or purpose, focusing on a harmless course in which nothing stood in its way. There were no trees to knock over—people or animals to sweep away and no windows to blow in. If its track came as a coincidence, then it came as a fortunate one. If not, then surely something more diabolical lay in store. Still, its sheer beauty was a sight to behold. We marveled at its i
ntensity, reeled in its seduction and hailed to its awesome splendor.

  The temptation to stand, to approach it, proved almost too irresistible. It seemed to called to us, inviting us to touch it, to indulge in its secrets and flirt with its authority. It was incredibly powerful, yet somehow mysteriously benign. The whitecaps breaking across the pool’s surface keenly defined the narrow course of the jet stream. It appeared as though the wind had blazed a meticulous path. It entered the yard through a narrow opening between Valerie’s guesthouse and the cabana, snaked across the pool and exited between a stand of oaks and the neighbor’s house next door. All the while, the train of wind upset nothing but the water in the pool.

  “Will you look at that?” Carlos uttered. “I’ve never seen anything like it. You suppose it’s El Nino?”

  I smiled, unsure of the phenomenon but confident it was not El Nino. A voice in my head cautioned me. This phenomenon was not exactly like the one I experienced at Jean’s, but if the witch’s ladder brought it on, then I knew there would be more.

  It didn’t take long to prove my suspicions right. Without warning, another sudden blast of air barreled past us. The north wind had returned. The two opposing winds collided directly over the pool with a thunderous roar. An immediate reaction ensued as the dual winds forced themselves on each other, feeding the other’s ferocious appetite for air in a continuous cross-pattern of circulation. The colossal swirling tube pitched itself upright in a vertical tower that stretched into the sky so high we couldn’t see the other end. The raging winds of the north and the furious winds of the southwest had become the lifeblood of an awful spectacle of nature: a bona fide cyclone that twisted and danced ominously in place directly over the pool.

  Here stood the phenomenon I expected, the proof I needed to convince Carlos of the great potential of the witch’s ladder. Though I still could not direct or predict the actions of the ladder, I felt certain then that Carlos could no longer deny its powers.

  We watched in awe as the swirling column heaved with intimidating gesture. This energy of immense proportion epitomized the fusion of strength and beauty. It grew larger with every second, and soon even the shelter behind the barbecue no longer seemed safe. We backed away slowly, never taking our eyes off the spectacle.

  It was difficult to see at first, for the blackened belly of the spiraling beast concealed its reason for forming where it did. I couldn’t see inside its walls, but beneath the spinning giant I notice the sudden drop of pool water. Its levels fell proportionately to the growth of the cyclone. Soon it became apparent that it was not just a twister, but a massive waterspout. With tremendous might, the merciless whirlwind siphoned the contents of the pool, gallon-by-gallon, drop-by-drop, until it succeeded in sucking it dry. Then, as if quenched of its thirst, the mighty tempest ascended skyward, taking with it some twenty thousand gallons of water, a couple of lounge chairs and surely, I thought, all doubts that Carlos ever had about the witch’s ladder.

  When it was over, when the roar of the wind ceased and calm returned, Carlos turned to me, his eyes plastered wide in perpetual surprise. Bits of twigs peppered my coat and slacks, leaves jetted from my short gray hair, but I stood at ease, a gloating smirk across my face.

  “What?” he said. “You’re not going to tell me you made that happen?”

  “Oh, come now, Carlos. How can you deny what you just saw?”

  “Tony…. that was just a little tornado. They happen all the time. Surely you’ve heard of them. You watch the news, don’t you?”

  “The news? When have you ever seen a tornado like that on the news? It sucked all the water right out of the pool. Come on. Admit it. I did that with the witch’s ladder. Go on. Say it.”

  He hemmed and hawed a bit, and then walked to the pool’s edge, peering inside as if needing to survey the obvious. I watched him slip his hands into his pockets and nod over the observation. “Yeah, it’s empty all right,” he said. “What do you know?”

  He turned back, granting only a shrug. It was not an admission, but it also wasn’t a denial. I smiled again. Carlos was coming around. I knew it. It was only a matter of time. Soon my skeptical friend would believe. Until then, a shoulder’s shrug would suffice.

  There was nothing more we could do after that. We knew Valerie would not come out of the house as long as we were there. If she did, I felt certain she’d have nothing more to say. There were so many questions still unanswered. Figuring out priorities seemed more important than ever. But for Carlos, our priority was clear.

  “Oh, look. It’s lunchtime,” he said, rapping the face of his watch. “I believe you owe me.”

  I took one last look up at the window on the second floor. The blinds were partially opened again. I saw Valerie peering out. I shook my head and turned away. Without reasonable cause to take her downtown, I knew that whatever questions remained would have to go unanswered for now. I tapped Carlos on the arm. “Yeah, all right,” I said, and I started walking. “You know it’s only ten o’clock though.”

  “Yeah, but I could eat.”

  “Of course you could.”

  I nudged him forward. As we meandered back through the house retracing our steps toward the front entry, I felt the eyes of another watching our every move. “It’s the cameras,” I said after sensing that Carlos was about to comment on the very same thing. “She’s watching us.”

  “I know,” he said in mocked repugnance. “She makes me feel dirty.”

  A voice came over the speakers in the ceiling and said, “I can fix that.”

  Carlos stopped me. “What does she means by that?”

  “I don’t know and I don’t care. Let’s get out of here. This place is starting to give me the creeps.”

  We continued, and as we approached the front door I heard the familiar click from the deadbolt unlatching. It was just another eerie reminder that not only were our moves monitored, but Valerie still commanded a certain power over us, at least until we made it safely out of the house.

  The front door opened automatically and we wasted no time in scooting out. Carlos barely got his heels beyond the threshold when the door slammed shut. The locks clicked tight and the camera overhead swung into position. We stepped out from the covered porch and stood at ease on the front steps, relaxed and glad to have made it out in one piece.

  “What do you suppose she meant by that?” Carlos asked.

  “What?”

  “When I said that she makes me feel dirty, she came back and said ‘I can fix that’.”

  He no sooner spoke than we felt the rumbling of earth beneath our feet again.

  “Do you feel that?” I asked, though the look on his face suggested he undoubtedly did.

  “It’s happening again, isn’t it?”

  I didn’t answer, and instead began a frenzied search through my pockets for the witch’s ladder, fearful that I had dropped it somewhere in the house and that Valerie found it. “Damn it. If she unties too many knots, there’s no telling…”

  “No telling what?”

  I couldn’t bring myself to finish.

  The rumbling grew more intense. Even Valerie’s house began showing signs of the seismic vibrations, as windows rattled menacingly in place. Carlos watched anxiously as I patted myself down in hasty fashion, riffling through every pocket of my coat and pants. Finally, as if all I needed to do was find it, I produced the witch’s ladder from an inside coat pocket and held it up in triumph. “I’ve got it. We’re safe.”

  “Safe?” said Carlos. “How? In case you haven’t noticed, there’s still an earthquake going on here.”

  “Yes, but I’ve got the ladder.”

  “Then do something with it!” he said, and in his plea I realized he had unwittingly admitted his belief in the ladder’s ability to affect some power over the unexplained. I fumbled with the next knot, but before I could untie it, he let out another cry. “Look out!”

  I turned back, barely in time to see an enormous wall of water rolling over the top of
the house. We started to run, but the mammoth wave crashed down on us like an Asian tsunami. It swept us off our feet in a flood of unyielding proportion and deposited our water soaked bodies on the lawn in front of the Spencer home. Then as suddenly as it appeared, the colossal wave vanished. It dissipated through adjacent yards and sewer grates, leaving behind only lounge chairs, puddles and two very awestruck detectives.

  Shaken, but otherwise unscathed, we stood and helped each other to the curb.

  “What the hell was that?” Carlos asked.

  I coughed up a dribble of swallowed water and spit it out in the gutter. “That?” I said, my voice throttled, “was the swimming pool.”

  “What?”

  I pressed my nose to my sleeve and took a whiff. “Smell that?” I then held my forearm out for him to do the same. “Chlorinated water.”

  He took a sniff. “Are you kidding?”

  I shook my head.

  “But how? Where did it come from? I mean, we saw it get sucked up in the tornado.”

  “It’s the witch’s ladder. I told you. Valerie must have one, too.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “No.”

  “You said you felt dirty. She said she could fix it.”

  Carlos flopped backwards onto the soggy grass. “You’re a ball buster, Marcella, you know that?”

  “Yeah, Rodriguez.” I flopped backwards onto the grass beside him. “I know.”

  After several minutes of catching our breaths and regaining our composure, I said to Carlos, “What do you feel like for lunch?”

  He thought for only a moment. “You know it’s funny, but I have a strange craving for fish.”

  I laughed. “I knew you were going to say that.”

  Back inside the Spencer residence, Valerie peered through the blinds at the front window. “They’re okay,” she said, before allowing the blinds to snap shut again. “I told you it wouldn’t kill them.”

  Across the room in a darkened corner, an obscure figure sat quietly in the shadows, her hands busily working the rope of another witch’s ladder. “It wasn’t supposed to kill them. Besides, you don’t need another death with your name linked to it.”