by Rick Hautala
Smiling thinly, Judge Talmadge said, “Your words condemn you all the more, Dame Parsons, and do but convince me further that we have acted justly in the name of the Lord.”
Rachel glared at the judge, focusing onto this one man her entire lifetime’s store of anger, misery, and suffering. Lowering her voice, she said, “My soul is as pure, Judge, as I know thine is black. I go now to heaven, with all the innocence and purity of a child. But heed ye my words! Heed them well!” She took a deep breath and held it. “That is all,” she said at last, glancing down at the men who held the ladder upon which she stood. “I am at peace.”
Without waiting for an order from the judge, the two men pulled the ladder away from the branch, and Rachel Parson fell until the rope caught her up and snapped her neck. For a long moment, the crowd watched in awed silence as her body swung slowly back and forth, twitching as though in a wild dance. Above the low whistle of the wind, the only sound was the steady creaking of the rope, which sounded like the runners of an old rocking chair on a wooden floor.
“Stand ye back!” Judge Talmadge suddenly shouted to the two jailers. A dark stain spread across the lap of Rachel’s linen dress, and then a thin stream of urine dripped to the ground with a loud splatter. Carried by a gust of wind, a few drops sprinkled the judge’s forehead. He feverishly wiped his face clean with the flat of his hand before turning to face the crowd, but he was unable to ignore the foreboding presence suspended from the tree, dangling above his left shoulder like a lowering, black cloud.
“Heed ye not her words!” he shouted, although his voice trembled, and not just from the cold wind. “These were the words of a servant of Satan and thus have no power over the righteous!”
With that, the crowd silently began to move away, leaving behind only the two gaolers, whose orders were to guard the body until sunset, at which time they were to cut down the witch’s body and bury her in a shallow, unmarked grave on the hill beneath the oak. Then they were told to chop down the oak tree and burn it to ashes, which they were to scatter over the grave.
PART ONE
Another Fall
Autumn 1963
“Blood asketh blood, and death must death requite.”
—Thomas Norton and Thomas Sackville
Gorboduc
Chapter One
Retard
“You gonna pay for it?”
“What do you mean, am I gonna pay for it? Are you crazy? Of course I ain’t gonna pay for it!”
“But you gotta pay for it! We’ll be in deep shit if you get caught stealing that!”
“We’d be in even deeper shit if I tried to pay for it, now, wouldn’t we? Seems to me as though either way we’re gonna be in deep—”
“Hey! Can I help you boys with somethin’?”
Herb LaPointe was slouched behind the cash register at the back of LaPointe’s Newsstand in a chair that looked entirely too small for his bulk. His head was wreathed with cigar smoke as he scanned the sports page of the Portland Press Herald. His eyes narrowed as he stared over the edge of the newspaper at twelve-year-old Eddie Fraser and his buddy, Ray Saunders, as they huddled in front of the magazine display, their backs turned to him. Both boys were dressed in jeans and faded T-shirts. Eddie, who was the smaller of the two, wore his hair a bit longer than Ray. Their arms and necks were tanned a deep, nut-brown, and their hair had been bleached almost blond by the summer sun.
“Uhh no—no sir,” Ray said without turning around. He ran the flat of his hand over the stubble of his crew cut. His eyes were wide with apprehension as he glanced sidelong at Eddie.
“Yeah, I was just—just looking for the new issue of Mad for my brother. Did that come in this week?” Eddie asked.
“Hey, if you don’t see it, it ain’t come in yet, all right?” Herb replied. “So either get the hell out of my store, or else buy something and then get the hell out of my store. This ain’t the goddamned library, you know.” He rustled the pages of his newspaper as if he’d gone back to his reading, but both boys could feel his gaze crawling like a cold snake up their backs.
Ray snickered beneath his breath and said, “Yeah, but I’ll bet the library’ll never carry something like this!” His hands were slick with sweat as he clutched the rolled-up issue of this month’s Playboy close to his chest. He’d grabbed it off the top shelf when Herb’s back had been turned. Just thinking about the cover copy made Ray’s throat go desert dry.
September 1963
EUROPE’S NEW SEX SIRENS
A 14-PAGE COLOR PORTFOLIO
Last week, when Herb had gone out back to the stockroom for something, Ray had sneaked a peek inside the magazine. That quick glimpse of fleshy treasures had left him thirsting for more. He had to own this magazine; but even if he’d had the necessary seventy-five cents—God, almost two weeks’ allowance—he knew darn-right well that he didn’t have the guts to actually buy it. Herb LaPointe, or “Farty,” as most of the kids called him because of his unselfconscious habit of letting farts rip whenever he wanted to, would be on the phone within minutes to both boys’ parents. Ray knew there was no other alternative. He had to steal this magazine—today!—because he had to own it … especially the picture on page 145! He had been counting on Eddie to cover for him, to create some kind of diversion so he could slip the magazine into his three-ring binder, but their plans were being foiled.
“Cripes, come on. Do something, will ya!” Ray whispered between clenched teeth.
“Do what? My idea was to get him to check out back for the new issue of Mad.”
“Then think of something else.”
“Hey, what are you guys doin’ over there, tradin’ government secrets or something?” Herb snarled.
“Uhh—no, no,” Eddie replied, glancing at Farty. “I was just—I wanted to get a roll of Life Savers, and I was just reminding Sandy, here, about that twenty-five cents he owes me from yesterday. Re-mem-ber that, knuckle head?”
Ray’s usual nickname was “Sandy,” but because his father gave him a crew cut every September before school started, a crew cut which really amounted to shaving the boy’s head, Eddie teased his friend by calling him “knuckle head” because, he said, at least for one month out of the year, Ray’s head looked like a big knuckle.
“I don’t owe you no twenty-five cents,” Ray said, appearing for a moment to take Eddie seriously. “And don’t go calling me knuckle head, either!”
“Sure thing, knuckle head,” Eddie said as he rapped the back of his friend’s head with his clenched fist and made a hollow knocking sound with his tongue. “And now that I think about it, it wasn’t twenty-five cents; it was fifty cents you owed me. So—are you gonna cough it up, or am I going to have to beat it out of you.”
“Not in my store, you don’t,” Herb said calmly. “I just had the floor waxed last week. I don’t want you messin’ it up with his blood.”
“Oh, good! Real good!” Ray said, glancing over his shoulder at Farty and rolling his eyes. “Thanks a lot for your concern.” He’d finally caught on that Eddie was just pouring it on heavy to distract Farty, but he didn’t take very kindly to the threat of being beaten up. Actually, if it came right down to it, he knew that since he was a bit taller and heavier than Eddie, he could take him, easily. Then again, best friends didn’t beat up best friends, even if they did say stupid things about you to other people … especially when they were helping steal the latest issue of Playboy.
“Well, then,” Eddie said with a forced nonchalance, “I suppose I could give you another day or two to come up with the dough before I have to give ‘Fat Tony’ a call and ask him to break your kneecaps or something.”
Slipping one hand into his pants pocket, he moved over to the counter, picked up a roll of Five Flavor Life Savers, and said, “I guess I’ll have one of these.”
Just as Herb was leaning forward in his seat to ring in the sale, the bell at the front of the store jingled. Eddie cursed under his breath when he turned and saw Mikie, his younger brother
, walking toward them. A wide smile split Mikie’s face as he waved his hands excitedly over his head and called out, “Hi, Eddie! Hi, Sandy!”
His voice carried a high lilt to it that made Eddie cringe. Damnit! he thought. Why’d he have to show up? He’s gonna blow it!
Catching Ray’s attention with a quick glance, Eddie placed the roll of candy on the counter and then gave it a little push. It rolled to the edge of the counter and then, before Herb could stop it, dropped to the floor behind the cash register. Sighing heavily, Herb heaved himself forward to retrieve it. As soon as his head was down below counter level, Ray snapped open his notebook, tucked the magazine inside, and then clutched the notebook tightly to his chest. He nearly fainted, knowing that Mikie must have seen what he had done, but he nailed the younger boy with a hostile stare that screamed, Shut-the-hell-up-don’t-say-a-damned-thing-or-else!
“That’ll be a nickel,” Farty said. “Think you can manage that, Mr. Hot-shot, High-finance?”
“Yeah—sure,” Eddie said with a cockiness he didn’t really feel as he dug a nickel out of his pocket and handed it to Herb. His hand was clammy and shaking, but he hoped the old fart didn’t notice.
“Well, all right,” Herb said. He held the coin up in front of his eyes and studied it for a moment before dropping it into the cash drawer. “A whole nickel!” He ran the cash drawer shut with a loud clang. “Now I can finally afford that Florida retirement home I’ve always dreamed about.”
“Eddie, I—uh, you know, I ought to get going,” Ray said in a voice that sounded higher, more constricted than normal.
He started bouncing up and down on his toes like he had to go the bathroom real bad. “My dad’s expecting me to get my chores done before dark.” All the while, he was casting nervous glances between Farty and Mikie.
“Hey, what’s that you got there?” Mikie said.
At the same instant, Ray and Eddie both blurted, “Nothing.” Then Eddie turned to his brother and, holding the Life Savers up temptingly, said, “Oh, do you mean these?”
Mikie shook his head in denial and looked like he was going to say something more, but Eddie moved over to him quickly and, like a hypnotist, danced the candy in front of his brother’s face. Mikie’s smile widened as he licked his lips and said, “Yeah, can I have one?”
Milking the moment, and wishing to God that Ray would hurry up and start for the door, Eddie peeled the wrapper back and pried out a piece of candy. He made a move as if he was going to give it to Mikie, but then he popped it into his own mouth, smacking his lips loudly as he savored the flood of orange taste for a moment. “Umm-umm, that’s s-o-m-e good!” he said. “Are you sure you want one?” he asked, offering the opened package to Mikie.
“Yeah, really … I do,” Mikie said, nodding his head eagerly.
“Hey, didn’t I tell you kids to get the hell out of here?” Farty shouted. He shook his head as though disgusted, then took an angry puff on his cigar and blew a billowing cloud of blue smoke in Eddie’s direction. Eddie coughed into his fist as he waved his hand holding the Life Savers in front of him. Then he spun around on his heel, and he and Ray headed toward the exit. When Ray passed by Mikie, he paused and, leaning close, whispered, “I swear to God, if you tell him what you saw, I’ll kill you!”
Then, side by side, Eddie and Ray stepped out into the warm afternoon. As soon as the door swung shut behind them, they both let out their withheld breaths and laughed nervously.
“God, that was close!” Ray said as they started down the sidewalk at a fast clip, heading through town. It was a beautiful late summer afternoon. The sun bathed their faces with warmth, and there was a clean, sweet smell in the air that felt more like mid-August than September. Summer just didn’t seem to want to let go. The boys had just finished suffering through their third day of the new school year, but they were elated because—finally—the weekend was here and they had a brand new copy of Playboy.
“So tell me, knuckle head,” Eddie said, as they walked past the Summerfield Public Library. “Is that a roll of Life Savers in your pocket, or are you just happy to finally have your magazine?”
“Shut up, will you?” Ray said. His voice trembled slightly as he cast a nervous glance over his shoulder just to make sure Farty wasn’t coming after them with a shotgun. “I think he saw me do it.”
“Who, Farty?”
Ray snorted. “No, your dimwit brother. I’m positive he did. He was looking right at me.” He swallowed noisily. “Do you think he’ll say anything to Farty?”
“Naw. Not a chance,” Eddie said, waving his hand dismissively. “And I doubt Farty will even notice there’s an issue missing; but even if he does, he’ll never connect it with us.”
“Not unless your retard brother tells him.”
“He’s not a retard,” Eddie said, bristling for a moment. “So don’t worry, okay? Mikie wouldn’t say anything if he knew it would get me in trouble.”
Ray sniffed with nervous laughter. “That’s what I’m afraid of—that he won’t know the difference. After all, he is a retard.”
“He is not!” Eddie snapped.
Ray almost kept the argument going but fell silent as they continued down Main Street.
“Hey, come on, Sandy,” Eddie said at last. “Let’s duck out behind the post office. I want to see this month’s foldout and that European ‘sex siren’ you’ve been babbling about all week.” He grabbed at Ray’s notebook and almost pulled it from his hands.
“Hey, cut it out, will yah?”
“What do you mean, cut it out? I helped you get the damned thing. I want to take a look at it.”
“Not now!” Ray said, his voice edging tight and shivery. “I meant what I said. I gotta get my butt home and get the chickens fed and the coop cleaned out, or else my old man will whop me a good one.”
Eddie stopped short, caught Ray up by the shirt sleeve, and spun him around. “Well, I’ll whop you a good one, too, if you don’t at least let me take a peek at this month’s Playmate.” He clenched one fist and waved it threateningly in front of Ray’s nose. He knew he would never in the world really start a fight with Ray—he’d probably get the tar knocked out of him; he was just hoping his best friend would see reason.
“You know where it’ll be,” Ray said as he pulled away and started walking again to increase the distance between them and LaPointe’s Newsstand. There was still no sign of Farty giving chase to reclaim his stolen magazine, but Ray wanted to keep moving—fast. “I’ll see you out there first thing tomorrow morning just like we agreed, okay?”
“Hey, wait a minute! Sandy! That’s horse crap, and you know it!” Eddie shouted, but he didn’t give chase. He just stood there, watching helplessly as Ray hurried away from him.
“Couldn’t you at least let me—”
“No way,” Ray called back over his shoulder. “I’ll see yah tomorrow.” Then he broke into a run, turned the corner onto Chestnut Street, and was gone.
“Yeah, sure—” Eddie said softly as he shook his head. “Thanks a whole lot, pal!”
“’Scuse me,” Mikie said, “but did the new issue of Mad come in yet?”
Herb looked up from his paper and saw the look of excited expectation lighting the boy’s clear, blue eyes as he stood in front of the newsstand counter. His hands were thrust deep into his jeans pockets, making his shoulders sag forward, like he was caught in a permanent shrug. A shock of dark hair hung like a wet wing over his forehead, making his face look unusually pale for this late in the summer.
Maybe it’s just the lighting Herb thought, or else the poor kid just didn’t get to the beach all that much this summer.
Herb placed his cigar in the ashtray on the counter and smiled up at Mikie. He’d always liked the boy, had always felt a warm spot in his heart for him. He told himself it wasn’t just because he felt sorry when he saw how the kids in town, especially the older ones, treated him; and it wasn’t just because Mikie reminded him, quite a bit, actually, of his own son, Jeffrey, who h
ad died of leukemia more than ten years ago.
Ten years? Herb thought. God, it can’t have been that long ago, can it? In some ways it seems like just yesterday!
Herb folded his newspaper in half and placed it onto the counter, smoothing it with the flat of his hand. He stroked his flabby jowls for a moment as though trying hard to place a memory; then, smiling and nodding like Santa Claus, he said, “Oh, yeah, I think maybe it might’ve come in with this morning’s shipment. You know, I just ain’t had time to put it out yet. What, were you looking for a copy?”
Mikie’s smile widened, exposing the narrow gap between his teeth.
“You know, I kinda had a hunch you’d be in here today,” Herb said. He reached underneath the counter and produced a fresh copy of the magazine, holding it out to the boy’s eager hands. Before Mikie took it, Herb glanced at the cover and chuckled to himself, thinking how—especially when Mikie was excited—he looked a little bit like the goofy-looking kid on the cover.
“Aww, great!” Mikie said. He wedged the magazine under his arm while he dug into his pocket to produce a handful of change along with a few shreds of pocket lint. “I want a roll of Life Savers, too, like my brother just got.” He picked up a roll of candy from the display case and held it up high like a lit candle.
Herb took the handful of pennies and nickels from him and started counting the change carefully into the cash drawer, dropping each coin so it landed with a satisfying clink.
“Hey! Looks to me like you’re a bit light, here, son,” he said. “Actually, you’re three cents short for the magazine, not to mention the candy.”
“Oh, no! Really?” Mikie said, his expression suddenly darkening with a look of near terror. Herb saw the watery glaze that began to fill the boy’s eyes. “Aww, Jeeze, I really wanted it.” He glanced over his shoulder at the front door. “I—I don’t wanna have to do what Ray did.”