Forsaken

by J. D. Barker

  She looked to the ground, her eyes glistening in the lantern light. She reached for my hand through the bars and I entwined my fingers with hers.

  “Not all witchcraft is evil, and certainly not all witches are akin with the devil,” she began. “Most are healers, utilizing methods passed down from each generation to the next. Herbs and spells, remedies known only to a few but meant to help the many…this is what true witchcraft is borne of.”

  I felt her fingers tense within mine, her grip hesitant, yet firm. “There is a book, but it is not what you believe it to be.”

  —Thad McAlister,

  Rise of the Witch

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  Day 3 – 03:50 a.m.

  “MS. PEREZ, GET ASHLEY UPSTAIRS and lock yourselves in my room!”

  Ms. Perez stood frozen in her tracks, her wide eyes locked on the coffee table, the shadow of the evil little creature etched in her mind.

  “Ms. Perez!” Rachael shouted. “Now!”

  “Mommy, I want to stay with you!” Ashley pleaded. She had her arms wrapped around Buster, holding him so tight Rachael wasn’t sure he could breathe.

  “I’ll be right there. Please, Ashley,” she said. “Ms. Perez, now. Take her.”

  Ms. Perez nodded and took the little girl by the hand, leading her up the stairs. Buster hesitated, unsure if he should leave Rachael alone. Then he turned and went after them.

  Rachael searched the room but found no sign of the tiny little creatures. They were close, though; she felt their eyes on her. They watched from the thick shadows in the corners of the room, under the furniture, at the windows. She wasn’t sure how many in total, but there were many, far more than the two they had already encountered.

  With slow steps, she crossed the hallway to the kitchen and grabbed a butcher knife from the drawer beside the sink. She then slid a small stepladder beside the refrigerator and climbed up.

  They kept the small metal box in the corner of the cabinet above the refrigerator, far from Ashley’s reach. Rachael entered the combination on the lock and the lid snapped open, much louder than she would have hoped. Again, she scanned the room for prying eyes. Although she didn’t see them, she knew they were still close.

  She reached inside and removed her husband’s .38. The steel was cold and oily to the touch. Although they had not shot the gun in years, Thad kept the weapon clean and ready to fire. She didn’t have to check the chamber to know it was loaded. Rachael dropped the .38 into the right pocket of her robe and grabbed both boxes of spare ammunition, placing them in the left.

  Climbing down, she took the telephone receiver from the wall and pressed it to her ear—dead.

  “Dammit,” she cursed, replacing the phone.

  As she started back toward the stairs, something scurried across the floor in the darkness. She spun toward the sound, her fingers clenching the gun in her pocket, the knife held high. “Show yourself, you little shit.” She scanned the darkness for its watchful eyes but found nothing.

  Rachael backed out of the room and ran up the stairs at the fastest pace her large, pregnant body would allow. When she reached her bedroom door, it was locked. “Open up. It’s me,” she breathed. She heard someone fumble with the lock from the other side. Then Ms. Perez cracked the door, peeking out. Rachael pushed past her and pressed the lock on the knob as she slammed the door shut. For a moment, she forgot the large knife in her hand. When she caught her daughter staring, she placed the weapon on the dresser at her side. “I don’t want you to touch that, sweetie,” she told her.

  “Knives won’t help, anyway,” Ashley told her. “Zeke said they can’t die since they’re not really alive.”

  “Zeke said that, huh?”

  “She has been talking to herself since we got in here,” Ms. Perez said with disgust. “Crazy little child.”

  “Ms. Perez!” Rachael’s gaze burned with anger. “You shall never say such things, or you can find employment elsewhere.”

  “Maybe someplace without monsters and crazy little children,” Ms. Perez shot back.

  Rachael wasn’t in the mood for an argument. Right now she only wanted to get herself and her daughter to safety. She glanced at the window. “It will be light out soon. We’ll stay here until the sun comes up. At first light, we’ll get to the car and get the hell out. I don’t think we should try at night. We don’t know what those things are or how many—”

  “El Diablo,” Ms. Perez said under her breath.

  “Zeke says they work for the scary lady with the long fingernails. He called them minn… mun… munyens…”

  “Minions?” Rachael asked.

  Ashley nodded. “They work for her.”

  Rachael swallowed. “The lady with the long fingernails?”

  “I…I don’t know,” she stammered. “I’ve never seen her, but Zeke says she’s a bad person. A really bad person. She won’t let us leave, never ever.”

  Ms. Perez uttered something in Spanish and went to the window. Outside, the rain was falling in sheets so thick she couldn’t make out the streetlights, visibility limited to only a few feet. She did notice the dirt piled along the window sill, both inside and out.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  Day 3 – 03:51 a.m.

  THAD WOKE TO THE RAIN. Not a soothing shower like those that sing you to sleep with the steady patter of raindrops, but instead an angry downpour—dark clouds unleashing their fury and might on the murky twilight. The rumble of thunder still rattled through his bones, no doubt responsible for waking him. He didn’t know how long he had slept, nor did he recall falling asleep—exhaustion had simply overtaken him and dragged him into slumber. The maps were still spread out before him on the table beside his journal.

  He had drifted off in the wooden chair and his body ached for it. He leaned back and stretched, fighting back the pain caused by sleeping in such a position.

  It would be light in about two hours. He hoped the weather would break but somehow knew better.

  The rain wouldn’t stop until this was over.

  Reaching for his coffee, he swallowed the last of it in a single gulp, cringing as the cold, bitter liquid rushed down his throat and settled in his empty stomach.

  Thad fell still for a moment, listening to the storm.

  Was she also listening?

  From some dark place was her face turned to the sky, feeling the tiny droplets against her skin for the first time in centuries, eagerly awaiting him, knowing he drew close?

  Standing, he went to the window and pulled back the dusty curtain.

  Could he will her to come?

  He imagined her standing out there, in the middle of the deserted parking lot. Not the old woman, but Her in her younger form—the one who had invaded his dreams of late, the one who had started him on this journey.

  The one he knew as Christina. This character that had somehow jumped from the pages of his manuscript into real life.

  He imagined her smiling face as she looked up at the swollen clouds and spread her arms wide, soaking in each drop. The unwavering wind caught in her clothing, providing quick glimpses of her beautiful legs and thighs. She would giggle when she noticed him watching, not out of shyness but satisfaction, knowing she held his gaze once again. She would reach for the buttons of her blouse and release them one at a time until the experienced hands of the wind opened the faded cloth ever so briefly, exposing only a moment’s glance at her perfect breasts.

  Such images of her drove him to write the book in the first place. Her touch gave him the strength and determination to continue, and her will helped him finish it.

  The young witch of Shadow Cove.

  His desire to bring her life to paper was stronger than any he had ever known.

  A married man shouldn’t long after another with such desperation, not even a fictional character; he found shame and guilt in it. Yet he couldn’t allow himself to forget her. Those feelings made her so real, made her jump from the paper.

  This Christina.
<
br />   It’s a spell, Thad. She has you under a spell, his mind warned him. You’ve become her puppet. No more in control than a train racing down tracks. Her grip tightens with each moment. You need to walk away, deny her—say no to this fool’s quest and get home to your wife and daughter while you still can.

  He smelled her sweet scent. How close was she?

  Could he deny her?

  Silly Thad. Wondering such things, her voice sang softly at his ear. Thad turned but found no one there, yet her breath still warmed his neck.

  After all I have done for you? All I want to do to you?

  Then he saw her, standing in the rain as he imagined only moments earlier. Her brilliant blue eyes glowed like sapphires from beneath her locks of long brown hair. Her smile, ever so subtle, seductive, a mouth longing for the touch of another.

  Was she real or another dream? Thad didn’t know anymore. He was so tired. He wanted her, yet his mind cried out in protest. He longed to stop but only drew closer. His will was no longer his own.

  No! Don’t you see? It’s her! She’s doing this to you! His mind fought back. Don’t let her take you! You must fight!

  His feet inched toward the door; he didn’t have the willpower to stop.

  She’ll kill you and your family! Don’t you realize that? Once she has what she wants? This seduction, this game—it’s all a lie! She’s just breaking you down. She’s toying with you.

  But Thad had no fight left.

  He glanced at his pills on the table, left them. Instead, he scooped up the large knife he found in the kitchenette when he arrived. He scooped it up and placed the blade beneath the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back.

  Unlatching the lock, Thad opened the door and stepped out into the rain. He knew it should be cold, but instead he found the drops warm as they soaked his clothing. She stopped her dance as he approached, her tongue playing over red lips. When she reached out to him, he had little choice but to take her hand and wrap his fingers tightly around hers. He couldn’t help but pull her close and stare into those eyes as she looked up at him with a lust and hunger trapped beneath a veil of innocence.

  This isn’t real, he told himself. It’s just another dream. Somehow she’s in my head, she’s making me do this. Her game—it’s all just part of her game.

  “Who are you? Christina or the witch? Or are you both one and the same?” he asked.

  “I’m whoever you want me to be,” came her reply.

  “Are you really here?”

  “I don’t know, Thad. Am I?”

  This is her fantasy, not yours. You’re just a puppet to her. How easily she controls you.

  She massaged his back and leaned into him. “I can be whatever you want me to be. Whoever you want me to be. I’m yours until the end of time,” she said. “As long as you bring me the box.”

  Thad glanced around the parking lot at the various motel windows, each with their drapes pulled tight as the occupants slept safely behind closed doors. No doubt holding their loved ones tight as thunder crackled though the night.

  He tried to back away but he had no control over his movements, his words. Thad felt as if he were watching a movie, just a spectator.

  The sharp blade of the knife chewed at his back and he welcomed the pain, welcomed the clarity it brought. “I love my wife,” he forced out. “You mean nothing to me.”

  Her eyes glistened with a touch of anger.

  Rainwater pooled around them.

  She took a step back from him and ran a hand through her thick dark hair, then slowly down her neck to her breasts. One by one she unsnapped the buttons, then peeled the wet blouse from her shoulders and dropped it to the ground at her feet. Her skirt followed as she eased her fingers under the waistband and pushed it down over her hips, revealing the creamy pale skin beneath. She wore nothing else. For a moment, she remained still. Then she raised her face to the sky, closing her eyes as she licked the rainwater from her lips. Thad watched the rain cover every inch of her perfect form, he watched the rise and fall of her chest as she took in each excited breath, he watched until he had no choice but to close the distance between them.

  “You are mine,” she told him. “My little toy to do with as I please, nothing more. You must never forget that.”

  No!

  Thad went to her, his movements no longer his own. His lips found her open mouth and she welcomed him. He then fell to his knees and pressed his face into her, into the warmth burning between her legs. She moaned with pleasure as his tongue found her, and she pushed against him firmer still as the muscles of her legs began to quake.

  “I…do not…love you…” He forced out the words. “This…you…means nothing to me.”

  With his right hand, he reached to his back and retrieved the knife. With his left, he grabbed at her—

  But found only air.

  When he opened his eyes, he stood alone in the parking lot under the unforgiving storm. For the first time since wandering out into the night, the rain chilled him.

  She was gone.

  The knife clattered to the blacktop, and he wept.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  Day 3 – 04:01 a.m.

  THE BATHROOM EXHALED; ALL the air left at once, stifling the candle and plunging the room into total darkness.

  The silence grew overwhelming.

  Del gasped.

  Everything changed in an instant.

  With an ungodly roar, the water rushed from the bathtub toward the ceiling in a blood-red geyser before raining back down on the pentagram—a wall of water so thick it appeared solid. The scent of sulfur filled the room, burning at his eyes. Del scrambled backward, pushing away until his back pressed against the wall and he could move no more. Then all fell silent and the room plunged into darkness. Water covered the floor, cold to the touch. Del wanted to stand. He wanted to escape the room and somehow reverse whatever he had done, but he knew it was too late.

  His eyes adjusting to the lack of light, she came into view as her quiet voice broke the silence. A young girl of no more than eighteen or nineteen crouched low in the center of the pentagram, the rainwater glistening on her naked body.

  “Why have you summoned me?” she said in a voice so soft it was barely heard, yet loud enough to claw at his mind like a screamed thought.

  Del stared at her, unable to turn away. He found her to be as beautiful as the manuscript described—more so—a beauty that can’t be found in words alone.

  Del knew the spell would work. When he read Thad’s book, he understood the story was far older than either of them could dare to comprehend. An ancient secret concealed by generations of believers and nonbelievers alike until almost forgotten, until a writer gave the tale life by placing pen to paper.

  As it was written, so it shall become.

  “Why have you summoned me?” she repeated, this time with far more force and a tinge of anger.

  Del watched as she stood, brushing long dark hair from her face. Her blue eyes seemed to glow in the dim light as she took in her surroundings before settling her gaze upon him.

  He rose to his feet. Reaching for the bathrobe hanging beside him, he draped it over her bare shoulders, unable to keep from taking in her seductive scent as he did so. “I can’t believe you’re real,” he said as his fingers found her skin.

  She shrugged off his touch. “The simple minds of men. Is that all you want? To know the feel of my warmth against your own? The taste of my lips? My touch?”

  Del fell silent.

  Her eyes landed on the manuscript and she crossed the room, the open robe trailing behind her. Her fingers brushed the pages and she let out a soft sigh. “How did you come into possession of this?”

  “It was given to me by a friend,” Del told her.

  “Liar!” Her voice echoed off the marble and shrieked through the apartment. The wind outside seemed to howl in unison, excited by the outburst.

  Del took a step back. “Thad McAlister gave it to me. I’m his agent
. It’s my job to help him get published so others can read your story.” He hesitated, then added, “So others can learn about you. So the world will learn who you are.”

  This answer seemed to satisfy her. She rested her hands on the manuscript and closed her eyes.

  “Why have you summoned me?” she repeated for the third time.

  Del crossed the room and placed his hands on her shoulders and then kissed her neck. “Your story was… is…incredible. After reading it, I wanted desperately to know you. I wanted to be close to you, help you in any way I was able.”

  He watched as her slender hand found the knife. She drew her finger across the blade, back and forth. Then she traced the handle before returning to the blade. She didn’t draw blood; instead, her perfect fingertips glistened as the rainwater danced in the blade’s reflection. Her nails were long, frighteningly so. To Del, they appeared as sharp as the blade itself.

  She looked to the floor and Del followed her gaze. Most of the water was gone, he realized. Only where she stood did some remain. Dried bougainvillea blossoms littered the ground, shriveled with rot, as if dead for weeks. Still looking down, she spoke. “I haven’t much time; there never seems to be enough.”

  “What can I do?” Del asked her.

  She lowered her head and reached for his hands, wrapping them around her. “Hold me,” she breathed. “Just hold me.”

  Across the room, the candle flickered to life; its tiny flame began to dance across the walls. The girl’s hands guided Del skillfully over her before coming to rest around his own neck. He glanced at the mirror across the room, at the flickering image of them as they stood in the candlelight and gasped.

  The reflection wasn’t that of the young girl but instead a very old woman in tattered clothing. Her blue eyes had become dark pits, her skin wrinkled to that of death. He tried to pull away from her, but somehow she held him close. When a laugh escaped her throat, he smelled breath of rot and decay. She tapped her fingernails together at his ears in a rhythmic clickity, click, click before plunging them into his neck with a twist. He grabbed at her wrists, his fingers finding cold dead skin. He tried to pull her off, but she was the stronger; her nails only dug deeper.