by J. D. Barker
“Taint this ground,
“Earth, air, and place.
“Of life it’s not,
“No life shall leave,
“Trapped for all time,
“In the bowels of this tree.”
With these words, flowers at the base of the tree began to wilt and die. Before his eyes, Tauber watched a death spread from the base of the tree outward toward the forest. It engulfed the Stranger and he grew older in an instant, then older still. “From this moment, this place is cursed,” he cautioned. “No man shall disturb it, no life shall exist upon it. To do so will bring certain death quickly, without fail.”
The grass at their feet turned brown, then black. Tauber felt a pain course through his lungs. His legs grew weak. He began to back away.
“Run,” he breathed, his eyes wide with fear. “Run from this place!”
The remainder of his men disappeared in the forest in the direction of town.
“You will keep them away,” the Stranger said upon a gasp filled with death. “You will keep all away from this place from now until forever more.”
Tauber ran after the others as the forest died around them. At his back, the Stranger collapsed upon the earth. He became dust, and he became one with this place as the wind scattered him among the trees.
The sky opened and rain tore through the night.
—Thad McAlister,
Rise of the Witch
CHAPTER NINETY-SEVEN
Day 3 – 11:55 p.m.
THAD SAW THEM NOW, just ahead. Rachael, at the center of the group on the ground, wasn’t moving. Ashley knelt at her side, her face red with tears.
He spotted the box at their side.
He felt the witch, Her energy surrounding them, an evil so thick upon the air it grew palpable.
The blow from behind knocked him to the ground, sending the air from his lungs.
“We’ve got unfinished business, you and I,” Del breathed at his ear.
CHAPTER NINETY-EIGHT
Day 3 – 11:56 p.m.
“BRING HIM HERE!” CHRISTINA’S voice echoed through the night, her gaze bearing down upon them. The others had turned, too; all now faced them. “Now!” she commanded.
Del swore under his breath and hauled Thad to his feet, pushing him through the remaining bushes until they reached the clearing.
“Daddy!” Ashley shouted.
A woman at her side reached down and held his daughter still.
“It’s okay, baby. I’m here. I won’t let them hurt you.”
Del snickered. “Yeah, you’re in control of this show. You’re clearly pulling the strings.”
Christina walked up to him and ran her hand down Thad’s chest. “You drank the water, didn’t you? The rain in Shadow Cove?” She couldn’t help but smile. “That is how you survived? The power becomes you, Thad. It really does. Your eyes are the bluest of sapphires.”
Thad pushed past her to his wife.
Rachael’s hand shot out and grasped his as another contraction came. Eleanor turned back to her and positioned her hands between her legs. She could see the baby’s head now; only a few more moments.
“Push, my child,” she told her. “Deliver her into this world so that She may breathe again.”
Around her, the others drew near. Hand in hand, they watched in silent anticipation.
CHAPTER NINETY-NINE
Day 3 – 11:57 p.m.
THE BABY CAME WITH a shrill cry. With a final push, Eleanor took hold of the child’s shoulders and pulled her free of her mother.
A little girl.
Rachael fell still. Although breathing, the last of her energy was gone; childbirth had drained her battered frame.
Christina spread a blanket at Eleanor’s side and she placed the baby upon it, inches from the box.
Hands reached out and held Thad still.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED
Day 3 – 11:58 p.m.
THE KNIFE IN HAND, Eleanor cut the baby’s arm and smeared a thin line of the blood on the child’s forehead. “This child is yours, this life, this body.”
With an almost inaudible click, the box popped open and a gray mist danced from beneath the lid. It rose high into the air, circling them, engulfing them.
She was here.
Thad gasped. He felt Her, this creature from his book. This witch of generations old. Her spirit rushed out upon them and filled the clearing with an energy unlike any he had ever experienced. The others felt it, too—enveloping them, her brothers and sisters, her children. She took form and rose high into the night, looking down upon them with ravenous anticipation.
She looked down upon his baby, his child.
Her sharp, yellow teeth glistened in the rain, her long fingernails rapping against each other.
Clickity, click, click.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED ONE
Day 3 – 11:58 p.m.
THE THORNY BUSHES HAD opened his arms in a number of places. Thad wiped at one of the wounds and smeared the blood on his forehead. “I am yours, this life, this body,” he blurted out. “Why wait for the body of a child, when you can have that of a grown man?”
“No!” Eleanor cried, lunging at him with the knife in hand.
“Bagahi laca bachahe, lamc cahl achabahe,” Thad chanted. “Come to me. Tamsalin, I am yours,” he breathed. Her true name came from his lips for the first and last time.
The rain stopped.
The night fell silent.
For the briefest of moments, the gray swirl paused, then raced for him, swallowing Thad in a cloud of darkness. The mist found his eyes and pushed inside, filling him with a chill that scraped at his bones and soul.
When Thad’s eyes opened, She looked out upon the world for the first time in almost half a millennium. She looked out over those who had brought Her back, those who had rescued Her from Her fate. She looked out for the briefest of moments before Eleanor plunged the knife into Thad’s chest with such force that the blade cracked his breastplate and tore through his heart.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWO
Day 3 – 11:59 p.m.
ASHLEY PULLED FREE AND ran to her dad, reaching him as he crumbled to the ground. Eleanor fell with him, twisting the knife as they went. At their backs, Christina screamed in protest. She reached for Eleanor and threw the old woman to the side.
Her hands fell upon the knife, but she knew there was nothing she could do; he was dead.
“He couldn’t have Her,” Eleanor cried. “He didn’t deserve Her, he didn’t earn the right.”
Christina glanced around, eyes aflame with anger, at the men who had been holding Thad, then at Del and Ashley, glaring at Eleanor. “Where is She? Did She die with him or escape? Where is She?”
Eleanor realized the horror of what she had done, and her face filled with agony.
“All of you were touching him at his death. Did she transfer to one of you?” Christina shouted in frustration.
Above, the moon appeared through the haze. The storm clouds broke and the night began to clear.
In the distance, a siren wailed.
Christina’s glare shot to Del. He had his cell phone out; he had dialed the police. Her spell upon him had been broken.
Around them, the bougainvilleas began to wither and die. The minions that had been running around their feet were now nothing more than small piles of dirt.
It was gone, all of it.
She was gone.
Pushing past the others, Christina shed her robe and disappeared into the night.
DAY 4
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THREE
Day 4 – 7:00 a.m.
“MRS. MCALISTER? CAN YOU hear me?”
Rachael woke to a bright light. Her eyes fluttered open and she pinched them shut.
She was so cold.
“She’s coming around,” a voice said. “Mrs. McAlister?”
She groaned and hesitantly opened her eyes again, allowing them to adjust.
“You’re at Morningside Memorial.
Try to remain still; you’ve lost a lot of blood.”
Rachael nodded, awakening a throbbing pain behind her eyes.
A small man came into focus. Balding with dark-rimmed glasses, he stared at her with concern, a penlight in his hand.
He offered a weak smile. “I’m Doctor Spalding. You gave us quite a scare last night, but you’re out of the woods now.”
“Doctor, if she can speak, I need to talk to her.”
Rachael turned her head to find an older man in a rumpled suit rising from the chair beside the window. She pointed to a glass of water and the doctor handed it to her, helping Rachael get the straw in her mouth.
“Mrs. McAlister, this is Detective Jack Doulis. He’s been waiting since they brought you in last night. If you don’t feel up to speaking to him, tell me and I’ll have no problem making him wait longer.”
Rachael shook her head. “Where’s my daughter?”
“She’s in maternity. She is a little underweight due to the early birth but otherwise in good health. She should be able to go home in a few days,” the doctor explained. “We paged Dr. Roskin; he’s on his way.”
“No, Ashley—where is Ashley?”
Spalding glanced at the detective. “I’ll give you a few minutes.” He left the room.
The detective cleared his throat. “We haven’t been able to locate her, ma’am. The patrolmen recall seeing her when they arrived on scene last night, but she disappeared during the commotion. We issued an Amber Alert statewide and set up roadblocks at all the major roadways. There were a number of people at your home when the first car got there. They scattered. We were able to pick up a few, but most ran. At this point, we’re not sure if she went willingly with one of them, was abducted, or simply wandered off. I was hoping you could shed some light on what happened. What were they all doing on your lawn?”
The images of last night began to flood back into her mind. Rachael gasped. “Thad?”
“I’m sorry.”
Tears began to well up in her eyes.
“Who would want to hurt him? Were these people fans? Some kind of cult following? It looked like we stumbled onto some type of ritual.” He ran his hand through his thinning hair. “The ones we picked up aren’t talking. I mean, at all. They haven’t said a single word. I’m not going to be able to hold them much longer unless someone gives me something.”
He paused, then sat on the edge of the bed. “Your husband’s agent was there too, Mrs. McAlister. Can you tell me why your husband’s agent would be standing on your front lawn with a group of people in the middle of the night? He suffered a heart attack shortly after we arrived; he didn’t make it to the hospital. Did he stab your husband? Did they get into an argument or physical altercation?”
Rachael just stared at him, her mind swimming in thoughts.
“Your dog was locked in the garage. As soon as we opened the door, he darted for your neighbor’s house—the Nelsons. Aubrey and Jim. Nice people. They said they’d keep an eye on him until you returned home.” He glanced down at a small notepad in his hand. “Aubrey said they’ve been gone for a few days visiting their niece in Ohio. Left on Monday and returned late yesterday. She said your landscaping changed completely in that short amount of time, not for the better. Seemed perplexed. You must have had hundreds of bushes planted and they all died. Any idea why? She was worried it would spill over into her yard.”
A nurse stepped into the room. One glance from the detective turned her around.
“Rachael, you need to help me find your daughter,” he told her.
EPILOGUE
CARMEN PEREZ WIPED AT her tired eyes and opened another energy drink. She chugged the beverage and tossed the can out the car window, watching as it bounced off the median into the grassy shoulder off Interstate 605.
They had been driving for nearly sixteen hours in silence. She had anticipated roadblocks, but they didn’t encounter a single one.
The child rode silently beside her. Her eyes transfixed on the desolate stretch of highway, her tiny fingers knotted around the seat belt. “In a day or so, you will be among friends,” Perez told her in Spanish. “There will be shelter, food, clothing. A place where you can grow unabated by the trappings of this world. A place where you will be safe until the day you wish to venture out. I won’t notify the others, not unless you wish me to do so. I am yours to command; I am your humble servant, as are those at our destination. You will see. It is a good place.”
The child understood the strange tongue, as she understood all languages.
She did not look at the woman driving the vehicle. Her gaze remained fixed on the surroundings, mesmerized by this carriage and the miles it effortlessly chewed up in their wake.
It was a lot to take in, Perez knew. So many years had passed, so much time spent in darkness.
She would guide Her. She would help her adjust to this new, fast-paced world.
Perez reached for the radio dial and scanned the channels; there was nothing but religious broadcasts and country music.
The child was staring at her, her eyes wide.
Perez understood. “We have the ability to broadcast messages over great distances—not only audio, video too. When the time is right, your messages will be heard by millions all over the world.”
She switched off the radio. Perhaps the selection would improve as they approached Mexico.
The child stared as a minute passed, then nodded in understanding. The movement was mechanical, jerky. In time, she would grow accustomed to this body.
“The township of Shadow Cove, it still exists?” Ashley asked in Spanish.
The child’s voice startled her. It was that of Ashley McAlister, yet wasn’t. When she glanced over, the child was still looking out the window.
“It does,” she replied.
“I wish to visit the township of Shadow Cove,” the child told her.
Perez frowned. “It’s not safe right now; they will be looking for you. We need to leave the United States for a while. Someday, you will be able to return—not now, though. It would be too risky.”
The child’s gaze did not falter. Her light blonde hair fluttered gently across her forehead and over her eyes. She made no attempt to move it. She remained rigid, unnervingly so.
“You wish to find those who trapped you? The deceptive ones?” Perez asked.
“He is still alive?” the child questioned.
Perez nodded. “He is not, but the others who were with him that night, they live.”
“Then you will take me there,” Ashley stated.
“When the time is right, I will.”
The child’s grip released from her seat belt and she stared at her tiny fingers; her thumb and forefinger rubbed against each other in a circular pattern, her nails snapping softly.
Clickity, click, click.
EPILOGUE CONTINUED
Ten Years Earlier
A TINY BELL RANG as Rachael Adams pushed through the heavy wooden door into the store. She looked up and saw it hanging from the frame, still swinging.
Boxes littered the floor, many unpacked and empty. A few remained sealed, crumpled newspaper scattered about. Some shelves were barren, while others were overflowed with various items and knickknacks.
“Hello?” she called. “Are you open?”
Stepping inside, the door closed with a squeak at her back, sealing out the cool crisp air which seemed synonymous with coastal Maine in the fall. The room smelled of lemons and vanquished dust. Display cases and curios polished to a mirror finish surrounded her, and books lined the walls from floor to ceiling.
“Is there anyone here?” she said. This time, a little louder than the first.
Rachael was in town with her fiancé, Thad McAlister. They had spent the last four months touring the country promoting his first novel, A Caller’s Game—moving from town to town, bookstore to bookstore. A blur of a trip they had both hoped would be an adventure, it had turned into hours trapped in his ancient Honda Accord surrou
nded by fast food wrappers and the constant need to find a new radio station as the previous one faded to static above the whir of tires churning away the miles.
She loved him, she was sure of that. She knew the moment they had met. She also believed he would succeed as a writer; he was very good. She had read his pages nearly every night for the past two years as he struggled to find the time to write between two part-time jobs. He had little trouble finding a publisher; they had even provided a small advance. It had seemed like a fairy tale at the time. She would often catch herself planning their life together—he the famous author, she the supporting wife raising their children in a picturesque house in a beautiful neighborhood.
It would all fall into place once the book was published.
Only things hadn’t.
It had been out for six months now and sales were dismal. The critics tore the book to shreds. He sold a handful of copies on stops like this, but in many towns nobody turned up at all.
She couldn’t bear to think of him sitting alone at a small table in the back of the bookstore again, surrounded by his novel, waiting for someone, anyone, to approach and request an autograph. She recalled one store in Illinois about a month into the trip, by far the worst. When they arrived, the clerk at the counter hadn’t known he was coming; he didn’t even recognize his name. After a phone call to management, he had gone to the back storeroom and pulled out the box of Thad’s novel, sent in advance by the publisher—the box hadn’t even been opened. Not a single copy had been set out. Thad had played it off with a smile, then spent the next two hours sitting at the table (it always seemed to be the same table), waiting.
It would get better, he promised her. His next book would be a blockbuster. He wasn’t about to be discouraged. He wouldn’t give up.
Each time his cell phone rang, though, she feared it was his publisher calling off the remainder of the tour, capping the advance, ending his dream.
Castle Rock, Maine, was their last stop in the United States. They were off to Montreal next—she shivered. She grew cold just thinking about the place. She missed their tiny apartment and the lumpy mattress on the floor of their single bedroom. The space wasn’t much, but at least they could call it home.