Salem's Daughters

by Stephen Tremp

  Debbie was only interested in one item: a predetermined alert. The developers who bought the twenty-five acre property where Murcat Manor once stood were planning a ground breaking for a major resort. Daily she had prepared herself to receive news.

  And here it was. She sat the bowl down and called out to Rosie, now on the other side of the kitchen and writing up a female inmate for a minor breach of a ruling ridiculous to begin with.

  “Excuse me, Sergeant. I need to use the restroom.”

  Rosie turned and bellowed, pointing a thick finger at Debbie. “Hurry up. And don’t forget to wash your hands. Failing to do so is an infraction.”

  Debbie pulled off her thin rubber gloves and apron and made her way to the bathroom. Once in the stall, she projected the touch screen and monitor on the inside of the stall door and clicked Enter to begin the news story.

  The anchor man, his hair combed into a high mound at the front of his head, smiled wide for the camera. Debbie convulsed as she couldn’t fathom pompadours having come back into fashion with a vengeance.

  “And now we have a real feel good story for you this Thanksgiving morning that’s sure to make your hearts warm and toasty. Let’s go live to our reporter Olivia Nesman in the rolling hills between Battle Creek and Marshall.”

  A young pretty blonde stared at Debbie, her hair a scaled down beehive, also a reincarnated fashion rage. “Thank you, Arthur. I’m here at the ribbon-cutting ceremony for the exclusive luxury Oakhill Hotel and Resort. This is big news around here.”

  Debbie gasped loud, hoping Rosie, who she knew had her ear pressed on the other side of the bathroom door, didn’t hear. Olivia Beehive continued to talk way too fast and chirpy as she walked across the lawn in front of the sprawling hotel. Behind the reporter stood a dozen men and women dressed in business attire. The man in the center held an oversized pair of gold colored scissors.

  “This property had been acquired ten years ago by local developers. Now, three years after breaking ground on this five-star hangout for the rich and famous, the luxury four hundred and eighty-eight room retreat is ready to welcome their first guests. This place is absolutely stunning and booked solid through next summer.

  “The hotel, with its seven restaurants and eighteen-hole golf course, will bring many jobs to the area as this countryside continues to be developed with new housing tracts, malls, and schools. And now, the mayor of Battle Creek, Conner Addison, will cut the ribbon and officially open the resort.”

  Debbie wasn’t sure what hurt more, the memories she shared with Bob or the beautiful serene countryside developed into a planned concrete jungle.

  Addison cut the ribbon, then led the group through the front doors. Olivia followed into the posh lobby, adorned with exaggerated opulence that told most viewers they couldn’t afford the stay.

  Olivia continued with her overly chipper, fast paced tone. “But that’s not all that this story is about.”

  Four more suits held something in their hands. The camera zoomed in. “And just this morning, thirteen baby kittens were found by a maintenance crew in the basement.”

  Oh. My. God.

  Olivia picked one up and scratched its belly. Black rings circled the eyes. “Oh, she is so adorable. I just love these little fluffballs. This one looks like a nerd. These circles around her eyes, they resemble thick black glasses.”

  Conner Addison faced the camera and responded. “We’re calling these cute little bundles of joy the Miracle Kitties. If they can survive all alone without a mother, we’re confident they can bring the resort good fortune.”

  Olivia handed the kitten back. “Well, you’ll need it—the history of this property seems to be haunted.”

  Addison and the resort managers laughed in unison. “That’s ancient superstition. In today’s world of modern physics and technology, there’s simply no place for that sort of nonsense. These little kitties will be the perfect pets to greet guests as they arrive for a time to be pampered at our luxury resort, one of the largest and finest in the Great Lakes region.”

  Olivia leaned in and rubbed a few cats on their underside, her cameraman zooming in from above her shoulder. “Aww, they’re so cute. What are you going to call them?”

  “Believe it or not, their names just came to me.” He rattled off their names while pointing at each individual kitten:

  Emily.

  Rebecca.

  Annie.

  Jacquelyn.

  Chloe.

  Amy.

  Helen.

  Scarlett.

  Angel.

  Esther.

  Isabella.

  Rachel.

  He paused, for a second. “Oh yes, and Madelyn.”

  Debbie took a deep breath to gather her bearings. She was a thousand miles deep in a vast valley of sorrow and anger when a rap on the door jerked her mind back.

  “Mrs. Stevens, everything okay in there?”

  Sheeeesh. Maybe I should have given Rosie a tray of chicken wings to keep her busy, Debbie thought.

  “I’m fine, Sergeant Pyke. Thanks for asking. Be right out.”

  “Don’t forget to wash your hands. Remember ….”

  “I know. I know. Infraction.”

  Debbie forwarded the story to the one person she had saved in her list of contacts. Retired Chief of Police Thomas Darrowby. She then whispered a message into her wristband, the words displaying on the interactive touch screen image projected onto the stall door.

  I know you don’t believe me when I say I did not kill any of those people. Especially my husband or my grandparents. I only ask that you think back to that night when Murcat Manor burned to the ground. You heard Emily speak inside your mind. I know you did. Your reaction revealed as much.

  Take a look at this news clip and see for yourself the thirteen cats. They have the same names. Even Madelyn with the dark circles around her eyes that looked like nerdy glasses is there. You can’t deny it. These are the same cats. And they will kill again at this resort as they did to Murcat Manor.

  The reply came quickly as Darrowby’s spoken response was displayed as text and visible on the interactive monitor. He used his own face for an avatar. Debbie hated that image and imagined wiping that stupid condescending trademark smirk off with a single, well placed punch to his jaw, much like Bob had done one night thirty-three years ago.

  Mrs. Stevens, I see you’re still up to your old tricks. But you can’t fool me. I believe you still have your wits about you, as you always have. You got lucky with your attorney. You really should be with the murderers and serial killers in level 3.

  Debbie spoke quick and quiet. She knew Rosie would burst through the door any moment.

  You have to listen to me. Lives are at stake. We can’t let this happen again.

  Darrowby’s words were stark, bordering on belligerent.

  We? Surely you don’t think you can pull me into your little world of madness. Now you’re just pissing me off. My wife and I are preparing to entertain twenty family members for Thanksgiving, and you interrupt me with tales of your cats reemerging to do what? Kill more people? Do you think of me as some old goof with an advanced case of Alzheimers?

  “Mrs. Stevens. Are you alright? What’s going on in there?”

  “Nothing,” Debbie said as she hit the Mute key. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  Debbie touched Mute again and continued her conversation with Darrowby.

  For the love of God, you have to listen to me. It’s happening—starting all over—again. The cats. Emily. Just think back to that night at Murcat Manor. Emily talked to us. You heard her.

  Darrowby again was quick to respond.

  No. What I heard was the power of suggestion. Caused by you, Murcat Manor burning to the ground, and you killing my partner Kowalski. That’s all. I didn’t hear anything. Understand? I’m a smart man. So please don’t interrupt my family holiday and insult my intelligence.

  Debbie would have no more of Darrowby’s denial. She had a few precious mome
nts before Pyke would barge in.

  No, you arrogant bastard. Emily spoke to us. To you. She called you Detective Dickhead. Remember? How else would I know that?

  “Mrs. Stevens. Please come out. Or I’ll have to haul you out of that stall myself.”

  “Coming.” Good Lord, Pyke. Go dive your fat ass into that vat of mashed potatoes and gravy I made earlier. “I’ll be right out.”

  Darrowby continued with a calm tone in his words. Debbie knew she had blown it, even after Bob’s face and words reached out from the grave and spoke to her about respecting authority figures, treating them with the proper respect they deserved. She slapped herself on the forehead. Detective Dickhead? How could I be so stupid?

  Mrs. Stevens, even though I’m now retired, I’ll be sure to have my friends at the Battle Creek Police Department send the request to a judge to have you once again re-evaluated and sent to trial for fifteen murders. Remember, there is no statute of limitations on murder. And they will only have to prove one.

  “That’s it,” Pyke’s voice echoed through the bathroom. “I warned you. Infraction. I have to write you up. C’mon. Let’s go. And don’t forget to wash your hands. Or that’ll be another infraction.”

  Debbie was flabbergasted. Emily had beaten her. Again.

  Now that hellcat was back with her twelve murderous cohorts. And there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. Darrowby was her only hope to prevent another cycle of murder. And all the bastard would do was leer at her with that pompous expression on his mug.

  Darrowby’s face remained, ghosted on the screen. He still looked the same. Full head of silver hair and a mustache now, but still the same. Frozen. Smiling. Smirking at her.

  Debbie stared back, nauseous to the point of vomiting, and typed one final word before ending the dialogue.

  Bastard.

  Thank you for reading Salem’s Daughters. I greatly appreciate it.

  If you liked the story, please consider taking a moment to post a short review at Amazon or Goodreads. Reviews are the greatest compliment a writer can receive. You can leave a review by Clicking Here!

  And thanks again for reading Salem’s Daughters. I hope you enjoyed it.

  Please visit my blog at Breakthrough Blogs where science meets the supernatural. To contact me, my email address is stephen.trempy@yahoo.com.

  Other Books by Stephen Tremp:

  The Adventures of Chase Manhattan Volume I: Breakthrough

  "A scientific breakthrough of such magnitude it could radically alter the future of humanity—for better or worse—is in the wrong hands."

  The Adventures of Chase Manhattan Volume II: Opening

  “Then I saw three evil spirits that looked like frogs ... they are demonic spirits that perform signs, and they go out to the kings of the whole world, to gather them for the battle.” Revelation 16: 13 – 14

  The Adventures of Chase Manhattan Volume III: Escalation

  “I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones.” - Albert Einstein

  About The Author

  I write Speculative Fiction and embrace science and the supernatural to help explain the universe, our place in it, and write one-of-a-kind thrillers. My novels are enhanced by discoveries, breakthroughs, and current events in many fields of science. Understanding Albert Einstein’s famous equation E=MC2 explains how the natural and the supernatural co-exist and complement each other.

  I have written The Breakthrough Trilogy: The Adventures of Chase Manhattan. My books have been in Barnes and Nobles and Borders Books across the country. I live in Orange County, CA with my family, a maltipoo dog, Meyer's parrot, and hamster.

  You can visit me at my Website www.stephentremp.com