The Bell Witch

by John F. D. Taff

  There.

  “But when he saw Jesus afar off, he ran and worshiped with him. And cried out in a loud voice, and said, ‘What have I to do with thee, Jesus, thou Son of the most high God? I adjure thee by God, torment me not.’ For he said unto him, Come out of the man, thou unclean spirit!”

  At those words, the lights and sound ceased utterly. The furniture stopped moving, the blankets fluttered to the floor.

  Doors slowed, stopped.

  The candles were snuffed, dropped to the floor.

  There in the darkness, with only the sound of the children sobbing, Johnston held the book out before him unbelievingly, uncomprehendingly.

  Somewhere near him, another being took a deep, satisfied breath, too, let it out noisily. Its sound vibrated chillingly up the reverend’s spine. “And he answered, saying, ‘My name is Legion: for we… are many,’” that being said, softly enunciating each word; its inflection strange and fluid.

  As Johnston spun to see who had said it, the window shattered, scattering glass throughout the wreckage of the room.

  Ignoring everything around him, Johnston clutched the Bible and went to the window. The frigid wind raked at him, stirred his thinning hair.

  Under the light of the blue, blue moon, something moved upon the snow.

  Numbly, he realized he could not see what it was, only its footprints pressing into the deep snow, heading away from the house.

  Tomorrow, they would find the hoof prints of a pig.

  A hand fell on his shoulder and pulled him away. As Jack’s face swam toward him, Johnston fainted dead away, and fell into the big man’s arms. They were unable to pry the Bible from his grasp, so he was put to bed with it held tight… held tight.

  PART II

  THE DEVIL’S BY-BLOW

  March to June 1820

  EIGHTEEN

  Betsy?

  “Yes?”

  Are you awake? Do you know who I am?

  “…No.”

  I bet you’re wondering, though.

  “Maybe what. Not who.”

  Close enough. Do you know why I’m here?

  “No. I wish I did, though, so I could make you go away.”

  (Laughter) You had your chance for that, Dearie, and you let it slip by.

  “What do you mean?”

  You don’t know who—or what, for that matter—I am. You don’t know why I’m here. Correct?

  (Silence) “Ouch! Stop that, you horrid thing!”

  Pay attention, and answer when you’re spoken to. Am I correct?

  “… Yes.”

  Well, then I guess this is all pretty much a mystery to you, huh? Rather like the rest of your insipid life.

  “You act as if I should know you somehow, as if we’ve met before.”

  You should know me, yes. Very well, very well indeed. Though you were never particularly fond of me.

  “I don’t know what you mean, although I do know that I’m not particularly fond of you now.”

  Not to worry. I know me, and I know why I’m here. In the long run, that’s all that matters.

  “Why are you bothering us?”

  I’m just having a little fun, trying to liven up the place a bit. Where’s the harm in that?

  “But you’re hurting people.”

  Only you and your father.

  “And the boys—Willie, Zach and Drew.”

  Oh, they’re just boys. Boys like to be knocked around a little.

  “Why hurt my father? He’s never hurt anyone before.”

  Hasn’t he now? The young are so quick to make pronouncements when they know so little. We’ve all hurt people, all of us, every day.

  “Why punish him for hurting someone when he didn’t even know it?”

  Oh, he knows. He knows. His hurt wasn’t a little one. His hurt was a big one, so big that some people, particularly the stupid ones, can’t see it though it’s right in front of them.

  “I still don’t understand.”

  I know, but you will. Until then, I’ll take it real slow.

  “I think you’re nothing more than a horrid devil sent from Hell to plague us.”

  (Laughter) Where’d you hear that? From Reverend Johnston? Beautiful. Well, don’t be so arrogant as to think the Devil is up late at night wondering what the Bell family is doing and how to get them into Hell. And let me tell you this, if your little mind can take it in: I’ve no more of the Devil in me than of God. So, if you would call the place where I’ve come from Hell, then I’d advise you to take a good look inside yourself.

  “If you’re not of God and not of Satan, what are you?”

  Anger.

  “I don’t…”

  … understand. I know.

  “Why are you sometimes almost nice to me, but most often mean?”

  I am but a cool breeze at the edge of a tempest. So, my question to you is whether you would prefer the gentle wind that scours clean the earth, and in so doing mayhap rearranges the landscape somewhat. Or the dreadful majesty of the hurricane that levels all before it?

  “I would prefer the air to remain still.”

  (Laughter) Would that you were this saucy before. My visit might not have been necessary. But alas!

  “I’d like to go back to sleep.”

  Very well, child, sleep. And Bets…?

  “Yes?”

  I do hope that one day, you will understand.

  “Goodnight, Witch.”

  Goodnight, child.

  * * *

  Jack!

  “Wha-what?”

  Get up, you old rascal! I want someone to talk with, to while away the hours between dusk and dawn. And while you’re not my first choice, you’ll do.

  “Find another fool, damned devil!”

  Takes one to know one, Jack. Come on, let’s talk.

  “Ouch! Damn it! If I could get my hands on you…”

  Tell me, what would you do, Jack? Come on, Luce can’t hear. Not that she cares, anyway. Right?

  “Be quiet!”

  Would you suck my tits, Jack? Would you put a finger inside me… or maybe your tongue? Is that it? Mmm, I’m getting hot just thinking about it. And then what? Stick me with that well-traveled prick of yours? In and out until I’m screaming? You’re such a romantic, Jack. Who’d have thought? Ahh, if only I had the parts…

  “You’re perverted…”

  Me, perverted? I can only talk about such things, father. You’ve done them. What does that make you?

  (Silence)

  I’ll tell you what. Tired. (Laughter) Am I right? Tired and sore. You’re not quite the boy you used to be, are you Jack? Getting a little harder to get harder, isn’t it?

  “Shut up. Please.”

  A long time ago, it had a mind of its own. Got up when it wanted to. Just a thought. The right kind of thought, of course. After that, you needed to see something. Cousin Sue taking a bath or Aunt Mary putting on her corset or slaves rutting in the barn. That always did it. Man, those were the days!

  “Filthy!”

  Then, it was Lucy. Oh, Luce. She was beautiful, wasn’t she? Even before you saw her undressed, she got it up for you, didn’t she? Remember her the first time, Jack? Naked in the moonlight with the windows open and a summer breeze rolling in. Remember the feel of her skin, cool and tight and smooth. Remember the curve of her breasts, the points of her nipples? The hot, fluid smoothness inside her?

  (Groan)

  Yes, you do. But, fickle man, even that faded. And you needed more. Always more. Maybe a little touch of your hand—No, not that way, silly! Got the blood flowing, huh? Too bad it was hers.

  (Silence)

  But that, too, lost its charm in time. Then, what did you do? Hmm? Find something close by, maybe?

  “You monstrous, lying degenerate! When I find out what kind of creature you are, I’ll…”

  What kind of creature I am? You don’t even know what kind of creature you are, Jack. Even though you’ve seen that creature, seen yourself out in the fields at ni
ght… staring up at the house, wondering when you will claim it, take it in again. You would be best to know yourself first, Jack Bell, before you would know me.

  “That horned creature… in the fields… me? You lie!”

  Everyone lies, Jack. Everyone. Let me ask you one question, though.

  “What?”

  Do you know who I am?

  (Silence)

  Nothing? Not even a guess?

  (Silence)

  You just don’t want to say. But you know, as clearly as I know who you are, Father.

  “I’m not your father.”

  Whatever you say, Dad. It’s nothing so rare, though. You’ve spilled your seed in so many places, it’s a wonder the whole earth doesn’t rear up and call you father.

  “Bastard.”

  Yes, you made me that. I’ve risen above my heritage, though.

  “Leave me in peace. Please.”

  In a moment. First, tell me why I’m here.

  “To torment me to death, no doubt!”

  (Silence)

  Goodnight, Jack Bell.

  (Silence)

  * * *

  Luce? Sweet Luce?

  “Yes, what is it?”

  Are you angry with me for disturbing your sleep?

  “Yes.”

  Then, why not show it? Why not snap at me, call me names?

  “Why? You’ll only torment us more.”

  Oh, Luce, you must know that I would never hurt you. You’re precious beyond words.

  “Why me and not the others?”

  You might ask why the flowers and not the weeds.

  “What does that mean?”

  Oh, Luce! You are the one bright spot in this house. Did you know that?

  “You speak too kindly of me. I hardly know what to say.”

  You need say nothing to a compliment, dearest. That is a sign of good breeding.

  (Silence)

  Have you something on your mind, dearest?

  “Perhaps.”

  You have but to ask it.

  “Why do you hurt my family?”

  By association only.

  “What?”

  I don’t hurt everyone.

  “You hurt my husband.”

  He has earned it.

  “My daughter.”

  She demands it.

  “And my sons?”

  They enjoy it. God knows I do.

  “You want me to talk with you, yet your answers are flip.”

  I am as I was made.

  “See? That’s what I mean. That’s not a straight answer.”

  I apologize, but I can be no more clear.

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  They are much the same for me.

  “Then, what do you want of me?”

  Understanding?

  “I’m afraid that even if I would, I couldn’t.”

  I was sent as much for you as for them.

  “For what?”

  For what I must do.

  “Not for what you’ve done?”

  That is nothing.

  “What must you do?”

  That for which I was created.

  “And that is…?”

  Soon… soon.

  “Soon? That’s all?”

  Yes, for now. But always remember, dearest Luce.

  “What?”

  With me, it is purpose, not desire. In that, there is a difference. And I am sorry.

  “Then, I’m sorry, too.”

  I know, Luce. I know. One last question before you sleep, dearest?

  “All right.”

  Do you know who I am?

  (Silence)

  Goodnight, dear Luce.

  “Goodnight, Witch.”

  NINETEEN

  Well, you’re never going to be able to hit anything but yourself if you insist on holding it like that, the Witch’s voice scolded Drew.

  In the two weeks since the Witch had begun speaking out loud, she had hardly stopped. She spoke to everyone, all day and into the night, until the novelty of her appearance wore off, changing the Bell family’s initial shock and fear to weary, annoyed acceptance of her endless prattling and general harassment.

  Today was the first day with weather nice enough to consider going outside, so every family member took advantage of it, thinking that they might also escape from the Witch. The snow had melted, and cold, snowy February had given way grudgingly to blustery, but warmer, March.

  To get away from what had become the teasing and physical abuse of the Witch, Drew had decided to venture out to play Indian while the other children were away at school.

  It didn’t work, though.

  Here, hold it like this.

  Drew lowered the bow and arrow he was holding, looked around disgustedly.

  She had found him.

  “Leave me alone!” Drew protested, trying to twist away as it pried his hands from the bow and repositioned them. “Stop it!”

  There was a flat SMACK! and the boy recoiled, dropping the toy.

  Pick them up.

  On the verge of tears, Drew set his lips, glared at nothing.

  Do as I say. Pick up the bow. Do you want to learn how to do this right or not?

  “No,” sulked the boy, snatching up the bow and arrow and hurling them into the stand of trees.

  You little brat! barked the Witch, and the discarded toys came flying back from where they had landed. Drew threw up his arms as they struck him. You can figure out how to play Indian all by yourself.

  Drew stood motionless, sniffling his tears away. When he thought she had gone, he picked up the bow, carefully slotted the notched twig onto the twine, ignored the Witch’s instructions, and held the bow the way he wanted.

  He pulled back on the string with all his might, sighted a tree trunk along the length of the arrow, let loose. The entire bow strummed satisfyingly enough, but when Drew opened his eyes, he saw the arrow had merely fallen to his feet; it hadn’t gone anywhere.

  I shot an arrow into the air, laughed the Witch, her voice appearing out of nowhere. And where it landed, I know not where.

  Drew snapped the thin arrow in half with his foot before stomping off to find something at which he could play unmolested.

  He hadn’t gone far when he saw Williams, Zach and Betsy walking slowly down the road, returning from school. His outlook brightened considerably.

  When Drew’s siblings were away at school, the Witch had much more time to lavish her unwanted attentions on him. When he was with his brothers and sister, as least, her attentions were more or less evenly split.

  For two weeks now, the Bells had lived with this entity, and it was rapidly proving too much to keep within the folds of the family. Jack seemed to realize this, and he relented on his stricture against discussing it. Now that it could talk, his rule was moot. The Witch demanded discussion.

  The slaves, too, were let back into the house after Jack learned that the Witch had taken to visiting them on her own anyway. Jack quickly learned that, while others listened to him, the Witch certainly did not.

  The Witch, as she asked to be called, was now as much a presence in the household as any of the Bells. Her raspy, wizened voice was as tangible and expressive as any body. She showed emotions with it—mainly the wilder ones, such as anger and elation. She carried on long conversations, dispensed wisdom and warnings, and generally never shut up, morning, noon or night.

  Still in a kind of suspended shock, the Bells numbly accepted her presence, though really didn’t welcome her, and went about their daily lives as best they could. The questions that nagged at all of them, the questions the Witch seemed to know bothered them, went unanswered.

  Chatty and amiable about most things, she was reticent to discuss her origin, deflected most questions concerning it with humor, sarcasm or simply by performing some unexpected feat that diverted attention.

  As to her purpose, she had stated none; indeed, she seemed to have none. The Witch seemed content to while away the days playin
g, annoying, and gossiping about the neighbors and the slaves; she possessed a seemingly inexhaustible storehouse of details about the minutiae of everyone’s daily life.

  As Drew ran to the front of the house to waylay his brothers, he noticed that two men on horseback followed behind the children at a slow canter. Drawing closer, he saw that they were Dr. Hopson and Mr. Powell.

  Drew slowed his pace at the sight of the doctor, hoped he was not coming to see him.

  “Hi, Willie! Hi Zach!” he yelled, springing around the corner of the house and nearly running into them.

  Surprised, the two boys jumped—Zach screamed—and they dropped their satchels.

  “Drew!” yelled Williams. “Don’t do that!”

  Zach, shaking, punched his little brother in the arm.

  “Don’t scare me, Drewry,” he hissed into the little boy’s face. “I don’t like it.”

  “Ouch! I’m telling Mama on you, Zach Bell!” Drew yelled, running toward Betsy, who had slowed to talk with Hopson and Powell.

  “Well, hello young Master Drewry. How are you today?” asked Powell from his horse.

  “Fine, Mr. Powell,” he answered, taking Betsy’s hand and walking beside her. Betsy smiled down at him.

  “And what have you been doing on this fine day?”

  “I been playin’ with the Witch.”

  “You have?” answered Hopson, taken aback. “What have you been playing?”

  “She was trying to teach me how to shoot a bow like an Indian, but I wouldn’t let her. I wanted to play by myself. She hit me.”

  Hopson glanced at Powell, who shrugged.

  Drew looked up at Betsy, smiled, and put his thumb into his mouth.

  “Where were you?” asked Powell.

  Drew glanced back at him like he was a fool.

  “Outside.”

  “Of course,” laughed Powell, rolling his eyes. “Was anyone with you?”

  “Yeah, the Witch.”

  “No, I mean anyone real?”

  Drew frowned, plainly not understanding the subtle difference Powell was indicating.

  “You know, like your Pa or Ma?”

  “Nope. Just me and the Witch. Then, I broke the bow and arrow, and she left.”