Caressing his bearded face with one hand, she closed her eyes when he grabbed it and kissed the inside of her palm. “Gavin, Mistress Whitman is evil. Folks say she's a mountain witch. Many slaves have suffered horrible deaths at her hands. If she finds out about us, I'm afraid of what she will do to me.” she whispered, feeling her body shake as she spoke.
“Darling, I won't let her or anyone else hurt you.” he vowed, deciding that he would get her off the plantation that night, after he returned from an errand in town.
****************************
Later that Night
“Soul mates live as one
I ask you my dark lord
to give me the power to keep their
souls apart for all time!” Mariotte chanted.
“You fool, did you think I would let him choose a slave over me? Did you think I wouldn't FIND OUT?” a furious Mariotte screeched as she drained blood from the dying girl into a golden chalice.
Knorr's breath rattled as she struggled to hold on to the last bit of life. “Ta..take..my soul..please don't kill...Gavin.” She wheezed, begging for mercy for the man she loved.
“Your soul for his life? Do you mean it? And you will give this freely?” she hissed like a snake, leaning over and looking into the glazed eyes of her hapless victim.
Unable to answer at the moment, Knorr nodded weakly.
“You understand there will be no salvation for you..you will cease to be, never returning from the dark. But in trade, I spare Gavin.”
“Yes....ye..” her ratting voice croaked desperately before it was interrupted by a series of gurgling coughs.
Still leaning over her, Mariotte's true, hideous, pockmarked face was finally revealed as she began mumbling incantations. Swaying from side to side like a charmed cobra, she seemed to go into a trance as the stench of sulfur slowly filled the room.
Suddenly the entire room began shaking, then stopped as a ghoul materialized, his hideous body naked, his clawed feet scratching the wooden floor. “What is it you wish of me, hag?” the thing slurred from a mouth that had three rows of short, pointed teeth.
“A pure soul, in exchange for a bit of power from the Dark Lord.” she mumbled in a voice as icy as a December wind.
“A pure soul?” the ghoul replied in a voice so hungry and greedy that even the dying Knorr shuddered visibly.
“Yes...a pure soul....a virgin.” she replied as she handed the chalice to her hideous confederate.
Taking the chalice in his clawed hands, the other-wordly creature gulped down the blood greedily, and after draining every drop, used his forked tongue to lick the chalice clean. “Ahhh yes...a pure soul...an innocent. You shall have your wish, hag.” he rumbled, sounding completely sated.
Shuffling several feet forward, the creature's clawed hand was suddenly hovering over Knorr's near-lifeless body, near her heart. “I take what was promised to me.”
Suddenly screaming as if she was being flayed alive, Knorr's entire body convulsed and jerked as bloody foam and spittle flew from her wide open mouth.
Laughter booming like the sound of thunder, the creature's entire body jerked and convulsed, much as Knorr's had a moment earlier, as a bright golden orb emerged from her mouth, then flew into the ghoul's open right hand. “Tonight, I feast on this soul!” he cried.
Crashing down on the table with terrific force, Knorr's limbs trembled for a moment, then went limp.
“It is done, hag.” the creature hissed. Bringing the glowing orb to eye level, he studied it for a moment. Turning his attention back to the woman who had summoned him, he warned, “Be mindful of how you wield the power, it could be your downfall. Especially if you draw the attention of my brother.”
“Return from whence you came!” she replied in a dead voice.
“Remember, hag, we all have to abide by certain cosmic laws.”
Watching as the ghoul sank into the floor and disappeared, Mariotte paid scant attention to his warning as she felt her newly acquired powers surge within her. Both hands flying above her head, she looked to the heavens and screeched, “Tonight, no soul shall be spared on this, my property! Tonight it will be the home of the damned!”
***********************
Making his way back onto the plantation, Gavin felt something was off. Everything seemed too quiet (even the nocturnal insects had ceased their chatter), and nothing stirred in the darkness. It also didn't go unnoticed that there were no slaves roaming about their quarters, although they were usually still active at this time of night. His wide shoulders tightened as he thought about what Knorr had said earlier, and her fears about the widow.
Arriving at the mansion, he lowered himself from the stallion, surprised when the young footman suddenly appeared out of nowhere and took the reins.
“Evening, master.” the young man greeted him listlessly, sounding as if he had had a bit too much to drink.
Looking in the young man's eyes, Gavin thought they seemed unnaturally dull, and were trained straight ahead, as if staring past the stars and into another universe. His ebony skin was also gray, and lacked its usual healthy glow.
Thanking the young man as he always did, he stepped onto the front porch. Before he could even knock, the door opened, and the old butler greeted him, both his looks and demeanor frighteningly similar to the footman's.“ The mistress is in the drawing room, sir, if you'll follow me.” he said in a hollow voice.
Following the old man's lead, the farther into the mansion Gavin walked, the stronger his sense of foreboding waxed. Where is Knorr? He wondered as he finally stepped inside the drawing room, which was dimly lit.
“You came for that darkie, Knorr?” a mangled, gravelly voice called.
Skin crawling, Gavin's eyes grew wide with shock as his gaze settled on a now hideous looking Mariotte, whom he somehow recognized, by instinct. While it was true she had never been much to look at (some could even call her somewhat plain), she now looked like a hag of at least a hundred. Her hair was white as snow, and was blowing wildly around her head, despite the fact the windows were closed and there was no breeze stirring. Chilled beyond anything in his previous experience, he glanced at her hands and saw they were covered with open sores, the fingers gnarled and twisted, like tiny branches on an old willow tree. “Where is she?” he demanded, ready to kill the woman with his bare hands, despite his fear.
Cackling, Mariotte clasped her knotted hands together and screeched, “She traded her soul for you! Now I will bind you to me forever, we'll be immortal lovers!”
Thunderstruck, Gavin felt as if someone had just reached inside him and tore his heart from his breast. Not caring what happened to him, he dropped to his knees, weeping bitterly.
Standing in the middle of a five-pointed star (with black candles at each point, lit), Mariotte began to chant the spell that would bind him to her forever:
“Oh Lucifer, Oh Shining Star, touch him,
burn him from afar...
Revenge now will have its day, for thine enemy starts to fray...
Bind this man to me so no other may have him...
make him immortal so he can love me....”
Gavin screamed as he felt his large body suddenly being pulled viciously in every direction, as if some unseen entity was trying to rip him, literally, limb from limb. Stop her before she completes the spell! Knorr's disembodied voice screamed in his head. Struggling with all his might, he somehow made it to his feet, drawing a bowie knife that had been strapped to his side. Running to her and screaming, he plunged the knife into her black heart.
As he collapsed to the floor, dying, he could feel his very soul slipping away as he began blacking out. “God help me...” he moaned.
At that moment the room seemed to brighten, and a man dressed in a long white robe, with long, white hair appeared.
Struggling to keep his heavy eyelids open, Gavin tried desperately to focus one last time, wondering if the apparition was an Angel sent from Heaven. Seeing the man had the cleares
t, most piercing blue eyes he had ever seen, he decided he must be an Angel. Opening his mouth to beg for the return of his beloved Knorr, no words came out.
“Calm yourself. I mean you no harm.” the 'Angel' spoke, touching Gavin's chest and instantly calming him.
“Help me...please...and my Knorr.” Gavin croaked.
“I cannot save your earthly body, nor your lover's soul, but I CAN keep your soul from being joined with hers.” the 'Angel' intoned, nodding in the direction of the dying Mariotte. “She will be banished into the darkness, and you shall remain here.”
Blue eyes seeming to glow, the 'Angel' began chanting:
“Blessed be, thou creature made of art.
By art made, by art changed.
Thou art not wax.
I name thee Gavin St. Cloud!
Thou art between the worlds!”
With his last earthly breath, Gavin's scream echoed throughout the plantation, the plantation he was now bound to.
************************
Chapter 2
Abingdon Virginia (formally Wolfs Hills), October 27, 2009
Willow Run Apartments
Rena Williamson sighed as she climbed the last flight of stairs to her apartment floor, thankful to be off work from the Poor House Diner. At the moment she wanted nothing more than to climb into a hot bath, then slip into her favorite pj's and sleep. But, like clockwork, her neighbor yelled her name before she could even fit her key into the lock of her front door.
“Rena! Child, you wore out, ain't ya?” Ms. Fern Skeet (her neighbor) shouted from the couch in her living room. The woman always left her door open during the daytime, claiming she liked the fresh air blowing off the mountains, especially in the fall. No matter how many times she had tried to tell the old woman such a practice was not safe in this day and age, her pleas had fallen on deaf ears. The woman claimed to be protected by some powerful mountain mojo, and no one would or could do her harm. But deep down, as silly as it seemed, Rena actually sensed that what the woman said was true, because she always felt safe and at peace in the apartment.
Smiling, she turned and walked into the woman’s open apartment. “Tired? Yeah. But got to earn that money. I feel lucky to even have a job, especially since the lumber mill shut down, not to mention the Eastman Kodak plant in Kingsport Tennessee. A lot of people from here were employed there, as you well know. The Kodak plant, I mean.”
“I know, child. I've know many a man and woman who worked there over the years. Never thought a plant that size would fall on such hard times.”
“Jobs just aren't that plentiful.” Rena sighed. “I have a degree, and can't do any better at the moment than my job as a waitress. I know most people my age have left the area, but I love it here, too much to leave.”
“Well, that's touching, dear.” the older woman smiled.
Not wanting to think about the hard times the town was facing, she smiled and held up a big greasy paper bag. “Elric made this just for you. Chicken fried steak, heavy on the gravy, scalloped potatoes, collard greens with a ham-hock, and top it off, peach cobbler.”
Eyes lighting up, Fern's always friendly smile widened to a grin that stretched from ear to ear. Part of The Poor House Diner's charm was the greasy paper bags, which were a deliberate appeal to blue collar tastes and habits. And it worked. No matter how hard times had gotten for everyone in the small town, people still managed to somehow set aside a little extra to eat there, just as they always had. The place was always filled to capacity at both lunchtime and dinner, by people wanting a good meal at a fair price.
Taking the food into the kitchen and putting it in the woman's refrigerator, Rena's thoughts wandered. Ever since moving to the quiet apartment building years before, she and the old woman had formed a strong bond. Maybe it was because they were both alone. Rena's parents had died her senior year in high school, when a drunk driver had plowed into their car head on, and Ms. Skeet had told her the only remaining family she had had left (a sister) had died decades earlier, though she declined to elaborate on what manner of death it had been. But one thing was for certain, the older woman did indeed give her a much needed sense of family and belonging. “You have a good night last night? I saw your light was on late, when I came in from my shift. I would've knocked on your door, but I was tired myself, and figured you had fell asleep reading again. I didn't want to wake you up.” she called as she strolled back into the sparsely decorated living room.
Still smiling, the old African American woman laughed. “Don't you worry about me. I'm 87, and woke up this morning. That alone made it a good night. Shoot, I got two good eyes, my back is straight, and if I set my mind to it, I can walk from here to the store, so I'm blessed. Sit yo' self down, child. Made some fresh Jasmine tea for us to enjoy.” she said as she poured the freshly brewed mixture into two old porcelain tea cups. “I was just reading about the big whoop-dee-doo up at the Whitman Plantation. You know, the Ball.”
“The Ball?”
“Uhhh huhhh.” she murmured, then took a sip of tea and nodded at the local newspaper spread out in front of her on the coffee table. “Seems the media's frustrated they aren't allowed to cover the event in person. So some of the reporters are resorting to the lowest common denominator, hinting that scandalous goings-on may be afoot there. Big surprise, that, huh?” she finished with a dry chuckle.
Picking up the paper, Rena glanced at the picture of the grand old mansion, letting out a wistful sigh as she thought about the rumors she'd heard over the years about the lavish event. “I heard the guest list is so exclusive it's actually kept under lock and key, and people have offered big bucks trying to buy their way in. Last year someone even tried to auction off counterfeit tickets on EBAY. I'm sure the media spreading the rumors of these wild goings-on are just to sell more papers.”
“I've lived here most of my life. Only time I lever left was when the sideshow went on the road, working the mountains of Virginia, Tennessee, and around Kentucky, but that's another story to be told another time. But I'll tell you this much, all my life I've heard folks talk about the evil in that Whitman Plantation. Stories passed down by word of mouth, you understand. The one irrefutable fact is this: The mistress of that place went mad one night and murdered nearly all her slaves, all because a handsome, wealthy business man broke her heart.”
“Huh, I've heard some of those stories.” Rena replied with a faraway look in her eyes.
“Yep...killed almost all of them slaves in one night. Now as for the possible yarns, folks said some of the bodies looked like wild animals had ripped them apart, and the ones who were still in one piece had a look of horror frozen on their faces, like the doors to Hell had been opened and they had got a glance at what was inside.”
Spellbound, Rena remained silent, listening intently.
“I was in there as a young girl, once. It was on a school field trip, where we were visiting local historical landmarks. Well, me and my young boyfriend decided we wanted to explore the library on the second floor, so we snuck off on our own. From the moment we stepped in there it felt like someone or something was watching us, then, with God as my witness, I felt a hand touch my face. Child, let me tell you, I screamed like a banshee, so loud that that wimpy boyfriend of mine peed himself and took off running without me. I was right behind him though, and ran so fast I was halfway home before my teacher caught me.”
That said, they both broke out in peals of laughter.
It was true that Rena had heard some of the stories, but as was wont with most people, the stories always grew wilder with each retelling, until a person was unsure if any grain of actual truth remained. She was inclined, however, to take the tale she had just heard at face value. She herself had always wanted to visit the Whitman plantation, but the owner had stopped letting people come on tours after a still-at-large thief had stolen a valuable old painting there. This had happened when she was just a young girl. As she had grown older she'd hoped that somehow, some day she would recei
ve one of the mysterious annual invitations to the Ball. Only a select few were ever invited, and no one had ever spoken about what went on there every Halloween night. In fact, she had never known anyone (personally) who had been invited, nor knew anyone who KNEW someone who had been invited. Just forget it, anyway! Fat chance an overweight, working class black girl would ever get an invitation to something so grand! She thought.
Monster's Ball :Shadow In Time Page 2