Bewitched

by Mark Jay Harris

  Andras glanced back at the ghost, dread filling her soul at the sight. He stood before her, an ethereal image of light with exceedingly white hair, dressed in a bright tunic. “He is an old man, and he is covered with a mantle with a tear in the seam.” This had struck her as odd, but it must have had great meaning to the Hebrew king because no sooner had she described the specter than Saul threw himself to the ground bowing in an attitude of worship, repeating softly to himself the name of his prophet, “Samuel.”

  The image on her altar spoke directly to the fallen king. “Saul, why hast thou disquieted me to bring me up from my grave?”

  Saul shook but managed to answer his prophet. “I am sore distressed; for the Philistines make war against me, and God has departed from me and answereth me no more, neither from prophets, nor by dreams: therefore, I have called thee, that thou mayest make known unto me what I shall do.”

  “Wherefore then dost thou ask of me seeing as the Lord is departed from thee and has become thine enemy?” The voice of the dead prophet grew in volume and shook the earthen walls as he chastised his former king. The specter grew in size with his voice. Andras scuttled backward. She stumbled over the prone Saul. Quickly, she regained her feet and backed up until she stood before the cloth door, rooted in place.

  “And the Lord hath done unto thee as he had me speak unto thee,” the prophet continued. “For the Lord hath rent the kingdom out of thine hand.” As he spoke these words, the ghost pulled up his torn mantle and displayed it to the quivering man on the ground. Saul had managed to look up at Samuel and witness this gesture, but his face twisted in terror. “And He hath given it to thy neighbor, even to David.”

  Andras could tell, even from behind the king, that these last words had stung the Hebrew. The great man howled and bowed his head again to the earth.

  “Because thou obeyed not the voice of the Lord, nor executest His fierce wrath upon Amalek, therefore the Lord hath done this thing unto thee this day. And, moreover, the Lord will also deliver Israel with thee into the hand of the Philistines: and tomorrow shalt thou and thy sons be with me in the land of the dead. The Lord also shall deliver the host of Israel into the hands of the Philistines.”

  Andras breathed rapidly, wishing she could send the spirit back to hell, only she had no power over it, nor could she compel herself to leave the cave.

  Saul began to weep as the specter glared at him. It shook with anger and appeared as if its message had been taxing to deliver.

  Suddenly, as if blowing out a lamp, the ghost vanished. So bright had been his presence that Andras’s eyes reacted as if they had been cast back into the darkened room for the first time. All was quiet except for the weeping of the once great king who lay prostrate on the ground.

  She reached an arm out beyond the blanket and motioned for the king’s servants to enter. They came at once, though they halted as they adjusted to the gloom.

  “He lies there, but a few paces beyond. Take him and lay him on my cot in the next room. Take heed, for my child sleeps there.”

  The servants quickly conveyed their leader from the room. Andras slowly approached the altar. The light was gone, but the dark red mist continued to billow about the platform. She looked down on the dark, ancient symbol she’d etched into the hard surface; it was still splattered with the blood and the dove’s head. Something was wrong, but she couldn’t determine what it was. Calling up a dead Hebrew prophet was not within her power, nor within the power of Botis. How had this been accomplished?

  Parting the red smoke as if it were a curtain, Botis stepped forward. He was a twisted hulk with deformed features and hate in his tortured eyes. He glared at her for some time, and she returned the baleful gaze. Samantha wished she could control her mother and turn her head away from the gruesome visage.

  “Some other magic invaded thine,” he growled. “This spell I have never tasted. But I have a prophecy for thee. Thou shalt understand this wicked work if thou livest to see the world three millennia from now.”

  “No witch hath lived beyond nine-hundred years. Your riddle is like the wind to my ears.”

  The vile beast’s blotchy lips formed a rictus that caused the old witch to turn away. “Thy sister knows a spell that will require the life of thy familiar. Request of her this magic and perform the rite this night, and thou shalt have thy answer. And thy child shall be the key to the answer you seek. Thou shalt be the Witch of Endor, and she shall be the Key of Endor. He who destroys her, shall cease to exist. Baal shall rule strong in the last days. ”

  Just as quickly as the spirit of the prophet had winked out, Botis sank into the bowels of the earth. The red smoke quickly dissipated throughout the room, and the glowing red stones flashed brightly as if they were new fire before dimming back into their sullen glow.

  When Andras returned to her house, the servants of Saul had dragged the cot into the main room and away from the cradle where baby Samantha continued to slumber, undisturbed by the night’s excitement. Saul was muttering incoherently as his men tried to soothe him. Shalbriri was attempting to get the king to drink of the wine skin from which he had drunk earlier.

  The man refused to eat or drink anything and waved them away. Andras motioned her sister to follow her into the room where her babe slept. “Dear One, knowest thou a spell which can preserve us across the millennia?”

  Her sister gaped at her. “The millennia? Wishest thou to live beyond our nine-hundred?”

  “Hearken, Dear One. Is there a way in which we can be preserved? Can one linger until the millennia have passed away?”

  “All die, my sister,” she replied. “Even the witches of Baal must pass.”

  “Even if one uses the life of one’s familiar?”

  Shalbriri gawked back at her sister, understanding dawning on her weakened features. “Ah, the Catadromus. Yes, but it would require thee to slaughter Jenx.” She grabbed her sister as if to stop her. “Refrain, my sister. This spell is very old and black. And it would require thy enemy to partake as well.”

  Andras glanced back at the ailing king upon her bed.

  “How does it work, Dear One?”

  “Thy familiar must be slaughtered at thy hand. It must be roasted, and all must partake, including thy enemy. The remains of the beast, its ears, tail, horns, and hoofs, must be ground into a powder. The incantation will cause those who drink the powder to hibernate until the time passes. Even millennia. But this is very old, and very few have used this spell.”

  “Would we age?” Andras demanded.

  “Nay, not until the appointed time. We would pass over in sleep until the spell is complete. Then, we would age anew.”

  Andras turned away from her sister and approached the cot where the delirious king argued with his men.

  “Pareo famulo,” she whispered into the ear of the king. He gazed directly into her eyes and waited for her to speak again. “Your highness, you must eat to regain thy strength. I shall make thee new bread and slaughter my fatted calf for thee, if thou wilt eat.”

  “Aye.” He nodded. “I will eat.”

  The scene was gone. Samantha found herself back in the room, bleary eyes scanning the page in the Bible. The last two verses swam into focus.

  24 And the woman had a fat calf in the house; and she hasted, and killed it, and took flour, and kneaded it, and did bake aunleavened bread thereof:

  25 And she brought it before Saul, and before his servants; and they did eat. Then they rose up, and went away that night.

  CHAPTER 6

  Bewitched, Bewildered, and Bemused

  Darren gazed out the classroom window at a cluster of hornets hovering between white flowers on the pyracantha bushes. A cool breeze wafted into the classroom, carrying with it the subtle, but unmistakable scent of honeysuckle. Normally, this would be a pleasant way to start first period, but Darren sat at his desk, white-knuckling the metal support bar at his side and dreading the sound of the bell, the bell that would summon all students to first period. All studen
ts, including a witch that would sit in front of him.

  Okay, he thought. She doesn’t know who I am or what I am. At least, I don’t think so. She doesn’t know I know she’s a witch. She doesn’t know I saw her floating in the gym. Wait! Mike had asked her yesterday if she’d been floating in the gym. Mike had as good as told Samantha he was a Pessum Ire, the sworn enemy of witches, the guy who was supposed to destroy her with fire. This was completely crazy; his grandfather was almost three-hundred years old, and he was supposed to kill this really cute girl at school. What little breakfast he was able to put down this morning was struggling to escape the same way it had gotten in.

  A student dropped into a nearby seat. Darren jumped, then scowled at the innocent bystander. Two girls wandered over by the windows where one showed the other a picture on her cell phone. The bell went off like an air-raid signal. Darren flinched, bumping his knees on the desk top. The two girls giggled at him.

  More students drifted in. None of them was Samantha. He checked out each face, as if America’s most wanted might be among them. Finally a dark face with a silly expression, wearing white sunglasses, appeared around the edge of the doorway. Mike peered into the room with only his head visible at waist height. He looked like he was scaling the wall at a perpendicular angle and had just reached the top to look over it. “Ah, there you are. You didn’t wait for me at your locker. What are you doing in here already?”

  “Nothing,” Darren stammered. “Just... ready for first period.”

  “I see.” Mike swept into the room and did a side-glide down the aisle as if it were a dance routine. “Early-bird and all of that.” He said each word distinctly, clipping his consonants and giving Darren a dramatic flourish as he dropped into the desk next to his.

  “So,” Darren began, attempting to change the subject, “did your black sex-kitten show up to school yesterday?”

  “Funny you should ask that.” Mike gazed over the top of his sunglasses. “Another little bird told me her first day will be today. And she’s going to be in my Art class.”

  “Nice,” Darren replied automatically, his attention still on the doorway.

  “Oh, yeah. I’m pretty sure I know what I’ll be sketching the rest of this term. Mmm hmmm.”

  A few moments ticked by, and Mike examined Darren curiously. “You’re afraid of her again.”

  “What? Afraid of who?”

  “Afraid of who?” Mike mimicked. “That blonde bombshell you can’t stop obsessing about, you doofus. You’re back to floating-ghost mode, aren’t you? You’re afraid she’s going to come in that door and bewitch you. Although, she’s already done that apparently.”

  As if on cue, Samantha bounced into the room, her textbook held close against her chest. Her hair bobbed along her shoulders in waves and curls. She smiled at them and floated down the aisle to her seat. She placed her book on her desktop, sat down, and gazed right at Darren. “How’s my new squeeze this morning?” She giggled.

  Mike chuckled. Darren summoned a pathetic attempt at a smile and produced a laugh that should have placed him in jail for false impersonation.

  “Good, good. You?” He was vaguely aware that he was hyperventilating, but nothing was going to tear that smile away from his face.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Samantha asked Mike. “He looks frightened.”

  “Oh, he’s terrified. When a cute girl likes him... well, you can just imagine what you’re putting him through, you she-devil!” He winked at her.

  “A what?” Samantha gasped and turned white. “I assure you, I’m not a devil of any sort.”

  Travis interrupted by plunking down in his seat. He glanced over at Darren and asked, “What gives? Are you dating Samantha now?”

  Mr. Whitmore had followed Travis down the aisle with several papers in hand. “Sorry to interrupt,” he too, addressed Darren, “but I’m splitting up you and Mike on The Crucible assignment.”

  “Why?” Mike demanded.

  “First, because you always do assignments together, including homework. I’m never sure whose paper I’m reading half the time. And second, Samantha needs someone to partner up with and Travis’s partner switched classes. So, I’d like you to partner with Travis, and Darren with Samantha.”

  “But that’s not fair!” Mike complained. “How do you know Darren and I haven’t already started our project?”

  Mr. Whitmore merely glanced dubiously down at Mike.

  “We might have! You wouldn’t know.” Mike’s argument sounded weaker by the moment.

  Mr. Whitmore handed them each a copy of the assignment, then turned and walked back to the front of the room. Mike called after him, “He’s afraid of her!” He pointed to Darren. “Pair me with the cute girl!”

  “Well, Darren?” Samantha ventured. “Are you going to be all right with this?”

  “Sure, when do you want to get together?” He sounded like he was setting an appointment for a root canal.

  “I’d invite you over tonight, but our place is a mess.” She scrutinized him for a moment. “Darren, are you okay? Is it because you have a girlfriend? Am I making you nervous?”

  Darren noticed she didn’t apologize for making him nervous, merely pointed it out. “No. Actually, I like you. It’s not that, and it’s not Andrea. Although, I’m sure she wouldn’t like me going to your house. It’s just I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

  The bell rang, beginning class and mercifully ending their conversation. Mike shook his head at Darren.

  Samantha patted his hand. “It will be okay.” It seemed to him as if her face twitched, like a muscle spasm under her eyelid, but as soon as she turned around in her desk, a shiver shot down Darren’s spine, followed by a pleasant calm feeling draping over him like a blanket. And the thought occurred to him that it was silly to be afraid of her. In fact, he was suddenly anxious to spend some time with her and work on the assignment.

  Mr. Whitmore called the class to attention. “We’ve read through a good part of this play. And remember your projects on The Crucible are due next Thursday, a week from today. Right now, however, I want to have a discussion about how this could happen. How could a group of people turn on their own neighbors and friends, accusing them of collusion with the devil, and have so many people believe their assertions?

  “From what we’ve read to this point, we know these are very religious people. They have a good deal of faith in what their leaders say. But there is also doubt among many of them. And they soon discover that if they express their doubts, they too will be accused of being a witch. So, of course, many lose their nerve to speak up or defend anyone. Could something like this happen today? Could we ever become wrapped up as a society in a witch hunt if you will? Could one group accuse another of something ridiculous based on superstition and paranoia that creates such an environment of fear that no one dares defend common sense for fear of being accused of being part of the problem?”

  After several moments of self-conscious silence, a girl in the front of the class spoke up. “I think you would have to be very superstitious to believe in things like these people did. I don’t think it could happen today, not with witches, because we all know there’s no such thing.”

  Samantha’s hand shot in the air, and Mr. Whitmore pointed to her. Darren had the sickening notion Samantha was going to tell the class that witches existed because she’d been one her whole life.

  “I think it’s wrong to suppose people in the seventeenth century were more superstitious than we are today,” Samantha said. “We’re just superstitious about different things. And the things we are superstitious about are things that we accept as readily as the people in The Crucible accepted religion or witchcraft.”

  “Interesting,” Mr. Whitmore mused. “Things like what, Samantha?”

  “For example, science,” she said confidently. “Today we believe in science much like those in an earlier period believed in religion or magic. Science is always true. It’s infallible to us. If science reveals a so-called t
ruth, it quickly becomes a common belief and is no longer doubted.”

  “Can you give us an example of what you’re talking about?” Mr. Whitmore urged.

  “Sure,” Samantha replied. “In the 1950’s, thalidomide was considered an effective drug to lessen the effects of morning sickness in pregnant women. Later, after thousands of birth defects, science had no choice but to look closer at the drug and its effects on pregnant women. Women started off believing it was safe to take because science had sold them on the benefits. They had faith in the product because they had faith in science. Once science proved to be wrong, horribly wrong, science then labeled the drug as dangerous, and it was pulled as a legal drug.”

  As soon as the subject of science was broached, Darren knew Felix Brody would have something to say. He did. And he didn’t wait to be called on. He merely spoke as if he were the last authority on the subject.

  “Your logic is flawed.” Felix held his erudite, skinny head erect, while his voice oozed with condescension. “The FDA never approved thalidomide in this country, and very few birth defects in the United States were attributed to its use. And it was science that then forced the FDA to exercise greater caution and conduct more extensive and strenuous testing practices on all drugs in the future. Drugs in this country are safer to use than in any other country in the world.”

  Samantha listened patiently and smiled benignly as he ‘corrected’ her. She then simply said, “Fen-Phen.”

  “Oh, please!” Felix sounded exasperated. “The combined drugs fenfluramine and phentermine were approved by the FDA only because they had been approved individually.”

  “Actually, Fen-Phen as a combined drug was approved by the FDA,” Samantha clarified. “Studies then found it was responsible for causing heart valve weakness in 30% of those who used the drug regularly. But this study was hardly scientific. The findings, which were released before the FDA could review them, caused the drug to be pulled from the market. The FDA did not do the study. Interestingly enough, the drug ostensibly responsible for heart valve failure, fenfluramine, was found in a study of a thousand Europeans to have no significant effects. But my point is we simply believe what we hear if it has been approved by,” and she used air quotes as she said, “science. And it doesn’t seem to matter if science changes its mind. We go right along with it, having, as it were, faith in it.”