Strega (Strega Series)

by Karen Monahan Fernandes

  In the short time that I lived in that house, it was a regular occurrence for one of us to blow a fuse while drying our hair or running the coffee grinder. The circuits were so old, so sensitive, that we accommodated their weakness. Upgrading the electric panel was next on the list of renovations. But for now, using too much power inevitably resulted in total blackout and required replacing a fuse. This most often happened during the morning rush, or in the evening when I was getting ready to go out while the dishwasher was running.

  Surely that night, I put on too many lights. Jack was always the one to venture downstairs to the fuse box. But I was alone, and if I didn't do it, I would be sitting in darkness until morning. I relit the candle and found my way to the closet, grabbed the long-handled metal flashlight, and gathered my courage to go to the basement.

  I slowly lifted the old-fashioned iron latch on the door that separated our side of the house from the vacant side. Slowly, I crossed the threshold into the unfamiliar space where the darkness was strange. Silhouettes that I didn't recognize seemed to come alive around me and reach for me. With each step I took, their eerie vagueness tickled the back of my neck with long, haunting fingers. I aimed my flashlight in every direction, unmasking foreign objects and for a moment destroying their intimidating forms. The basement door loomed in front of me, beckoning me deeper into the darkness until I could restore light. Everything in me wanted to turn around and run back to the space I knew, even if it meant being stranded in the dark until dawn. But I reached out for the doorknob and turned it.

  The steep stairs descended into the basement with no walls or railings to insulate me from what might be waiting in the shadows. I frantically waved the flashlight from side to side as I took each step down, half expecting to find a pair of leering eyes waiting for me. When my foot finally hit the basement floor, I spun around and cast my light in all directions to ensure that I was alone.

  The basement was as spacious and uncluttered as the rest of the house. In one corner, there was a workbench with a rotating saw and several small ends of wood beside it. Behind it, a few old screens, glass panes, and half-used cans of paint. Beside the washer and dryer, there was a wooden drying rack with a bright, colorful neck scarf hanging from the top rung.

  As I approached the fuse box with the flashlight, a new light—soft and blue—shimmered like the surface of the ocean beneath the glowing moon. It illuminated the entire basement. I spun around to find its source when something caught my eye. Something by the stairs that was not there a moment earlier. I fixed my flashlight on what at first appeared to be a blouse or shawl, and crouched down to touch it. The rich, scarlet red material melted into my fingertips. As I pulled at a loose fold, the cold, sharp clang of metal against concrete echoed throughout the basement. I aimed my flashlight at the glistening surface of a silver blade.

  Strangely beautiful, this blade captivated my full attention. With a thin line of soft, light blue stone inlaid at its center, its razor-sharp double edges came to a severe point. A magnificent silver crescent moon formed a crossguard at the base of the handle, which itself was also inlaid with the blue stone, in the form of three peculiar symbols.

  The light around me suddenly grew stronger. I looked up to discover that the bulkhead door was open. I'd been in the garden the day before, and I was sure that door was closed and locked. I swallowed hard as a terrifying thought gripped me. I was not alone.

  With the blade in my hand, I cautiously walked up the steps and peered out across the landscape, desperate to get out of the house but afraid of who might be waiting outside for me. As I neared the top step, I looked out over the acres of grass and gardens, but I saw nobody. Everything was still, quiet, peaceful. The night sky was clear. The moon in all its brightness was entirely full and glowing, illuminating the earth. For a moment I was comforted by its light. But I recalled the dark, lightless moon that left me in the shadows just hours before. As I walked through the park, there was not even a sliver of light in the sky. The moon was weeks away from fullness. I stood on the steps halfway out, looking up at the moon's brilliant face in disbelief.

  How is this possible?

  At that moment, I was pulled to my knees. The jolt knocked the wind out of me and I struggled for air. He was behind me. His hand wrapped tightly around my ankle and pulled me down the stairs. I reached for the top step and tried to pull myself free. I kicked hard behind me and his grip loosened. As I heard him stumble down several steps, I crawled out into the backyard before he could grab me again. Everything I passed blurred into streaks of silver moonlight. I reached the far end of the yard and threw myself behind the stone wall. When I peered around it to see him, what I saw was more disturbing than anything I could have imagined.

  Ruth's house was gone. The tightly trimmed lawn had been overtaken by a strange, wild landscape with endless blossoming trees shedding their soft, fragrant petals. So delicate, they floated through the air and blanketed the ground below. Their sweet smell was intoxicating. The stone wall that had sheltered me suddenly disappeared, and in its place an old tree stood thick and gnarled, and abundant with lush green leaves.

  I pushed myself to my feet. The gray shirt and white cotton pants I was wearing were gone, and in their place flowed a long scarlet red dress—the same fabric that was wrapped around the blade. The dress was trimmed with fine threads of silver woven in the most intricate patterns. Circling my wrists were bracelets iced with silver filigree. Jeweled sandals were strapped around my feet. Waves of long hair flowed down my back and brushed across my bare arms with the gentle night breeze. Upon my head lay a beautiful crown of wildflowers.

  A river flowed behind me, and beyond it stood a towering forest wall. I turned back to the field of blossoming trees, and their delicate petals began to fall so unnaturally fast that their branches were soon barren. The green grass beneath them withered suddenly and the cold, brown earth swallowed the dark, shriveled petals. The moonlight was stolen from the sky, and there upon the stark landscape stood a dark, haunting figure cloaked in black. His face was hidden from me beneath a heavy hood, but I knew he had me in his gaze. I felt it, as if he could see right through the tree that concealed me. I kept my eyes fixed on him as he moved in my direction, but his pace quickened so imperceptibly that suddenly he was upon me.

  I ran for the narrow bridge across the river and charged into the forest. Strong, rugged oak branches rustled as I dashed past them. I wove my way through the dense foliage with great speed and agility, as if I'd traveled the strangely familiar terrain before. The tall trees blocked out any light from scattered stars, yet somehow I found my way through the winding paths to a clearing at the center of the forest.

  The moon had once again emerged, and its light collected in the open space, illuminating a large stone altar. Upon it rested a woven bunch of greens and flowers. I basked in the enchanting light for a brief moment before the crackling of forest brush behind me reignited my fears. He was close. I had not lost him. I ran past the altar and into the trees beyond it, but something was different. Branches reached out and tore at my skin. The brush beneath my feet grabbed at me, slowing me down. I did not know the way. And I had lost the blade. As I struggled to free myself, I noticed that I was back in my white cotton pants and gray shirt. I finally got loose, but he was close. I ran as fast as I could, but I knew I would never escape.

  VII

  My body shot up from the sofa. My chest heaved as I frantically looked in all directions. Sweat dripped from my hair and drenched my back. It was still dark outside. The small green lamp in the corner was still on, along with all the other lights in the house. The candle still burned. The glistening pool of dark wax drained onto the plate below. The clock on the far wall ticked louder than it ever had before, making me painfully aware of each second that passed. It was only 4:30 a.m.

  When I was a child, Dad used to tell me that it was just a dream. That it was not real. That this faceless marauder that interrupted my sleep each night could not hurt me.
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  "You will always wake up, and you will always be safe with us."

  He tried to convince me. Everything in me wanted to believe him. He was so calm and reassuring. But Mom couldn't mask her worry.

  "What did you see? Where were you? Did you escape?" she asked desperately, trying to gather as many details as she could. The circumstances of my dream varied, but one thing never changed. Someone was after me. And I had to run for my life, knowing I would lose. When I finished telling her all I remembered, she would kiss the top of my head and tuck me back into bed. She knew I wouldn't fall back asleep on my own, so she would lay with me until I closed my eyes and drifted off again.

  "One day you will be stronger than him, Jay," she whispered. "Until then, I am here."

  As years passed and so many distractions filled my life, I hardly ever thought about this old dream. I easily pushed it into the recesses of my mind, dismissing it as a manifestation of some normal childhood fear. I never considered that it might come back. When it did, the terrifying figure I dreaded so deeply was more real than he ever was, and my fear of him had only compounded with time. It was as if he'd never been truly gone, like he'd lost me for all those years and had found me again, returning with renewed vengeance.

  As a child, this dream was difficult to overcome. Strangely, I found it even harder to shake now. Each night I woke from it, I couldn't fall back asleep, and the sense of dread and fear it left me with lasted all day.

  ***

  The door burst open at 8:30 a.m. and tore me from a cloudy trance. Rena laughed and shouted into her cell phone.

  "OK babe. Just rest...Yes! I know...I can't believe you're actually going to work today...OK just try to take it easy...I love you too...OK...Yes...HA!...Bye!"

  Rena tossed her jacket on the chair and rushed toward me. I sat up and tried to pull myself together.

  "Hey! What were you doing up so late last night? I just saw your text this morning," she said, gathering her big brown curls in her hand and throwing herself on the sofa next to me. A look of knowing spread across her face. "Oh no, another nightmare?"

  Rena was the only person I talked to about my dream. She always knew when something was wrong, so even if I wanted to hide it from her she would have pried it out of me eventually. And she loved talking about it. She was majoring in psychology, and dream analysis was one of her favorite subjects.

  "Being followed is one of the most common dreams. Stress and anxiety can cause it," she said when I first told her about it. "But most likely, you're subconsciously running away from something. You need to figure out who the man in your dream is or what he represents. He won't come once you've faced whatever it is you're afraid of and deal with it."

  It made sense. But I had no idea where to begin with that.

  VIII

  Rena and I had been friends for just two years, but it felt more like a lifetime. We first met two summers before when I started working at The Waterside. It was my first job, and she trained me. She quickly went through all the policies and procedures I needed to know, and spent the rest of the shift giving me the inside dirt on all the regulars. She'd worked there for several years and collected a plethora of juicy stories. I liked her right away.

  She was two years older than me—already in college—but it never seemed to matter. She was different from girls my age. She didn't get caught up in the stupid stuff all my high school friends did—best friends one week and mortal enemies the next, drowning in shallowness and not knowing how to be real. I just didn't care about the things they did, and it made me feel like I didn't fit in. Rena said it was less about me not fitting in and more that I was mature for my young age. She liked to think of it as Gram's wisdom rubbing off on me. Rena didn't know how to be anything but real. And I knew that I could always count on her when I needed her.

  Whether it was window-shopping while discussing the latest of life's dilemmas, sharing endless buckets of popcorn during our favorite new movies, or painting each other's toes while watching TV reruns, we did it together. I dragged her kayaking in the summer and she dragged me north to ski in the winter. With good news, bad news, advice, or just to vent, we called each other first.

  ***

  "I'm telling you, Jay, this is getting way out of control. You need to do something about it."

  Rena let out a deep exhale and began her lecture as I leaned forward and blew out the candle flames.

  "You get no sleep. You are exhausted all the time. It's not healthy. It's going to catch up with you, and then you won't be able to ignore it anymore."

  Her face turned red as she desperately made her point. It was nothing I hadn't heard before. Ever since the dream came back, she insisted that I go see a therapist. Rena lost her mom a few years earlier and could relate better than anyone to what I was going through. I'd been without Mom and Dad for ten years, and Gram was all I had left before I lost her, too. My life was falling more and more out of balance, and I couldn't keep ignoring the pain. Rena was right. I wasn't dealing with it. I was letting it consume my life.

  I never saw the man in my dream. I only felt his presence behind me. But that night in my dream, I faced him for the first time. I still couldn't see his face, but I saw more than I ever had before. His tall, thin stature. The way he moved. I wished it was a sign that I was uncovering the source of my fears, but I knew better. I'd done nothing to deal with my issues. Things were only getting worse. It was like he was getting closer. Like he was not just in my dreams anymore, but he was real. I could feel his presence. And it was pure evil.

  "How did it end this time?" Rena asked, as if it ever ended differently.

  He is coming. I am running for my life. Knowing that I will lose.

  "When people are stuck in their dreams knowing they are going to be caught, they are subconsciously giving up the fight and giving in to their demons."

  "I am not giving up!" I sniped, stiffening with defensiveness. "I run like hell. He's just too fast, too dominating."

  I sat back in frustration.

  "I didn't ask for this, Rena. Why should I have to fight anything?"

  "That is the problem," she said. "It's invading your life, and even if you don't want to, you have to deal with it. You need to stop ignoring it. Stop running. Let it catch up with you. Face him. Fight him. Unmask him and figure out what he truly represents so you can move on with your life."

  I didn't have the energy for this conversation. My mind was still stirring around the fact that a very real guy actually followed me home last night. I had to tell her, though I was dreading that conversation even more than the current one. Each time I tried to interrupt her to tell her, she asked me another question.

  "Have you talked to Shaun about it yet?"

  "I don't want to think about it myself, much less talk about it with him," I said, which solicited a hard look from her. "I can't reach him. He left last night. I won't talk to him for a few days."

  "You've been having this dream for weeks. You've had plenty of opportunities to tell him before now."

  "I've mentioned it," I said with irritation. "He knows I'm having these dreams, I just don't linger on the subject. I really don't want to talk about it with him."

  "He cares about you, Jay. You need to talk to him about stuff. Trust him. Let him in. Work through your issues. What have you got to lose?"

  There was nothing unlikeable about Shaun. Still, when I was with him, something held me back. It was the same thing that always held me back, I was sure. The emptiness, the disconnection, the longing for something more. I tried to push through it, take the risk with Shaun. I knew he was a good guy, but still I just couldn't let go. There were only a few people in my life that I turned to, and other than Rena, I'd lost most of them. I just couldn't bring myself to open up to anybody else. Not yet.

  "Don't hold your breath for Vince, Jay. He's not an option. He blew you off, totally left you hanging. You don't even know where he is. Shaun is real. He is here now. And he's the whole deal—responsible, mature
, smart, and those arms." She rolled her eyes, swept away by her own fantasy. When she finally reeled herself back in, she continued her rant. "If you keep shutting him out, he's not going to stick around. I'm sure there are plenty of other girls waiting in line for him."

  She was right. I was still hung up on Vince. I knew it was ridiculous. He was practically a stranger to me. I met him once and never saw him again, and he was preventing me from finding happiness with Shaun or anyone else. But no matter how hard I tried to push thoughts of him from my mind, I just couldn't forget him.

  IX

  I met Vince in the spring. It was late March, and still freezing cold. Rena and I had gone downtown to Rao's for open mic night. Though Rena's voice was above average, her singing style and volume were more suited for a karaoke bar than a cozy, mood-lit coffee shop. But she sang anyway. After an entertaining rendition of her latest favorite hip-hop tune, we sat and chatted for a while, half-listening to other amateur performers as they came and went. And then those haunting chords began.

  When Vince first pulled up the torn leather stool to play, I never imagined that months later he would have such power over me. Next to the polished faces of the high school crew team captains at a nearby table, Vince was rugged and raw. His face was masked by a scruffy beard. His large, coarse hands were broken in from something far more laborious than playing guitar. His fingers, seemingly too large for the delicate strings, effortlessly strummed them as his pained voice uttered the first somber lines of a song that reached out and pulled me in. His strong, solid body hid unassumingly beneath an old t-shirt and jeans, and his feet rested firmly upon the floor in dark leather boots as he leaned over his guitar. He was beautiful.

  As he came to the powerful chorus, his modesty gave way to a passion that seemed to sweep him into another world. His head lifted as the momentum tore through his body, and he closed his eyes as he bellowed the words. As the sound reached my ears, my body erupted in chills.