Go to sleep my little baby…
Oh, Come and lay your bones on the alabaster stones…
And be my ever lovin baby…
Jane seemed to be in a trance, her hand lost its grip, and the basket of Halloween candy fell to the floor, spilling out all over the foyer of the house. The small boy seized the moment; he leaped up, tackling the mesmerized woman and sinking its sharpened teeth deep into her neck. The ghoul began to bite and gnaw again and again, desperate to savor the rush of warm blood when it finally severed the woman’s juggler. He writhed and bit at her neck for nearly two minutes. Her body was splayed out on the floor, helpless while the tiny boy lay atop her, writhing like a snake. The color began to drain from Jane’s pretty features. She was at the edge of life, it was a deep fall confronting her that she had never contemplated, and why should she at her age? You see death is a slippery fall. Once we slide, it is a glide into a deep eternal sleeplike state. Our consciousness falls into the dark, cavernous realm of cobwebs, ebbs, and eddies of the brain. As the life leaves us, our dreams remain behind, the currents cease. Our being becomes hidden, dormant, lost forever and in the end, we are helpless.
She began the death throes, her body twitching and convulsing, her chest seizing and lurching. The conquering apparition stood and wiped its mouth with the sleeve of its coat. That delicate lace was now soaked in crimson red. It stepped over its victim and scurried about the house in search of its real target. Alas, neither of the children were there. He had promised the beast this woman’s daughter for the sacrifice. She would be perfect. It would search elsewhere; it hopped over the corpse at the door with renewed enthusiasm. Jane’s lifeless body lay sadly discarded, her cold fingers curled from the pain she endured, her mouth agape in horror, her graying lifeless eyes still, peering off into nothingness…
Go to sleep my little baby…
. . .
“Well remember, I’m a Wiccan, not an Indian. According to the many Mohawk legends, the most effective way to harm the beast is to search the woods and find its totem; you know a sort of carved pole.”
William interjected, “Yes, I kn…know what a to…totem pole is.”
Beverly continued, “Good, but it may not be what you expect. This creature’s totem may not be more than three or four feet high. If we’re lucky enough to find where it is hidden, then we’ll destroy it.”
“Jessup was agitated, “Where do we start looking, Bald Mountain?”
“That would seem the logical place to start.”
Jessup was becoming frantic, “Th…that could take days! If this thing is as old as it has been said, its totem must be pretty damn well hidden. Otherwise someone would have found it by now.”
“You have a point Jessup,” feeling slightly defeated by Jessup’s constant negativity she blurted out, “Well there’s always silver bullets.”
Jessup frowned, “now you sound ridiculous…silver bullets, next you’ll be telling me that we need to seek out a gypsy fortuneteller named Maleva.”
“Jessup, you don’t have to be so sarcastic. I suppose you have a better idea?”
“Where are we supposed to get silver bullets?”
Lilly perked up, “We had a gun with silver bullets!”
“Where is it?”
“Mr. Banger took it from us.” Jessup continued with his sarcasm, “I guess we can just go and ask him for it.” Beverly filled her lungs and shrugged her shoulders, “There is one last thing. According to Wiccan lore, there was a coroner a century ago named William Wynn Westcott. He was a warlock who began the secretive Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn.”
Jessup was reeling, “My God, is this going to be another long story?” William stepped up and spoke as surely as he had ever done in his life, “Mr. Homel, will you please allow her to finish?” The small gathering was flabbergasted. If on cue, Beverly continued, “Good for you. Now as I was saying, he was a powerful warlock who hunted lycanthrope for sport. He created an athame that had etched on its blade the inscription of the Rose Cross of the Golden Dawn.” At just that moment, Jessup’s eyes widen, his mind was scouring the catalog of information he had stored away for years. And then it hit him, the athame she was speaking of was sitting right behind his counter. A strange old man who had stumbled into his shop over thirty years ago had asked him to hold it safe for him. He had never returned. “I have it! I know where it is!”
“Well hell man, where is it?”
“It’s right behind my counter in my shop.” Beverly shook her head in disbelief, “I guess hiding it in full view was most effective. Well, that’s it, Jessup; you and I will go and get it.” She looked at the two children, “You two should either stay put here or go home.” William was having none of it, his need to find out what happened to his father had unleashed courage that also halted his stuttering, “We’re going with you.”
“Sweetheart, this is going to be no place for children. We need to get close to the beast and cut its head off with the athame.”
“Don’t forget something, we’re the only ones who have wounded it,” Jessup and Beverly shook their heads in agreement, William continued; “besides the damn thing is my stepmother.”
Jessup was aghast, “Your stepmother? My God…Happy Halloween kid.”
CHAPTER 24
THE CURMUDGEON
Shadows cannot see themselves in the mirror of the sun.
-Evita Peron
There was something different about this All Hallows Eve. While murder and mayhem prevailed, the overtone of the village was that of its customary holiday happiness and great cheer. The little children with their costumes galore hopped and skipped through the snowy streets. Prancing and dancing as they tossed handfuls of the powdery mix up into the autumn air. How marvelous it was, as their distracted mothers and father peered up at the bleeding moon and contemplated the apocalyptic events of the coming night. How the children knocked from house to house, happily swinging their plastic pumpkins, all brimming with sweets and candies. Across the valley, their sugary voices could be heard singing a holiday melody,
Trick or treat? Trick or treat?
Give me something good to eat.
Apples, peaches, tangerines.
Happy Happy Halloween.
While the elders of Brunswick, hidden behind closed doors, eerily chanted,
Shadows of a thousand years rise again unseen,
Voices whisper in the trees, “Tonight is Halloween!” (4)
. . .
With all the revelers coming and going along Main Street, no one noticed our four headhunters scampering to Jessup’s bookstore. Frightened, Jessup fumbled with the keys to his shop, Beverly calmly took them from his hand, “Jessup, relax, everything will be alright.” She unlocked the door as the four escaped inside. “Don’t turn the lights on, it’s getting dark, and they will see that we’re inside.” Without any direction, Beverly’s eyes were drawn to the sword. In her Wiccan religion, this was Valhalla. It had been protected for decades by the Order’s Secret Chiefs. The names and dens of these chiefs were kept secret; they were incarnate, existing on a different place of being. She was hesitant to touch it at first. It seemed to gleam, despite the absence of light. The children looked on in wonderment, and Beverly’s eyes were drawn down to hell, her lips moved, barely audible as she chanted,
I am a Witch
I am a Witch
I bow to no one,
No one bows to me.
The Goddess stands beside me,
The Goddess sets me free. (5)
She cautiously reached for the blade. It was heavier than she had imagined, she turned the handle and examined the etching. It was meticulous, so
beautiful; it was the culmination of her life’s studies.
She pulled the scarf from around her neck and carefully wrapped the sword. It was at that moment that she would protect this symbol of her life, with her own life…
. . .
An ancient bell that was hidden behind the Little Red House was rung, calling all the faithful to a gathering. The clanking resonated across the valley, the adolescent Halloween revelers took no notice of the ding-dong, ding-dong, but the elders glanced at each other and hurried towards its sounding.
A gathering such as this had not been called for decades, but these were desperate times. Ole Karl Cronsberry unlocked the back entrance of the Red House. Karl had been the last to open the schoolhouse, he thought for a split-second, must have been 1941, right before he was shipped off to war. The air was noxious and stale, the air of a house that was shuttered for decades.
Larry Bumsfeld, along with Banger and Martha Rodenbecker, took control of the meeting. “We must feed the beast, she hungers, and tonight she will reward us all greatly.” Joe Reboch added, “Did you all notice those two children, Jane Mueller’s daughter, and the Willowsby boy? They are real problems.” From the back of the house came an unseen voice, it was Rex Herkimer, “Leave them to me; my boys and I will fix them good.” Larry was concerned, “Forget the kids, what about the Wiccan?” Suddenly the front door of the house mysteriously opened. The creak of its hinges made all take notice. The villainous imp walked toward the front of the meeting. All eyes looked down towards this curmudgeon, his face darkened with a depth of fury and madness, “You have all failed her miserably. Not one of you deserve your lives, if she doesn’t get tonight’s offering during this most unholy of blood moons, you all will pay.” He turned and disappeared, returning to the mansion.
CHAPTER 25
IT WAS ALWAYS LILLY
We know that we are children of God, and that the whole world is under the control of the evil one.
-1 John 5:19
“Do…don’t you th…think you sh…shh…should go home first?” Lilly pondered the question for a split-second, “No, don’t worry. My mother will be fine. After we kill the monster, she will understand. Besides, isn’t this more fun than trick or treating?”
Meanwhile, a frantic call had been made to the sheriff’s office. A group of revelers had climbed the Mueller’s front steps to find Jane lying dead, just inside the wide-open front door. Ten minutes or so later, a lackadaisical newly-anointed sheriff pulled up in his squad car. Howie climbed those very same porch steps; he looked down at the corpse and its surrounding crime scene. Something had caught his eye. He carefully stepped closer, and using his flashlight as a third leg, he leaned closer. Sure enough, “Goddamn!” He gingerly reached down, careful not to disturb the crime scene, “I do love KitKats,” he grabbed two, putting them in his breast pocket. He stuffed a camel in the corner of his mouth, stuck a match, lighting his cigarette and throwing the used match onto the corpse. He kicked poor Jane’s feet inside the house allowing him to shut the door. “Don’t need to concern other trick or treaters with such a scene.” He ported an evil grin, “Wouldn’t want to upset the little kiddies.” As he stepped back down the porch steps he turned momentarily, there in the window was Casper. His body lying serpentine in the picture window; the tip of the tail carelessly flicking back and forth, but its gaze fixed firmly on Howie. He grinned at the feline, giving it a faint wave, “The greatest piece of handiwork Beelzebub ever did was convincing the world that there was only one of you.”
The witching hour was nearly eight hours away; Jessup surveyed the street outside his shop. There were so many kids running about with satchels full of candy, it seemed safe enough for the four to make their escape. Beverly had her old Civic parked in an alley around the corner. She pulled it in front of the bookstore. The three scrambled out, tossing all they needed for the assault in the trunk. She looked into the backseat to see if there was any sign of fear or reluctance from the children, instead, they were gung-ho! Beverly slowly made her way out of the center of town, towards the mansion, while Jessup, in the front passenger seat, pulled his collar up and shrunk down into the seat. He was frightened to death.
The Civic stopped at the end of the cul-de-sac, directly in front of the mortuary. “Don’t you think we should hide the car?”
“Jessup, at this point does it really matter? I’m sure the moment we open the front gate, the beast will know we’re here.” Those words sent more shivers of fear down Jessup’s back.
Beverly remembered back to when she became a Wiccan. She was nearly thirteen at the time, and had mistakenly thought at first, she would come away with all types of magical powers, setting her apart from her schoolmates and friends. She would be able to put spells on all the girls she hated, and incantations on the boys she liked. The reality was very different. She was to enter into a world that was laden with study and learn what was paramount to a new religion (she had been born an Episcopalian). But for all the endless hours of reading and memorizing, she loved it so.
As she prepared herself to step foot on the eerie grounds surrounding the mansion, she knew this would be the culmination of her life’s work. Even so, she had a fear of this place. It was a childlike fear, but there was no reason, to feel that each crack in the mansion’s veneer was exhaling its own perfume of evil. Ghosts? She didn’t believe in ghosts, but monsters, that was a different story.
She peered around the estate; it appeared like frozen tundra, a skeletal world of ice brambles and jutting naked branches from beneath the snow. The two children were close behind. She halted for a second and turned, “Jessup, get out of the car!” He raised his index finger to her lips, “Shhh they’ll hear us.” Beverly just shook her head and laughed. There was another detail that caught her eye before climbing the entrance steps- someone had shoveled the snow. Who could have done that? None the less, they continued. She got to the front door, its arm-like doorknob offering itself to her. William stopped her, “U…usually th…there are ch…chains on it.” Lilly corrected him, “There weren’t any when we ran in the other day.”
“Ya, ma…maybe it wa…was inv…inviting us in.” Beverly seized the moment, “Well, I guess this is another invitation.” She slowly swung the door open; its creaking pierced their ears and diluted their thoughts. It resonated from the rafters to the cellar of the mortuary. They all stepped in together, it was the first time the two adults had ever actually been inside. They tried to take it all in. There was a lot to see. Beverly asked, “So where should we start?”
Lilly quipped, “It’s really scary down in the basement.”
Jessup added, “I think the whole freaking place is scary. I think we should think about this, I mean come on, we’re trespassing!” William seemed astonished by Mr. Homel’s apprehensions, he had always looked up to him, and now watching him so frightened, it took him aback. “Mr. Homel, we have no ch…choice, we are the only ones who ca…can do it.” Both William’s look and tone seemed to embarrass Jessup, “You’re right William,” he took a deep breath, “OK, let’s do this!”
Beverly tried to lighten the moment, “We’re just like the ghostbusters!”
Lilly looked up in the air, “Oh brother!”
. . .
The logical place to all seemed like the cellar, Lilly pointed to a small door beneath the staircase. Jessup, feeling the need to show courage, took the lead. He reached for the doorknob, half-expecting it to be locked (no such luck). The door was rounded, and on the back was painted an odd picture;
Jessup removed his glasses and gave it a close look, his fingers tracing the outline, “Hmm, no doubt, this is the sign of the Skywoman. She is here, and more importantly, she is the beast!”
William chimed in, “Yes, I know all ab…about her in th…the bo…book you gave me.”
“That’s right son,” he looked into the eyes of his three companions, “Take a deep breath, we are about to confront an entity that can create new horrors that you could never imagine existed before.”
Beverly tried to assure the group, “I’ve dealt with this before,”
Jessup contradicted her, “Maybe you saw people or things that were shapeshifters, but this is Atsi’tsiaka:ion, the mother of all evil. She will challenge your beliefs and take advantage of your doubts. Be prepared, this might just question your belief in God.”
They reached the bottom of the steps. Their lights revealed a myriad of carved out tunnels with no clear clue. It was pitch black, with an aura of chilled dampness that permeated the cellar. It was a rare coldness that seemed to go best in a crypt; a place of the dead. Beverly whispered, “We must stay together, it will try to separate us.” Lilly was firmly holding on to Beverly’s shirttails with William gripping Lilly’s and Jessup quietly holding William’s. This human train chose a way and entered. It seemed to go on forever, Beverly halted and turned, “I have a disturbing feeling.”
Jessup not really wanting to hear the answer asked, “What is it?”
A Wistful Tale of Gods, Men and Monsters Page 22