“Yes, thank you, Nettie.”
Nettie looked at Bridgette for a few seconds and resumed her knitting.
Bridgette re-read the last few pages. ‘Ye to he and he to ye? Locum Tenens moves your essence, your awareness, your spiritual body, into another body and another time.’
A horrifying realization dawned on her and she didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it before. She was in Sylvie’s body… and Sylvie was in hers. Sylvie bit the apple and switched bodies.
Bridgette’s panicked thoughts grasped for Tom. What would happen to him? Sylvie would kill him, that’s what would happen. Sylvie might need him for a little while. Or maybe she wouldn’t need him at all. Either way, this was his death sentence. There was no way Sylvie would let him live. Sylvie wanted, needed, craved immortality. She wanted all the knowledge, the shack and everything that went with it for herself.
Bridgette had thought she’d faced all the horror she’d have to face. She’d thought the answer was a simple as finding a way home. Now, with Tom’s life hanging in the balance, she was faced with incomprehensible odds. Not only did she NEED to find a way home for herself, but more urgently, she NEEDED to find a way home for Tom. To save Tom before Sylvie brutally murdered him. Despair crept in. She tried to banish it by thinking about how she would find an answer no matter what. She’d find a way to save Tom.
As if on cue, a violent cough wracked her body. She wheezed and doubled over trying to catch her breath. Another violent cough wracked through her. She choked and gagged. Nettie had thrust a towel in front of her face. Bridgette grabbed it, coughed, gagged, spit up and gasped for breath. The coughing stopped. She wheezed and laid back. Nettie handed Bridgette a fresh towel.
“We’ll keep this one here, just in case,” she said.
She cupped her hand on Bridgette’s forehead and frowned, “Your fever is back. I’ll get a cool wash rag for you. Do you want anything else?”
Bridgette shook her head not trusting her voice.
“I’ll be right back.”
Bridgette looked at the red journal in defeat. She didn’t have the book of Locum Tenens. She didn’t have a hand of glory. What was she going to do? What could she do? Her lungs wheezed for every breath. Her body ached. She was freezing cold. She buried herself further under the quilt and willed herself to feel better. Another coughing fit erupted from deep in her lungs. She doubled over again trying to catch her breath and threw up phlegm and bile. She pulled the towel away from her face a saw it was covered with bloody clots. She was dying. Beyond a doubt, she knew this body was dying. She closed her eyes and cried.
A cool wash cloth brushed against her forehead and down her cheeks. Nettie dipped it in the bowl, squeezed it out, and brushed it across Bridgette’s forehead again. Bridgette relaxed at her gentle touch. She had to warn Tom. But how? What could she do? Sylvie might win this battle and she might even win the war, but Bridgette vowed she would not give up. Sylvie might win, but it wasn’t going to be easy. And this wasn’t over yet.
Nettie set the bowl and wash rag aside. She settled back into her rocker, “Rest dear, it will do you some good.”
Bridgette reached over, picked up the red journal and said, “I’ll read a bit more and then get some sleep.”
Nettie nodded sympathetically and resumed her knitting.
Bridgette opened the journal. There’s got to be some clue. Some way to make a plan.
She opened the journal to finish Sylvie’s story.
When Locum Tenens Begins
Molly was being her usual fussy self. She didn’t walk fast enough. She complained about everything. Sylvie yanked her little hand and forced her along.
Wait, what? Bridgette stopped and looked at the previous page. It was the same one describing Locum Tenens. She went back to the current page which started with ‘Molly’. She looked between the two pages for a gap, but there was no indication of any missing pages.
Sylvie had left off with Locum Tenens and started up again after her marriage and birth of her daughter. Most people would have documented these joyous events extensively, but no not Sylvie. Apparently, her marriage and birth of her child weren’t important enough to write about. In her twisted world, she wrote about murder and death. Love and birth didn’t warrant a single acknowledgement.
With no date, Bridgette could only guess that there was a gap of about two or three years in the journal. She wanted to give up, but thought about the corrupt, murderous Sylvie with her sweet husband Tom. Bridgette sighed and began reading.
Molly was being her usual fussy self. She didn’t walk fast enough. She complained about everything. Sylvie yanked her little hand and forced her along.
“Oww, mommy,” Molly said, her little legs stumbling to keep up.
“Molly, hurry up,” Sylvie yanked her hand to force her to walk faster.
Molly stumbled and fell. Sylvie dragged her a few feet before dropping her hand, “Get up! Right now!”
Molly blinked back tears, stood up and brushed off her tiny knees. She looked down, “Mommy, I’m bleeding!” she cried.
“Hurry up,” Sylvie grabbed her and threw her over her shoulder, and hurried towards the knotted clump of trees.
The door banged open with a huge KABOOM. Molly jumped, “Mommy what was th-.”
“Shut up!” Sylvie screamed.
The bright sunlight didn’t penetrate the blackness oozing from the doorway. Sylvie hurried up the steps and into the shack.
“What do we have here?” asked the hag, rubbing her hands together.
“Stupid Richard came home early yesterday. He stomped around mad that Molly was playing in her room while I was gone.” Sylvie set Molly on the table and glared at her, “He insists I not leave her alone anymore. He threatened to stop giving me my spending money!”
Molly reached over and picked up a lit candle. She gazed at it in wonder.
“Molly STOP IT!” Sylvie screamed.
Molly jumped, dropped the candle and started to cry.
“She can’t be in here,” the hag said looking around.
“Well it’s the only way I can help you. I can set her outside if that makes it easier,” replied Sylvie.
Sylvie looked around and saw a large empty parrot cage.
“I know what to do,” she said.
She picked up the cage and removed the bottom. She picked Molly up off the table and set her on the ground. She placed the cage over her.
“There, that should do it.”
Molly’s eyes brimmed with tears. She blinked rapidly trying not to cry. She held her little hand out between the bars and begged, “Mommy?”
“Shut up and play,” Sylvie said
Sylvie saw a glittering emerald bracelet on the table. She picked it up and put it on her wrist, she turned to the hag and said, “Now where were we?”
The hag cackled and picked up the book of All.
Seven hours later, Molly said, “Mommy? I’m hungry.”
“Shut up,” said Sylvie
Molly whimpered and held her tummy.
The hag popped a few grapes in her mouth, “She can have some of these,” she said sliding the bowl towards Sylvie.
Molly held her little hand out, “Please, Mommy? Please may I have one?”
Sylvie grabbed the grapes and walked over to the cage. She plucked one out of the bunch, held it above the top of the cage and dropped it on Molly’s head. Molly looked up at her startled and scared. Then she looked down at the grape that had rolled a few feet away.
Sylvie dropped another grape on her head. This time Molly grabbed it off the dirt floor and stuck it in her mouth.
Sylvie grabbed a few more grapes and dropped them, one, two, three. They rolled every which way, well out of Molly’s reach.
Sylvie smiled, re-living the sweet memory of Billy Jenkins in the well.
She grabbed grapes and dropped them on Molly until they were all gone.
“There,” she said, “Now shut up.” And she sat back down at the table n
ext to the hag, her emerald bracelet jangling on her arm.
Days later, Sylvie hurried through the woods towards the shack. She’d spent the past week ill and unable to get out of bed. Today was the first day she felt strong enough to make the journey through the woods. To make a good day even better she didn’t have Molly tagging along. Richard had taken Molly to town for the day. Sylvie looked forward to an entire day without either one of them leeching her time away from the hag.
Sylvie hurried to the knotted clump of trees. The black doorway was open and she entered. She nearly tripped over Zozo who was languishing just inside the doorway. She stopped short at his warning growl. He glared, not moving and seemed to dare her to step on him. Carefully, she took a big step over him and sat down at the table. The hag emerged from the mine, appearing out of the darkness like a phantom.
“When will I be able to enter the mine?” Asked Sylvie.
The hag ignored her and tossed a diamond necklace on the table.
She leaned and sniffed Sylvie’s face.
“You’re sick,” the hag announced narrowing her black eyes.
“I was sick, but am now healed,” said Sylvie eyeing the diamond necklace.
“No, you are very, very sick. Today is merely a lull. There will be other days like today, but you will die from this illness,” the hag stated matter-of-factly.
Sylvie said, “No, I am healed.”
“Woman you are dying. I know the smell of death. You will be dead within a year. You have consumption and you will die from it,” said the hag.
“Then I will do a spell to prevent that from happening!” Said Sylvie.
“Stupid woman,” responded the hag, “Every living thing must die. There is no spell for eternal life, human beings are not allowed eternal life. You must be-.”
She stopped, nodded towards the mine and continued, “You must be a Rumilure or some such thing. But no, as a human it cannot be done.”
“I am not going to die,” argued Sylvie.
Right at that moment the lingering cough erupted from her chest, she tried to force it back down and failed. After the coughing fit she looked at the hag and knew. It came to her with the surety of a proven fact. She was going to die from consumption.
Fury clouded her vision. She jumped up, clenched her fists and stalked from one end of the shack to the other. She could not die. Not now. Not when she was so close to gaining all the riches of the mine and the hidden secrets of the shack.
She stalked up to the hag and grabbed her with both hands. Zozo growled. Sylvie pushed the hag away and stepped back.
She looked at the book of All pulsing on the table. Next to it was the closed Locum Tenens book. Sylvie read the words burned into the cover ‘Locum Tenens, ye to he and he to ye’. Sylvie had forgotten about it. She had been more focused on the beautiful gems and waiting for a chance to kill off the hag.
Sylvie pointed to Locum Tenens, “Does it work?”
The hag nodded and rubbed her hands together.
Sylvie asked suspiciously, “How do you know it works?”
“Because Lester Brimell did it three years ago and has never been the same since. He’s crazy as a loon now!” Said the hag laughing and slapping her knee
Sylvie knew Lester Brimell. They were close to the same age. The Brimells owned several local coal mines and were a wealthy family. Lester was the youngest of the four children.
Growing up, Lester was a snobby, spoiled rich child. He continually bragged about his newest toys. Later, as a vain young man, he would gloat over his worldly travels. He showed off his tailor made clothes and literally looked down his nose at those he deemed less worthy. Sylvie hadn’t heard a word about him in years. She’d forgotten his name until the hag brought it up.
Sylvie was skeptical, “Why would Lester Brimell switch to another body and time?”
“Three years ago, he fell of his horse and was dragged for a mile before he was torn free. His neck and leg injuries left him a hunchbacked cripple. He could not stand the sight of himself any longer and took a chance on the future,” the hag shrugged, “all I know is that whoever is in Lester Brimell’s body now is not Lester Brimell.”
“And you helped him? Why? What about me?” Sylvie asked jealously, “I am the one you should be helping! Not Lester Brimell or anyone else!”
Zozo growled. Sylvie resisted the urge to kick him.
“Make the illness go away!” She demanded, “I want what is here, I want what is now!”
The hag shrugged again, “You can do a spell for the illness, maybe it will work, maybe not. But you will die someday. After all, you never know when you may get dragged behind a horse.”
Sylvie glowered at her. Zozo growled. She turned to kick at him and was shocked to see a black shadow man standing there in his place. The only features visible were Zozo’s familiar burning red eyes and a big white leering smile.
Sylvie’s hate pounded through her. The hag laughed. Zozo’s leer widened. Sylvie rushed out the door and vowed to never help the hag again. The hag needed Sylvie more than Sylvie needed her.
Once outside, the door closed with a resounding BOOM! A coughing fit exploded out of her, and doubled her over. She threw up in the grass and noticed it was streaked in blood.
The next day while Richard was plowing, Sylvie locked Molly in her room and walked back to the shack. When she got to the familiar knot of clumped trees, there was no sign of a doorway.
She called, “Let me in!”
Nothing happened. She looked closer. There was no sign of the shack.
Stepping back, she shouted, “Let me in!”
Nothing.
Sylvie was furious. She was not going to let them take what was hers.
“LET ME IN, LET ME IN, LET ME IN!” She screamed.
There was a faint creaking noise coming from the trees. A sliver of blackness appeared, slowly growing longer and wider. The creaking got louder, the blackness grew bigger and finally stopped in the familiar shape of the black doorway.
Sylvie slowly walked through the door.
A miner’s lantern flickered dully on the table. There was no sign of the hag or Zozo. Sylvie went to the mantle and lit a candle. It was covered in an inch of dust and looked like it hadn’t been used in years. Sylvie looked at the fireplace. It too was covered in dust and mold. A creaking, groaning sound came from behind her. Sylvie turned around in time to watch one of chairs tilt and slowly crumble to the ground. She picked up the lantern and looked closely at the chair. It was covered in mold and rot. She looked closely at the table. The books were there, but they too were covered in a layer of dust. She swung the lantern towards the mine entrance and walked towards it. Carefully, she poked a finger into its darkness. Her finger touched what felt like a brick wall. The darkness didn’t give at all.
There was a moaning noise next to her and she swung the lantern around in time to watch the mantle tilt and dump its contents before crashing to the floor.
Sylvie took off her apron and spread it on the table. She saw a glimmer and walked over to the broken mantle. It was Martin’s knife. She picked it up and set it on her apron.
At the table, she tried to pick up the book of All, but it was stuck tight. It bulged and squirmed in her hands but wouldn’t move. She wrapped her hands tightly around it and pulled, but it still wouldn’t budge. Suddenly, the book made a wet, slopping sound and squirmed out of her hands. She watched as it swelled, stretched and pulled itself a few inches. There was another wet slopping sound and the book stretched, pulled, and bulged itself a few more inches.
Like an oversized slug, it swelled, stretched, and pulled itself towards the edge of the table. It reached over the edge, pulled, tumbled and landed on the floor with a sloppy PLOP! The wet, slopping sounds continued as it stretched, pulled, and bulged its way towards the mine.
A black tentacle uncurled itself out of the dark doorway, wrapped itself around the book and yanked it silently into the blackness.
A thick silence fell
over the shack. The lantern flickered and dimmed. Sylvie scooped up the Locum Tenens book. Something fell and glimmered on the floor. She reached and picked up the elaborately scrolled gold ruby ring. She realized it was the exact same ring that sat on her dresser. Shrugging, she slipped it on her finger and set the Locum Tenens book on her apron.
A quick sweep across the table and a dusty mound proved to be the hand of glory. She picked it up and set that on her apron too. She spied a single dusty jar sitting on a moldy shelf. She grabbed it and added it to her hoard.
There was another groaning sound and she watched as the other chair collapsed in a heap of mold and dust.
She gathered everything in her apron and walked out the door.
Once outside, she turned to look at the shack. There was no sign of it in the familiar clump of trees. Sylvie walked slowly home.
Richard met her at the door holding a crying Molly. Sylvie glared at her while Richard went on and on about leaving the baby alone. He threatened to leave her if it happened again. Sylvie forced herself to cry and said she hadn’t been thinking clearly when she took a walk in the woods. She promised to never leave Molly alone again. Richard was still angry but beginning to cool down. Sylvie slipped into the cellar and hid her stash in the coal room.
The next day, she grabbed Molly and walked to the shack. Sylvie shouted for it to let her in, but nothing happened. Molly cried and held her hands over her ears. Sylvie glared at her and they walked home.
She visited the shack a few more times with the same results. No door, no shack. She never saw the hag again.
Sylvie spent another week in bed with a debilitating cough and fever. Richard brought Doc Hawkes to the house, where he examined her and pronounced her ill with consumption. He ordered her to rest, walk outside if she was able, and take her medicine. He explained that sometimes the illness went away and if she was careful she could be one of the lucky ones.
She was dying. Sylvie knew she deserved more than to die young. Arcane knowledge nibbled on her thoughts and made its way into her mind revealing incantations and dark secrets. But there was more out there. More out there for her and her alone. She deserved power and treasure. She did not deserve to die in her withering failing body. She would do Locum Tenens. She did not know what the future held, but she knew someone who did know. She would find Lester Brimell.
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