Annabel Horton, Lost Witch of Salem

by Vera Jane Cook

  I stood and went to the mirror. Malcolm had not aged well in the last twelve or so years. His hair had thinned, and he was almost bald. He had gained at least seventy-five pounds, and he seemed to be short of breath as well. I ran my fingers through his hideous beard and vowed I would cut it off immediately.

  Once I had his breeches back on, I went to the top of the stairs. Emie was standing there grinning up at me. We ran to each other like parted lovers, meeting somewhere at the center of the staircase.

  “Oh, Mommy, Mommy. How I have missed you,” she said, and held me so tightly my breath became short.

  It seems that both Emie and Philippe insist that I am their mother. I decided to ignore the implication. I had more important things to do, such as get in touch with this fool of a lawyer.

  “Where are Matthew and Philippe?” she asked me.

  I stood back from her embrace and felt the brows above my eyes form into arches. I looked at her with an increasing anxiety that caused poor Malcolm’s heart to pound. Beads of sweat formed below the hairline and fell like drops of rain down the massive cheeks and into the facial hair. This flesh was causing me great discomfort for the beard began to itch me horribly.

  “Why, they are here with you. Are they not?” I asked her, scratching at myself with Malcolm’s perfectly squared-off nails.

  She took my hands. “I have not seen them,” she said as she led me down the stairs and into the parlor.

  I had now become so short of breath that I sat myself on the large couch that I spotted across the room. Malcolm’s body seemed too voluminous for most of the dainty and pretty chairs strategically placed before paintings and next to tables, as though awaiting tea and conversation with well-appointed gentry.

  “But they surely left before I did. They followed Elizabeth. Where is Elizabeth?” I asked her.

  She followed me to the couch and sat beside me. “I have not seen anyone but you and Meredith Mae. I have been trying to communicate with Philippe, but I am getting nowhere. There’s some hindrance that I experience, and I cannot get through to my brother. I need your power to help me.”

  My anxiety deepened, and I felt this horrible flesh I now inhabited sweating profusely under the arms and about the legs. The borrowed brain felt sluggish, and I must have looked at Emie helplessly.

  “He smokes cigars,” she told me. “And I think he takes opium. Quite a bit of it.”

  I leaned back into the cushion and felt the fat on his body shift.

  “We must go immediately to Meredith Mae,” I told her. “I will handle that fool of a lawyer. Summon us a carriage, but first get a razor from the upstairs bedroom and shave this horrid hair off my face.”

  * * * *

  Even with smooth and freshly shaven skin Malcolm was not a handsome man, but he was certainly rich enough to camouflage his misfortune behind well-fashioned suits. I made him appear as dapper as possible, and I must have succeeded, for I noticed that woman fluttered their eyes as I passed them on the way to our carriage. They smiled demurely as I walked by them. How amusing it was. I found myself throwing out my chest and fondling my pocket watch every time the attention was given me.

  I became uncomfortably aware that I did not have as much control over this flesh as I usually have over bodies I have taken, though I assumed that it would only be a matter of time before the impulses left to linger in Malcolm would dissolve. But, much to my shame, I even felt sexual desire when that horrid Beth Ann showed up with her young daughter. Just as we watched the barouche pull up, Malcolm’s flaccid organ began to grow in the presence of his own grandchild.

  “Wretched beast,” I whispered to Emie. “What is she doing here?”

  To my great relief the organ withdrew and lay flat and inconsequential.

  “Father, where are you off to? You promised to watch little Rachel while I shop.”

  I noticed the child hid behind her mother and stared at me with hateful eyes.

  “I’m off. An emergency. I’ll explain later.”

  I jumped into the waiting carriage as quickly as possible, and Emie followed my lead. As I turned to look behind me, poor Beth Ann was pouting, and her face had turned so red that I almost laughed out loud. But the child she had called Rachel stood staring back at me with a look so disturbingly haunting that it sobered me.

  “She seems unnaturally wise for her years,” I whispered. “Very unhappy for one so young.”

  Emie obviously did not want the driver to overhear our conversation and told me quietly that she was suspicious of something and would explain later.

  It was just at that point that we stopped in front of the church on Tilden Street. It was a Saturday afternoon in late summer, and the church grounds were alive with flowers. The church had just recently been built, for I did not remember it. It was a magnificent structure with towering steeples and high, beautifully stained glass windows. The roof was peaked and the doors were arched and made of wood, with large metal crosses hammered into them. I stood for a moment, just outside, and watched as the bell rang from its tower. I admired the gracious, red and gray structure before placing my hand on the metal cross and pushing in the door. Emie followed behind.

  Inside the church it was dark, and the only light seemed to come from a multitude of candles that shone and flickered near the altar. We stood just inside a little anteroom, for we did not know exactly where the convent was or how to get there.

  As soon as I stepped into the church I was aware of a cold chill that started slowly at the base of my spine and filled my borrowed flesh like a lightning jolt. For several seconds, I shook from the effect of it.

  “Are you cold?” Emie asked me.

  “Something is wrong,” I told her.

  We stepped further inside the church. Emie dipped her fingers into the holy water and made the sign of the cross.

  “You are a Catholic?” I asked.

  I was surprised to see her make such a sign even though I remembered that Philippe had done the same in the fields when we realized Elizabeth had passed through time. She looked at me in a strange way. “Yes,” she whispered. “And you? You are not?”

  “I am a Puritan,” I said proudly. “And in another life, a Christian.”

  “Oh.”

  That was all she said as she took my hand and we neared the altar. The darkness was somehow a comfort and the coldness had dissipated, leaving behind warm air and the pungent scent of incense. The stained glass images seemed to transport me and I found that great tears uncontrollably ran from my eyes. I felt consumed with despair and a state of confusion overtook me. I walked to the cross, to a statue of Jesus, limp and bleeding from his wrists, and I fell to my knees.

  Emie ran to my side. “What is it, Mommy?” she cried.

  “I am not sure. The soul of Jesus,” I whispered, “commands me.”

  Emie knelt beside me and bowed her head before Jesus as well.

  “Yes,” she said to me simply.

  I was about to pray when suddenly I felt the same cold chill again that I had felt earlier, and I quickly turned. To my great horror, a priest stood in the shadows, his face hidden by a dark hood. He slowly moved toward me. I froze so completely that I don’t remember breathing.

  “It is the devil,” I whispered to Emie. “Urbain.”

  I quickly stood up and threw my arms out ahead of me. The demon was thrown to the back of the church wall. I spoke before he could reach me again.

  “Begone, demon!” I screamed and kept my arms rigidly pointed at his heart. Emie ran quickly beside me, and she too, put both her hands straight up before her to keep the demon at a safe distance.

  “Begone!” we both shouted at once.

  The priest fell to his knees and we watched in horror as his body shook in great spasms and finally fell into a heap. Emie and I stood silent and stared at it. To our horrified embarrassment, a sweet young man removed his hood and crawled along the floor, trembling before us.

  “Who are you?” he wept. “Who are you?”

/>   “I’m so sorry.” Emie apologized quickly and ran to the priest to help him to his feet. “We are looking for the gentleman’s stepdaughter, Meredith Mae Guyon. We are told she is here at the convent,” she said.

  “Oh? Yes,” the young priest responded nervously. “Yes. She is here. Father Jacques has given her a room at the top of the stairs.”

  We waited for him to lead us to her but he stood and stared, still trembling, and said nothing.

  Finally, I spoke. “May we see her?” I asked.

  He looked for a moment from Emie to me. He held on to the pew as if he needed to regain his balance.

  “How did you do that?” he asked.

  “Pardon?” I said, though I knew to what he referred.

  “Lift me off my feet like that?”

  “I am sorry, Father,” I said quickly. “I did nothing.”

  “Oh? Well, perhaps I tripped then.” He laughed. “I have been known to fall over my own feet.”

  “Please, Father. May I see my stepdaughter?” I asked.

  “Oh yes, of course. I will take you to her. Come this way.”

  The young priest walked swiftly and ushered us up a tall flight of stairs. From each landing one could look down and see the nave below. I turned at the second landing to search for the demon; for I knew he still lurked in the shadows and had walked in the flesh of the innocent young priest to trick us.

  Over in a corner of the altar, I noticed a dark hovering form. I stopped and stared at it. In only a matter of seconds, a blond devil, its eyes shining with a red-yellow glare, walked out of the darkness. I could hear his laughter. I could feel my skin begin to burn as the demon looked up and stared back at me. He wore a priest’s collar.

  “Annabel,” he called. “Look here.”

  I noticed that the statue of Jesus had fallen to the floor and lay in pieces. The demon’s laughter was a long, low growl that bellowed out through a web of darkness, slowly rising in intensity until I clutched my ears with the palms of my hands.

  “Jesusssssssssssssssss,” the devil hissed from his darkness. “Jesussssssssssssssssssss.”

  “Devil be damned!” I said. “Return to your hell!”

  “What’s that?” The young priest turned to me on the stairs as I stood staring down on the altar at the deranged devil.

  “Lucifer be damned,” I said simply.

  “Oh yes,” he said earnestly as he made the sign of the cross over his heart and tenderly kissed the rosary that graced his neck with a Saint’s benevolence.

  “Oh yes. The devil be damned,” he whispered.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was a cold, dark room he led us in to. I could feel the dampness on my borrowed flesh and see the sunlight fighting its way in through a narrow slab of window. Meredith Mae was sitting on a small cot in the far corner of the room. She was not alone. My body stiffened at the sight of the woman beside her, though I did not know why. I could feel Emie’s hand tighten in my own.

  Meredith Mae ran into my arms. The young priest blinked his eyes and clutched at his rosary.

  “I will leave you alone,” he uttered and left the room quickly.

  Meredith Mae hugged me so tightly that Malcolm’s horrid flesh began to sweat again, even though the room was cold and the women had shawls about their shoulders.

  “What perfect flesh you have stolen this time, Grandmamma,” she whispered in my ear. “What a perfect choice!”

  I forgot about the devil in the nave below. I was too overjoyed to see my granddaughter after so much chronological time. The smile across my face was broad, and Malcolm’s heart was pounding so rapidly that I had to sit. I looked around the room for a chair.

  “It is so good to see you. So good.” She laughed as she hugged me. “But where is Papa? Philippe? Where are they?”

  “We do not know.”

  “Elizabeth?”

  I shook my head.

  “You don’t know where they are?”

  I felt her grasp on my arm.

  “No.” I told her that I had been quite sure they had arrived safely at Montague Street and was very distressed to find out they were missing.

  Meredith Mae sighed deeply and spoke softly. “Emie told me there was some tragic barrier in her communication with Philippe but we had so much difficulty here that we could not concentrate on it. Still, we thought they surely would have crossed with you. We must try and find them!”

  It was then I turned to the stranger who had remained on the cot. She looked up at me with a glance so familiar that I rattled my soul to remember, but I could not recall her.

  She was eyeing me with a raised brow.

  I bowed my head to her and when I looked up I could not help but notice how deeply she searched my eyes.

  “Ursula Boussidan,” she said, and stood to offer me her hand. I detected the dialect of her native France.

  “Boussidan?” I asked as I stooped and kissed the hand she’d held out to me. It had been an impulse that was so instinctive that I could not prevent myself from doing it.

  “Ursula is Louis Boussidan’s sister.” Meredith Mae’s sweet voice rang out. “She is trying to persuade her brother to reopen my case.”

  “Isn’t it your brother who is responsible for Meredith Mae’s grief?”

  “No, Mr. Northrup. You are responsible for her grief, and therefore I find your heartwarming embraces quite contrary.”

  I was not sure how I would explain my change of heart. I noticed that her mere presence caused an odd anxiety in Malcolm’s chest. I could not honestly tell if it was my own emotion or whether it belonged to him.

  “And just why would you help my granddaughter?” I asked as I led my massive flesh toward the cot and sat on the edge of it.

  “Granddaughter?” she said and turned to raise her brow at me.

  I realized quickly that I must now be cognizant of referring to Meredith Mae as my stepdaughter.

  “That is certainly amusing considering you deny any family blood at all between you,” Ursula quipped.

  Emie took the only chair in the room and told the woman that I had suffered a fall and it had affected me terribly. “He’s just recently come to his senses,” she explained. “He’s willing to give Meredith Mae back her share of the estate.”

  “Oh?” Ursula said and sat beside me on the cot. “You now wish to give Meredith Mae back the very estate you took from her?”

  I noticed with great difficulty, since my sight was very foggy, that she was quite beautiful. I could see that her hair was dark and worn up under a large, violet-colored hat. Her eyes were a piercing blue, and her cheekbones were noticeably pronounced. They were high above the cheek and left an attractive shallowness below. Her lips were lovely, and even without a smile a dimple appeared in her cheek. Yet her handsomeness unnerved me and I did not know why.

  “That is exactly what I am saying, Miss Boussidan.” I smiled.

  “I see,” she said and continued to stare at me with an unnerving intensity.

  I looked at Meredith Mae as surreptitiously as possible, for I wanted to conceal a hint that she get rid of this woman, perhaps with a slight nod of my head, or a wink. To my surprise, my Meredith Mae sat beside Ursula on the other side of the cot and took her hand.

  “I have the greatest sympathy for Meredith’s Mae’s financial loss, and I give you my word, Mr. Northrup, I will see to it that Louis looks into this more carefully. I will insist he hear me out. You see, I have considerable influence over my brother and he is not above admitting that you have deceived him. I believe that this young woman is indeed your stepdaughter and is entitled to her full estate.”

  “As you wish.” I winked at Meredith Mae. “She can have it all. I want no part of it. As a matter of fact, I am on my way to tell your brother to give her what she is due,” I said as I stood from the cot and hoped she would take her leave.

  Ursula Boussidan seemed shocked that I would say that, and even a bit disappointed to have a fight taken off her hands. Her lips fell
open and she stared up at me contemptuously.

  “You admit then that you took the estate spuriously and with malicious intent?”

  She peered into my eyes with a penetrating inquisitiveness. I felt a shiver run through my soul.

  “I have had a change of heart, Miss Boussidan. I have come here this afternoon to offer my stepdaughter the house and the entire estate. Now, if you will let us get on about our business?”

  Ursula got off the cot and stood before me. I noticed she was quite tall and very thin. She had hardly any breasts, and yet, her diminished figure did not obscure her beauty. Though it was not a beauty I would have nestled poor Malcolm’s body against were I so inclined, for it seemed so self-contained and unapproachable.

  “You had better be telling me the truth, Mr. Northrup, for I have become very fond of your stepdaughter.” She turned to my Meredith Mae at that very moment and cupped her face in her slender hands. “Take care, my precious,” she whispered before she bent to kiss Meredith Mae upon the mouth, briefly, but with a lingering emotion that horrified me.

  She then returned the shawl to the bed.

  “I will take my leave,” she said.

  This time, she stared into my eyes so long that I coughed and turned my face away. She looked briefly to Emie before turning on her heels and leaving the room. We could hear her footsteps on the stairs. Meredith Mae sat and stared past the door, as if transfixed and unable to move. From a far distance, I heard laughter, menacing and evil laughter. I turned sharply.

  “Did you hear that?” I asked them.

  The laughter was an old, familiar reverberation that seemed to emanate from the nave, several floors below us, and yet it felt as close to the ear as the summer wind that flowed through the window. Certainly, it was Urbain. It was low, masculine laughter that rose in intensity, as if it would deafen us. Suddenly, it died as quickly as it had begun. In its wake a horrid smell permeated the small room. It was a familiar smell, like that of the body’s odor when it goes unwashed.