Annabel Horton, Lost Witch of Salem

by Vera Jane Cook

  Chapter Forty-Three

  I slept only an hour or so. When I awoke, I dressed quickly and stole quietly down to the basement to retrieve Annascha, who was sitting up and staring at the door as if she knew I would come for her.

  “There’s a good girl,” I said as the dog jumped to my waist and let out loud, happy barks.

  “Shssssh!”

  I could not find a leash for the dog, so I took the belt from around my waist and tied it around her neck. I led her up the stairs as quietly as I could, for I did not wish to be detained by idle chatter. I took her out through the small kitchen and we left by the back door. On my way through, I passed a kindly nun who told me she had given the dog some meat. Annascha barked happily at the sight of the nun and tried to run to her, but I pulled her back.

  “I love dogs,” the nun told me. “And she is so pretty. I knew a dog like that once. What is her name?”

  “Annascha. Thank you, Sister,” I uttered as I pulled the dog out the door. The nun stood staring after me as I ran to the street, pulling the dog behind me. She seemed familiar, but I had no time to stop and study her features. I was eager to find my old Brooklyn home and discover who had stolen it out from under me.

  The good priest had been correct about the clothes. They were tight, and my short slacks pulled at my crotch. The shoes he had given me were a size too large, and I found it difficult to keep them on my feet. I must have looked an odd sight with my shoulder length-locks and large flapping shoes and my beautiful white dog pulling me down the street. I tripped several times trying to keep up with Annascha, who led me right to the door of the house on Montague Street without even stopping to sniff at a tree.

  I would not have known the house if Annascha had not stopped before it. I stared in disbelief and held my breath for several seconds. Some idiot had painted my beautiful home an obnoxious shade of blue and had trimmed it in red. It was a ghastly sight! A huge white gazebo took up most of the space in the front yard and almost dwarfed the house, it was so large. The gazebo was grotesquely adorned with wooden lovebirds and large bells. An addition to the house had been added on the right side, which looked like a cathedral. The front door had been completely altered. Instead of the beautiful old original wooden door, I found myself staring at a red, thickly embodied fortress covered in snarls and terrifying gargoyles. Two huge lion statues guarded the sides of the house with open stone teeth.

  I was just about to ring the chime when a woman came through the front door and glared at me.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  I was shocked. There stood Jeanne Elemont, the devil’s blood disciple. I could barely move my tongue to answer her. She had barely aged since I saw her last. There were lines near her eyes and around her lips but she did not look any older than forty-one or so.

  I stammered something about being there to see the master of the house. She told me to ring the door again and Calvin, his servant, would help me.

  I watched as she passed and continued down the walk. She was magnificently dressed and wore a large green feather in her hat. She had looked through me as if I hardly existed. I knew then that my image was hidden in Julian’s features and could only be seen by another witch if I removed the cross. Of course, I wanted to kill her for what I knew she had done to my son, but I simply stared at her until she was out of sight.

  I anxiously rang the door chime. It played back some ridiculous tune that I could hear reverberating on the other side of the monstrous door, which finally opened on a servant who peered at me from behind his starched white shirt and his kind smile.

  “May I help you, Father?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I told him. “I’d like to see the man of the house.”

  “Who should I say is calling?” He looked apprehensively at the dog as he inquired.

  “My dog is gentle.”

  The man reached out and stroked the top of Annascha’s head. The dog wagged her tail.

  “I am Father Julian from St. Joseph’s,” I began to explain, when I noticed that another man had appeared at his side.

  “And you have a message from God?” the other man bellowed as best he could, for his voice was quite squeaky.

  The servant quickly backed away. I stared at the man that I now surmised was Matthew’s son.

  “Wait, Calvin!” he quipped as he snapped his fingers. “Take this creature to the back and tie him to the old apple tree.” He looked me up and down and smiled at my appearance. “I do not like German shepherds,” he said as he squeezed the skin on his nose up and narrowed his eyes.

  “Yes, of course.” I handed the leash to Calvin, who had a strained expression on his face. He appeared frightened.

  “I will take good care of him, sir,” he said apprehensively.

  “He’s a girl.” I smiled.

  “Come, sweet girl.” He took the leash from me and petted her again. “What’s her name?”

  “Annascha,” I told him as he continued petting her. I noticed that the young man raised his eyes to the ceiling and sighed loudly, as if his patience had been stretched to the limit.

  “Let’s move along now, Calvin,” he finally said and peered in my direction.

  “Yes, sir.” Calvin frowned. “Come on, Annascha. You come with me.”

  The man stood back after Calvin took the dog. He extended his hand and motioned for me to enter.

  “Please come in, Father,” he said. “I can give you a small donation and even less of my time. Come, I’ll get my checkbook.”

  I walked past him into what had once been my old parlor. Thick red drapes hid the sun from the room and large paintings of naked children covered the walls.

  I stared around me in disbelief, and I almost walked into a wall as I sadly surveyed the renovations. I gaped incredulously at the monstrosity this idiot had turned my home into.

  “I am Luther Guyon. Ah, but you must know that. Please, be brief. I’m a busy man,” he said as he stood by an ornate marble fireplace and motioned for me to sit. “What little charity have you come in earnest for?”

  I stared at this pompous fool. He appeared to be the same age as his mother. His moustache fell below his jawline, and his lank brown hair came to his shoulders. His eyes were black, so black that they looked like small dark holes. His lips were very thin, and his skin was unusually pale. On the bridge of his nose were several freckles. I noticed he was short for a man, but he appeared to stoop over. His front teeth fell over his lip and made him look rather foolish. If indeed, he had a paternal twin, the poor girl was surely cursed by the devil. Certainly, he bore no resemblance at all to our side of the family.

  “Actually, Luther, I am here because I knew your father.” I carefully watched his reaction. His face remained passive and he appeared bored.

  “Really?” he said. “Mother tells me he was quite useless.”

  I dug my fingers into the offensive fabric that covered some claw-footed chair in fat naked cherubs and forced a smile.

  “On the contrary,” I said, “he was quite remarkable.”

  “In what way?” he asked, suddenly averting his eyes. I watched as he let out a brief cry and ran to the window in a state of panic. I realized that Annascha was barking and assumed that Calvin was playing with her in the rear yard.

  “Calvin!” Luther screamed and turned back to me. “What stupid people these coloreds are. I absolutely don’t know what they are good for. But alas, they work more cheaply than those horrid Irish.”

  I could not help myself and laughed. He eyed me sharply. Apparently he did not know he carried twenty-five percent Caribbean blood in his veins, if indeed he were Matthew’s child.

  “Do I offend you, Father?” He smiled.

  Calvin entered the room and stood just at the door with his hands in front of him.

  “Yes? Mr. Luther?”

  “I told you to tie the beast up, not let him run fancy free in our yard,” Luther screamed as he walked to poor Calvin and stood only a foot from his face.


  “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I’ll attend to it right away, sir.”

  Luther snapped his finger in the air and waved him off.

  “Useless colored,” he said.

  “God would not think so,” I answered.

  “Well, dear Father, I am afraid that I am not in agreement with God. Now, what is your purpose with me? As I said, I’m a busy man.”

  Suddenly, I noticed it. I almost fell out of my chair and on to the floor. I stared over this idiot’s head in amazement and held my breath. There, on the wall behind Luther, was a painting of the sea. The waves were high and one lone bird flew in the sky. The frame looked as if it had been made out of seashells.

  “What is it, Father? I must get on with my day.” He scowled, apparently not noticing my fascination with the painting that took up just a small portion of his wall.

  I turned back to him. “Is your sister about? The message from your father is to both of you,” I said.

  Luther looked at his watch. “Gillian is probably even less inclined to care what message you carry from a man we never knew.”

  “Your mother?” I asked. “Was it she that just left?”

  “Oh, now the dead man has a message for mother? Really, Father. I don’t mean to be rude, but I have an appointment with my attorney and he is due any minute.”

  “Your half-sister, Meredith Mae, where does she live now?” I asked quickly. “She used to live here.”

  “That old witch? Don’t tell me the poor dead bastard has a message for her as well? I never see her. She is a recluse. My sister visits her from time to time.” He grinned. “For money, no doubt.”

  I glared at him and watched as he brushed his mustache.

  “Actually, I would like to visit with her myself. I have not seen her for several years,” I said.

  Luther walked to a large desk with huge swans carved at the sides and opened a drawer. He scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to me.

  “Here,” he said. “She lives there.”

  “Thank you,” I replied. “Now, may I meet with your sister and yourself later this evening? I did promise your father. Oh, and I would appreciate your mother being here, as well.”

  “Really? My father has been dead for many years. Why do you come now?” he asked with an astonished look on his face, as if he’d swallowed a goldfish.

  “He gave me the day and time to come to you,” I said. “I think it is imperative you hear your father’s message. It will be to your advantage,” I assured him.

  “Really? Well, all right then. I am a curious enough man to hear you out. Come back at five. I will have Gillian here, I’m sure this will amuse her.”

  “And your mother?”

  “I will try, but mother has a mind of her own and may not be in the least interested to receive a message from one of her dead husbands.”

  “Try, Luther.” I smiled. “Tell her my message from the dead might bring gold to the living.”

  He squealed like some strange animal caught in a trap.

  “That will do it!” he said finally.

  “Thank you, Luther,” I said as I stared into those black holes of his. “By the way, whose house is it now?” I asked. “I am told that it used to be Meredith Mae’s.”

  The evil one took my hand and shook it. His flesh was cold to the touch.

  “I don’t know if it’s any of your business, Father, but unfortunately, this house belongs to Union Pacific Bank and everything in it belongs to me. To my knowledge, it never belonged to my ‘half-sister’ as you call her.”

  “Your mother remarried then?”

  “Four times widowed since my father’s death, four times willed a fortune. Some people have all the luck, wouldn’t you say? The poor dear is momentarily unattached, lucky for male society.”

  “Yes, I suppose so.” I studied his features; nothing of him resembled either Jeanne or Matthew. “Well, I will see you at five, Luther,” I said as I stood up and faced him. I realized he barely hit my shoulder. “May I have my dog, now?” I asked him and took one more look at the painting with the seashell frame.

  “Go to the back of the house, Father. You will find her tied to the apple tree. If she is not there, please let me know. I will enjoy giving that black fool my strap.”

  The door behind me closed sharply, and I shuddered to myself as I walked down the front steps. This monster cannot be of our blood. My poor, dead son could not have proliferated this.

  * * * *

  I started toward the back of the house when I noticed Calvin standing by the road, as if he had been waiting for me. He waved to me frantically, and I walked to him as briskly as I could in my flapping oxfords. Annascha sat by his side, panting patiently in my direction.

  “Some people come from the devil,” he told me as he handed me the belt that I had tied around the dog’s neck. “The good Lord don’t have nothing to do with people that sit with the devil. That’s just the way it is. Some of us going to heaven and some of us going to hell.”

  “Thank you for watching my dog, Calvin.” I noticed his sadness.

  “Don’t bring her back here, Father. He’ll put a stake through her heart, sure as I’m standing here. Please, Father. She’s such a nice dog.”

  I studied Calvin’s expression as he looked back at the house. He appeared to be trembling.

  “I will not bring her back, Calvin,” I said.

  “Come back over here where he can’t see us,” he whispered as he walked in front of some large high bushes and bent down.

  “What is it Calvin?” I asked. Deep lines ran from his eyes down to his lips, yet he was still a handsome man.

  “I seen him kill dogs just for some ritual he does in that cathedral he built.”

  I sucked in my breath sharply and stared at him. I saw before me a deeply troubled man. I reached out and put my hand on his back. Somehow, the simple gesture made him breakdown.

  “What is it, Calvin? Let me help you.”

  “Priests come here all the time asking Mr. Calvin for money, but none of them ever brought a dog.”

  “No, I suppose not.” I gently rubbed a place on his back, hoping it would comfort him.

  “I could never get close enough to talk to any of them.”

  “What is it, Calvin? What is it you want to tell me?”

  “You’ll hear my confession? He don’t let me step foot in no church, else I would have told the Lord.”

  “Of course, Calvin.” I knelt before him and closed my eyes. “Kneel with me.”

  “I ain’t a Catholic, sir, but I got to get this off my chest,” he said as he got to his knees and faced me.

  “Go on,” I said.

  “It ain’t just dogs, Father.”

  I saw the grief in his eyes and found tears in my own. I feared what he would tell me.

  “Little children, sir. He brings them into that cathedral. He does bad things to those children, little sweet children no more than eight or nine years old. Sometimes, even younger.”

  “Go on,” I urged him gently.

  “I think he’s been murdering those children. It gives him some kind of pleasure to do bad things.”

  “What?” I grabbed his arm and held on to him tightly. “Do you know what you are saying?”

  “I sure do, and I can’t say nothing about it. I can’t do nothing about it. He’ll hunt me down. He’ll kill me if I ever open my mouth.”

  “Do you have any money? Can you get away from him?”

  “No, sir. He’s threatened me something bad.”

  “How do you know he kills children?” I asked.

  “He has me burying bodies. He says they’re the dogs. He kills those strays up on the altar and puts them in bags and gives them to me to get rid of. Some of those bodies don’t feel like dogs. They feel like people, like little innocent people. Good God Almighty. He knows I know and I can’t say nothing.” Calvin cried and fell on the ground before me. “Forgive me.”

  I knelt before him and held on to his arm
s.

  “Why?” I asked. “Good God, Calvin, why does he kill them?” Even as I asked the question, I knew the answer. Evil kills because it is bred by Satan to do so.

  Calvin was crying so badly that I could barely understand what he said to me.

  “He says some hocus-pocus words and all these people swaying and chanting some prayer I never heard. Oh my God, Father. He promises them the world to get them into that cathedral and then he takes the world from them. He promises them money. He steals the children from poor women; he buys them, takes them off the street, steals them from the orphanages, gives them hope; then kills them like he kills those stray dogs, like their lives mean nothing.”

  I held the man in my arms for what must have been a half an hour while he cried and asked me if God would ever forgive him for burying those poor innocent little bodies.

  “I promise you, Calvin. I will stop this bastard. I swear I will avenge these senseless deaths,” I finally said. “You must go back inside before he wonders where you are.”

  “You can’t say nothing to anyone or you’ll get me killed. Priests can’t say nothing ’bout what’s been told to them, ain’t that right, Father?”

  “I will not betray you, Calvin, and I will not betray the children he has harmed. One more thing, Calvin,” I called to him as he ran toward the house.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Does he have a pistol?”

  He stared at me for quite some time before he nodded.

  “Yes, sir, and I know where he keeps it too.”

  “Is it loaded?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I want you to steal it and meet me here at precisely 4:45 this afternoon. Do not let him catch you.”

  “I’ll be right behind that bush at 4:45, Father. He won’t catch me.”

  “Bastards be damned,” I said as I turned to go, “Damned to the forfeiture of God forever!”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  I did not really know why I told Calvin I needed the pistol. I was formulating a plan in my mind that I could not fully attend to, but felt some power to initiate. I was so grieved by the malice against children and animals that I begged God not to reveal this monster as my grandchild. I prayed that his blood was not of my kin. I was too consumed with grief to find an immediate solution to his murderous and scandalous acts, but swore that I would avenge them.