by Sara Clancy
The cult rounded a corner in the path above her, shifting the light. Something gleamed within her bag, and she snatched it out. The cone. It worked? Memories of the Mahaha almost made her laugh at the thought. But they weren’t ghosts, the analytical side of her mind whispered. That’s a monster or a demon. Something made of flesh, not energy. The magnetic cone can only bend energy.
Trembling, she drew Buck closer still to her side, gripped the cone with her free hand, and thrust it out. Once more, the phantom limbs broke apart, only to reform again when she drew the cone back to her chest. I was right? Magnetic fields bend ghosts. Her flush of victory cooled within her chest when a noise drew her attention back up. Back to the cult. She realized then that she wasn’t pinned in place. If the cone did work, she could flee. And I can follow.
“Come on,” she whispered to the dog.
He cocked his head, watching her get to her feet. Squeezing her eyes shut, she forced one foot forward, testing her new theory. Nothing touched her and, when she pried her eyes open again, she found the twisting tendrils swirling around her. One foot. The cone’s effect radiated out for about a foot. The hands relentlessly tested those boundaries.
“We have to follow them,” Mina told Buck, as if speaking the words would somehow give her the courage to do it.
I have to do this. I’m the only one left. Sucking in a deep breath, Mina fought down her terrified tears and called the dog to her side. They moved forward, keeping to the shadows, trailing behind the stream of murderers and demons.
***
Snow exploded up around Ozzie as he hit the ground. The flurry danced around him as airborne crystals before toppling back down to bury him. He jerked upright, dislodging them again as he hurriedly took in his surroundings. The dank confines of the caves had been replaced with a sprawling wilderness. Evergreens dominated the landscape, their branches heavy with snow, glistening as the sunlight struck the ice that encased them. Somewhere out of sight, a woodpecker worked against a trunk. Its rapid rat-a-tat drifted through the space, stirring the relative silence.
“Where are we?” Jeremiah asked.
Consumed with relief not to be alone, Ozzie didn’t realize at first that it was only them.
“Where is everyone?” Ozzie asked.
Jeremiah was halfway through his response when he realized the rest of their group was absent. He snapped back around with wide eyes.
“Where’s my sister?”
Ozzie could only shake his head helplessly.
A tree trembled in the distance, and they surged to their feet, preparing themselves as best they could for the unknown. It was rather anticlimactic when a lone moose lazily lumbered out to pass them, its long stride making easy work of the deep snow.
“Mina!”
“Jerry, shut up,” Ozzie hissed.
“They’re not going to find us if we keep quiet.”
“Yeah, okay. But what else might find us?”
The moment it clicked, he lunged forward, the color draining from his face and his hand grasping onto Ozzie’s sleeve.
“What do you think’s in the forest?”
The last time Ozzie had ventured into the Witch Woods played through his mind. Goat-headed satyrs ripping sacrificial bulls apart with their bare hands. He gagged at the memory of blood sitting stark against the scattered pieces of the alabaster bovines.
“I don’t know,” he decided to say. Why put all that in his head? “But let’s not find out, yeah?”
Jeremiah’s throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly. “Has anything like this happened to you before?”
Hiding his mounting panic behind a smile, Ozzie tried to play it off. “Katrina’s pretty creative. You never really know what you’re going to get.”
“But we’re not in the woods? How can she be this strong?”
The sheer desperation in Jeremiah’s eyes caught Ozzie off guard. It was like looking into a mirror, seeing himself only a year ago. Untested and raw, pleading with someone to make it all better. Cadwyn had been there for him at his weakest point. Had held him when he cried like a newborn and told him that everything was going to be okay. Cadwyn had made me believe I could make it.
“We’ll figure it out. But not by standing around here. Let’s go find somewhere warm, all right?”
“But—”
“One crisis at a time,” Ozzie grinned, lightly thumping Jeremiah’s shoulder with his knuckles.
The small smile Jeremiah gave him in return made Ozzie feel like he had achieved the impossible. He might have just made this nightmare a little bit more bearable for someone else. Before he could savor the moment, a bellow rocked the forest. Birds took flight, fleeing from both the noise and the blonde girl that sprinted across the clearing. A man stampeded after her, tearing apart the evergreens in his pursuit, quickly closing the distance the child was struggling to create. Watching it unfold struck Ozzie with the strangest sense of déjà vu. A little girl chased through the woods in the dead of winter.
“Basheba?” Ozzie stammered.
“What am I missing?”
Ozzie hesitated to reveal a secret that wasn’t his own. But Isaac’s dead now.
“Do you remember what Basheba told Isaac?”
“Before she stabbed him to death?” Jeremiah spat before going stiff. “Something about kids? About him forcing her to have some. Ozzie, what did he do?”
Ozzie was already moving, trying to chase down the fleeing pair. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was running right into Katrina’s trap, but he didn’t see any other way to get out. If she wants Jerry and me to see something, she’s not going to let us go until we do, he reasoned to himself. It was hard to ignore the little voice that reminded him that she might never let them go. As they struggled against the snow, he told Jeremiah as much as he knew about it. Just after Basheba’s first period, her parents had been called away, leaving her alone with her brother in a small cabin in rural Alaska. Isaac had used the internet to essentially put a hit out on her. Do whatever you want with the girl, so long as she can still bear the child you put in her. Ozzie had barely been able to force the words past his lips without the contents of his stomach following. She was only a kid. Alone and scared.
“Isaac really did that?” Jeremiah asked breathlessly as they ran. His face darkened as he spat out with ferocity. “The guy got off easy with just a stabbing.”
There might be some hope for him yet, Ozzie thought.
As they ducked under a low hanging branch, Jeremiah asked in more of a whisper, “Why would the Witch bring us here?”
A few final yards and their panted breaths were covered by broken weeping. Ozzie latched onto Jeremiah’s wrist and yanked him along with him behind the nearest tree. They peeked out from their hiding place to watch what they had been brought to witness. The child version of Basheba sat curled at the base of a pine, her arms looped around her shins and her forehead pressed against her slender knees. Ozzie had only ever known Basheba as she was now—a slight figure with fire in her blood. But like this, as barely more than a child, she hadn’t grown into her ferocity. She looked so small that he was struck with the sudden need to go and help her.
He must have jerked forward to do so because Jeremiah’s hand clenched around his wrist, holding him in place. The snow crunched under the man’s boots as he stalked closer to the weeping girl. See. The disembodied voice made both Jeremiah and Ozzie jump. They hurriedly checked their surroundings, but they were still alone. Standing on the edges. Waiting for horrors to unfold. See.
They turned back as the man’s growled words rolled over them. There wasn’t an ounce of warmth or regret in his voice as he demanded Basheba to stand. She wept louder. A gut-wrenching sound that made Ozzie long to race forward again. Jeremiah tightened his grip until the sharp edges of his battered nails dug into his skin.
“There’ll be a whole lot less pain if you do what you’re told,” the man warned.
Basheba lifted her flushed face and released a pitiful hiccup
.
See.
Like a ghost, a slender figure crept upon a branch. Ozzie didn’t even notice it until it swung down to loop a length of rope around the man’s shoulders. Physically superior in every way, the man easily shook the figure free. Still, it was too late. Basheba was on her feet. The blade in her hand caught the daylight as it arched up and severed the man’s throat. Ozzie’s stomach roiled as blood gushed out from the wound. It bathed Basheba. Staining her pale skin as readily as it did the snow. Spilling into her open mouth as she gasped. Eyes bulging and mouth twitching, the man wheezed for breath. Whatever he could draw into his body whistled through the severed skin, making it twitch and flap.
Ozzie longed to look away but forced himself to watch. The limited contents of his stomach worked its way up his throat when Basheba spat out the deluge of blood that had welled in her mouth.
“That makes eight,” Basheba chirped.
The boy that must have been her brother rocked down to sit upon the branch. The man was still gasping his last breaths against the snow as the siblings talked.
“You don’t get to claim that one. He’s mine.”
“Who did the cutting?”
“All you did was fail to cry convincingly,” he snorted.
Basheba slicked blood-drenched hair off her forehead to better show the roll of her eyes.
“It’s my kill, Baba,” the boy insisted. “I get to pick which cut we eat.”
Flipping the kitchen knife in the air, Basheba caught the blade between slender fingers, presenting him with the handle.
“Fine. But no more eyes. They’re way too salty.”
See what she is.
The boys spun once more. This time, the disembodied voice came with a body—a small child Ozzie instantly recognized, although he had only glimpsed her once before.
“Katrina.” The name slipped past Ozzie’s lips as he pushed Jeremiah behind him.
See what she is. Katrina’s voice surged around them like crashing waves yet somehow remained a whisper. Say it. At their silence, the witch fixed her dark, dead eyes upon Jeremiah. Say it!
Jeremiah spat out the words as if he couldn’t stand to have them on his tongue. “She’s a cannibal.”
The words struck Ozzie to the core, and he spiraled helplessly into the darkness that reared up to swallow him.
Chapter 17
Shadows danced off of the broken walls of the cave, dipping and churning in accordance with the bonfire’s lapping flames. From their hiding places, Mina and Buck had watched the cult assemble the blaze upon the sandy bank. At its base lay the remains of Katrina Hamilton. The conditions of the cave had preserved the Bell Witch to a certain extent. Calcite covered the bones; tiny little crystals that caught the light and scattered it as rainbows across the sand. It was a protective coating that spared her from the ravages of time the way the grave wouldn’t have.
Mina braced herself against the boulder she hid behind and craned her neck, trying to get a better view. There was no doubt in her mind that she had heard the presence of Katrina’s monstrous creatures, but she had yet to catch sight of them.
Townsfolk clustered on the limited sand. Their excitable chatter filled the space as they ate and drank, having brought with them a seemingly endless supply of alcohol. Some were already too intoxicated to stand. Others stumbled amongst the dancers in exaggerated masks. Gilded bull horns caught the light like liquid steel. Bee wings trimmed with gold created a kaleidoscope of colors. And men wearing goat masks seemed content to ram each other until their skulls cracked. Whatever they’re here for, sobriety isn’t a necessity.
Men with biceps bigger than Mina’s head carried a gigantic wooden barrel into the middle of the festivities. Rambunctious cheers met its arrival, and they quickly gathered around it. The music ebbed away, leaving the cave to the pop and sizzle of the flames.
Mina cast a quick look at Buck. He lay by her feet, silent but alert, watching the scene unfold—a perfect hunting companion. The look only took a second but, by the time she lifted her head, Mina found that the burly men were now heaving Whitney onto the top of the barrel. Adorned with a crown of grapevines and dressed in lengths of sheer cloth, she opened her arms over the gathering. One of the men presented her with an ax before retreating with the others.
“The Witch has gathered us all here today for a purpose.”
Whitney’s calmly spoken words created a slight stir amongst the cult members. On the night they had first come for Mina and the others, Basheba had hypothesized that very few of them had ever had to get their hands dirty. Mina found herself convinced of it now. The kills were in the privacy of the Witch Woods, far from their sight. All they ever saw were the good harvests and rowdy parties.
“I know the last year has been difficult for all of you,” Whitney assured, her painted lips glistening like wine in the play of shadow and light. “The Witch weeps for all of us, for the horrors the Four Families have visited upon our beloved town. She reminds us to be strong, for each other, for our home, for her. And she offers us this gift.”
With that, she tapped the top of the barrel with the tip of her ax. It was enough to break the crowd into an ecstatic cheer.
“Drink!” Whitney called over them. “Be happy! It’s all she asks of us!”
One swing and the ax head cracked clean through the aged wood. Red wine gushed free, bubbling and spouting, filling ready cups and open mouths. Mina sunk back slightly as the crowd drank with wild abandon. Two hundred and six bones in the human body. Mina rolled the number in her head. Even if I can get to them, how will I carry them all?
The first scream snapped her out of her thoughts. She ducked down next to Buck, who restlessly scraped and pawed at the sand. Carefully, she leaned to the side and snuck another glance. Bodies hit the ground, kicking up dust as they convulsed, wine and froth spewing from under their masks. Tendons pulled, and eyes bulged and rolled back in their skulls. Screams gargled as more fell. The golden firelight wasn’t enough to hide the molten blush that claimed their skin. From her perch, Whitney watched the carnage unfold with a small smile upon her lips. In moments, she was the only one left alive.
Shocked, Mina barely felt the tremors, not until the shadows split and a pair of minotaurs entered the ring of light. Seven feet tall and sheathed in muscle, they blocked Mina’s sight of the goat-headed satyr that followed close behind. Whitney beamed at them and lifted one arm in command. One of the minotaurs stalked forward to obediently lift her down from the barrel.
“Their blood is for Katrina, as agreed,” Whitney instructed them. The beast turned to comply, pausing only when she added, “But their flesh is mine.”
Steam puffed from the minotaur’s snout. It turned its massive bull’s head just enough to regard its companions with dark eyes.
“I only promised Katrina the blood. And there’s enough here for her to be strong again. I even have another gift for her.” Whitney pulled herself to full height and tipped her chin higher still. “It’s more than I promised. She has no right to interfere with my sacrifice.”
Both minotaurs clawed at the sandy ground with their human feet. The goat man seemed more content to watch with something bordering on amusement. For the first time, Whitney hesitated.
“Will you be telling our Master that he won’t be receiving his gifts because Katrina had to play her games?”
The beasts shared one more glance before slowly beginning their work. One by one, they dragged the bodies of the poisoned cult members over to Katrina’s skeleton, then proceed to rip them apart. The sickening sound of tearing flesh made Mina gag, and the copper scent of blood mingled with smoke and wine. They only ever let the blood splatter upon the bones. The flesh and all the innards were thrown onto the bonfire.
Whitney’s a witch. Mina didn’t care about the stitches on her cheek or the pain that touching them caused. She clamped a hand over her mouth, desperately holding back both panic and bile. A living witch. Katrina’s minion is making a grab for power. We’r
e screwed.
The desire to do something raged against the knowledge of just how weak she was. Alone, no weapons, nothing but the shadows and underground lake to hide in. Even with Buck to create a diversion, she wouldn’t have time to collect the bones.
The fire crackled as the beasts scattered body parts over its embers. Gifts for Katrina’s benefactor. Mina froze, a hand still covering her mouth. Slowly, she inched up far enough to watch the scene for a moment more. The process was the same. Drain the blood and feed the flames. The sacrifices aren’t alive, she thought, her gaze sliding from the fire to the sparkling bones. So, is it possible to sacrifice a ghost?
The hypothesis was still forming when the ground rumbled again. Mina dropped, looping her arms around Buck’s throat, clutching her bag when she heard its contents click together. The thunderous crack of breaking stone quickly covered the sound. Even from her hiding place, she saw the rock wall open like a gaping wound. Four bodies tumbled out. They hit the ground hard and barely had time to stand before the beasts were on them.
“Careful with them,” Whitney ordered, delight dripping from each word. “They’re my special gifts.”
The satyr only needed one hand to pull Basheba off of the ground. Jeremiah. Mina shifted forward on her knees, desperate for a sight of her brother. Movement streaked across her vision. She threw herself back, landing hard on the sand and sliding away. As the spike of fear faded, she saw what had been discarded. Cadwyn’s med kit and Basheba’s pack and knife. They sat in a tantalizing pile far beyond the reach of her hiding place. Buck caught Basheba’s scent and started forward to meet her. It took all of Mina’s weight and some quiet coaxing to keep him down.
“Wake up,” Whitney demanded.
Buck pushed forward again, dragging Mina with him until they could both peer around the stone. The satyr still held Basheba off of the ground by her arms, its large goat head twisting to follow Whitney as she prowled around them. Mina’s heart skipped a beat when she couldn’t find the others. A flash of movement brought her attention to the water’s edge. She chased it, hoping to catch glimpse of the boys. It was hard to see them from where she was. The boulder blocked most of her view, and the minotaurs took the rest. She caught quick glimpses of hair—Cadwyn’s dark blonde and Ozzie’s midnight back. Her heart refused to beat right until she saw the brunette shade so similar to her own. They’re standing. They’re alive.
