The Witcher Chime

by Amity Green

  Savannah trembled in her tee shirt and underwear, staring at the wooded and rocky trek toward the house. She hobbled along where the ground was mostly flat, impressed with herself once she cleared the backyard. Her feet had long since lost feeling, right up to her knees. She shambled up the back steps, around the veranda, and dropped onto the porch swing as the old wind chime tinkled away in the breeze.

  The fact the house was standing and didn’t reek of gas wasn’t a surprise. Witcher could undo just about anything. Being back at home made her guts clench. But she’d made a deal. She would live. Hopefully that would provide Molly with some peace.

  God only knew what the fallen angel would do with his freedom. So far, all she’d done was agree to help him, really. Just what it would take to fulfill the deal was a mystery she didn’t want to poke at. He’d own her by the time she made good, and likely did already.

  Her throat ached and she trembled on the swing, both from the shock of it all and fatigue. She went inside to the kitchen and grabbed a package of Twinkies, devouring them on her way upstairs. Needing to soak, she turned on the bath water and peeled off the tattered shirt, underwear and bloodied socks. The water was almost so hot she couldn’t allow herself to slide into it. She downed two tumblers of water while she adjusted the temperature. Once it was perfect, she wiped dried blood off the multiple scrapes and gouges she’d accumulated and thawed from the outside in. Everything hurt, but it felt great to let her head rest back and close her eyes.

  Over an hour later, she woke up in lukewarm water and got out of the tub with a throbbing head. A sense of responsibility took over, so she dried off, dressed, and went outside.

  The horses had stuck around. Worried she would lock them into their individual runs where they belonged, they bolted past into the knee-high hay field. Watching them roll in the grass, kicking their legs up, was the best thing ever. Dad used to say that if a horse could roll all the way over onto its other side, it was a keeper. She hated thinking like that, remembering the things he said so well she could hear his voice. She didn’t fight the tears, just let them run.

  Mabeline changed her course and walked toward her. Savannah waited, and when the mare drew close enough, she scrubbed the flat of her face between the eyes, just where the horse loved it. Savannah wrapped her arms around Mabeline’s neck, closing her eyes and inhaling the salty, familiar smell of her mare. The horse shook loose and returned to frolicking with the others. Savannah did her best to sling hay and drop scratch for the hens. On her way back to the house, she turned toward the driveway.

  “Hornet,” she called. Her voice was thin and weak, but she yelled for the dog again. There was nothing wrong with holding out hope. She tried to call a third time, but her throat locked on a sob when she broke into another bout of tears. The dog didn’t show, but she’d known he wouldn’t. What she really wanted to do was call out for her dad. She went back to the house before she fell over and didn’t have the strength to get up.

  The house didn’t smell of gasoline, but thick, dried blood still stained the floor and furniture. Sunlight beckoned from the kitchen, so Savannah turned through the doorway and went to work rounding up a meal. She dumped too much cereal into a bowl and ate it while frying eggs and toast, which she devoured so fast her stomach cramped. She put a cheek to the cool Formica table, hating the way the house was silent as death.

  Monday afternoon couldn’t come soon enough. It was selfish, but she wanted Molly to come home. She needed to clean up before that. How on earth the house had been salvaged was beyond her. Dad’s gas can remained next to the porch swing. There was no water damage, no indication of the flood that filled her bedroom. Everything was undisturbed, as it was before she decided to burn it all down. The rainstorm was all in her mind, but she damned sure remembered dousing the house with gas and trying to strike a match.

  The frameless cat painting leaned against the side of the hearth, face to stone. She crossed her arms, looking at blocky, charred remains of all she’d burned up. There was kindling and old newspaper, plenty to start another fire. She could run to the kitchen and grab a knife, come back in and tear into the canvas. She’d burn the strips one by one. Just get rid of the whole damned thing, but it might cause Witcher to come back with a vengeance.

  Odd and screwed up as it was, she knew she and the fallen angel had a deal worth honoring. Burning the painting could easily be the equivalent of poking a sleeping bear, or lion, in that case. He hadn’t bothered her all day. She looked around the room, feeling goosebumps rise. The things she’d been through could make anyone paranoid, but she knew with every stitch of her being that he watched somewhere, without a doubt.

  Everything made her think about him, no matter how she tried to stop. He thrived on it, on her curiosity and fear. He’d won. There was no avoiding him. Everything had changed, from religion to trusting her mother. Like it or not, he owned part of her.

  She walked upstairs and eyed the door to Molly’s room. In a matter of hours Molly would be home. They had so much to go over. Would Molly hate her when Savannah admitted what she’d done? Would she be able to tell Molly the whole story and make it believable? A fallen angel bound and chained in a cave, feeding off energy of the women in their family, using men to experience sex? If Savannah wasn’t hurting like she’d had her ass kicked, she’d likely call bullshit. Should she even tell Molly? Whether or not she decided to, she’d have to start with news about their father. Her stomach churned, the knot there cold as the truth.

  Molly had experienced the “nightmare” that night when the smell of death, the scent of Witcher, had awakened them. Had her sister written the incident off as a dream? How had Molly’s personal account allowed for the cut up knees?

  The truth was, Witcher was responsible for the attack. For some reason he didn’t have their father do his dirty work back then. Perhaps it had been him experimenting, thinking maybe he’d grown strong enough on his own. Maybe Molly thought she was losing it after what she’d been living through. With Dad gone, would her sister find true peace, with no more crazy things happening at night?

  And what should she expect? Would the image of Witcher be gone, replaced by the angel she’d freed? She told him she’d love him. He couldn’t possibly really love her. His equivalent of the emotion was ownership. The world was his. She was small town Savannah Caleman, hardly worthy of keeping his attention when he could shop the entire Earth and beyond. Maybe he’d forget about her. That was a damned gleeful thought.

  She opened her bedroom door and went inside to change into pajamas, mind still reeling. Even if he never returned, she was damaged, deeply, and beyond hope. She’d lost it, and that was why she couldn’t forget about him. Accepting her new reality dissolved most of the guilt. She lowered herself into bed, remembering all the things she’d allowed herself to do. Wrong as it was, his kiss became wonderful and would never be topped by anyone else’s. He was complete magic and entirely supernatural, and he’d used that power to change her. It wasn’t the angel she’d kissed, it was the image of him that he made appear as human, the way she wanted him to appear. He’d handpicked those features from her thoughts. His face was what she wanted it to be. His voice as male and musical as she chose.

  He was a beautiful and perfect monster. Her own beast and horror. Her sick dream man. And he was mean as hell-on-legs when she didn’t do what he wanted. Molly would be safe as long as she played along, saying she would love him, and he made it far too easy. He rewarded her duress with peace.

  That was a chilling thought. Just how much of a lie was she telling herself? How long could she keep enduring Witcher and continue without cracking up? How far did she have to go before she was certifiable? Was he really only a monster before, and from the moment she agreed to help him, would he prove to be a “true” angel, back in the good graces of God? How could he ever go back to heaven after the things he’d done? What about her? Would her conscience really allow her to sleep at night, knowing she’d released something evil fr
om where God had bound it? She sighed. Looney Toons, just like the rest.

  * * *

  Someone knocked on the front door downstairs. Savannah sat up in bed, disoriented and still half-asleep.

  “Dad?” Savannah called after no one got the door. Surely, he was downstairs and all the bad things from the last few weeks were nothing but a nightmare. Dad was fine. He had to be. The hammering sounded again so she went to the top of the stairs. “Dad? Somebody’s here,” she called.

  Not a single sound rose. Even placing a foot on the second step down didn’t produce that annoying squeak she was used to. One stair after another, her bare feet chilled on the wood and she wished she would have taken time to get dressed. Her favorite white night gown left her arms and most of her legs bare, and since the furnace was apparently turned down, the first level of the house was much colder than her room.

  “Hello?” she called. Where is everybody?

  Savannah felt along the wall at the base of the stairs searching for the light switch. Dread crept up from the tight knot in her stomach. Cool plaster roughened beneath her touch, leaving behind a grainy, jagged stone surface. She withdrew her hands, cradling her rib cage. A beam of light broke through what should have been the tall ceiling of the den. Her breath drifted upward in a cloud that broke on drifting dust particles.

  Half-blinded from the shaft of light burning her retinae, she began scurrying back toward the stairs. Her heart leapt into her throat. Feeling her way only allowed for so much speed.

  Something heavy and metal banged on both sides and her hands shot to each ear. Footsteps thumped close, and the toe of one of her dad’s yellow work boots came into the ray of light, followed by the rest of him as he made his way toward her.

  “Daddy, oh thank God. What’s going on?”

  No easy smile crossed his face.

  Please, please, please be my dad … not a monster.

  Chains ratcheted against metal, shooting at her from the darkness, led by open cuffs that clasped harshly on both of her wrists. Two more came the next moment, locking at each ankle as her arms were jerked straight out. The chains banged against metal as the slack drew in, one huge link on the next. Tension took her weight, and each jolt lifted her farther off the floor. Screams ripped from her chest repeatedly until drawing the next breath and letting another free was too hard. The weight of her body pulling downward put a horrible amount of pressure on her chest. She pulled in precious air to sate suffocation.

  Jack stepped closer, eyes pained. He examined the cuffs and wasn’t startled at all when two more slammed closed around her neck and at the base of her rib cage.

  Neck locked, Savannah focused on darkness beyond, struggling against hope. She drew in a long breath, which was much easier now that the band around her waist supported her weight.

  “Daddy?” she called, around a sob. “Please get me down.”

  He stepped back so she could see him again. Tears streamed down his face. “I am sorry, my child. We reap what we sow.” He turned away, disappearing into the black depths in front of her.

  “Don’t leave me, please,” Savannah said. “Please?” Silence answered, just as she expected. The only sound was the rattling of her chains as she hung shaking. Vertigo hit her entire system, leaving her head swirling.

  The beam of light above began to strobe as time moved to fast-forward and the sun set and rose repeatedly. Her heart rate became that of a rabbit. Everything throbbed with pain. In the next moment, the ache ceased during the same second that her heart stopped. Her muscles locked tight and stayed rigid briefly, then relaxed as rigor subsided. Panic became sadness. Trembling subsided and all she knew was thirst as the sensation worked its way throughout her body from her throat, expanding into her skin and settling into each joint and bone.

  Impossibly, she continued to cry.

  Deep pain became a more superficial burn in every cell of her being. Willing her head to twist against the cold, metal cuff below her chin, she glanced along an arm to her hand. Flesh receded and skin flaked. Her lungs drew no breath. All was hollow.

  She withered, just like Witcher.

  Decay. It was in each moment; each beat of her existence. Senses remained. Rot hung in her nose. Visions of flesh falling away played in great detail. Metal coated her tongue. Cold was the only temperature and pain the only sensation as blood vessels receded and her nervous system raged.

  The bulk of muscle clung fast, then withdrew to reveal patterns of white. After considerable and time-consuming effort, Savannah turned her face toward the ceiling and watched the beautiful sun rise and set, longing for one more day in the light or to simply know no more.

  “I never understood why my father punished me so.” Witcher came into the circle of light, examining Savannah. The tie around his neck was relaxed and the top button of his collar undone. Still dressed for business, he managed to look relaxed and happy.

  “It pains me to look at you this way. I know you can hear me. He reached for the cuff that held her right hand, releasing her as he spoke. “I know this because He would come and speak to me.” After he’d removed the last of her bonds, he cradled her rigid frame as best he could and started for the stairs, switching on the light as he walked by. The living room was back, rocky tomb replaced with her home. She wished he would have simply let her expire than make her put up with the sound of his voice.

  “You didn’t endure nearly what I went through, though. I shortened your time to save you ages of pain, and so you didn’t feel each cell in your body fade and shrivel as life left you. My intention was for you to understand what it was like.” He rounded the corner at the landing and used an elbow to open her bedroom door. “The betrayal, the pain of death as you hung withering, I need you to understand these things, Savannah, so you understand me.”

  Tenderly, Witcher set her down and arranged a pillow beneath her head. Savannah was still unable to move, but being released was a comfort. She wanted to scream at him, but couldn’t think about all the parts of her that had turned to dust and rendered her unable to talk, move, or anything else.

  “You will awaken whole and you will remember this horror just as you do now.” He rose and turned one last time on his way out. “I can’t wait to see you alive again. I need to get this image out of my mind.” He smiled. “I love you, Savannah. Sleep now.”

  Gratefully, Savannah did just that.

  * * *

  To be away from Molly was more torture than anything she’d been put through. Thinking about seeing her again after the last three days made her feel like a new person. Savannah toughed it out in hopes of creating some normalcy for the sake of her little sister.

  She’d woke up herself, body whole and, well, juicy and alive the way it should be, just like Witcher said. The feeling of her skin falling away and organs turning to something resembling silt from the creek stuck with her every move for the first hour of the morning. She wouldn’t soon forget what it felt like to die, to feel herself rot. She got it. He’d made his point crystal clear.

  The keys to her truck weren’t hard to find. They’d appeared when she cleaned up all the blood and put the house back to as much right as possible. It was Monday afternoon. School would be out in nine minutes. She waited, waving and chatting half-heartedly with any friends who noticed her new ride, watching the double doors for Molly. At last, she found her.

  Molly’s hair was in a ponytail. She walked by herself, overstuffed backpack swinging on a shoulder. She saw the Toyota and changed course to the parking area, pushing through the bus line. Relief was visible on her face.

  Savannah got out, barely containing herself long enough for Molly to get to the truck. She wanted to rush out and grab a hold of her little sister, hug her tight, and maybe even let a threatening flood of tears flow. She held herself in check and just waved. If any teachers saw such an emotional reunion, it would draw a lot of attention that they really should avoid. And how would she explain the scrapes she couldn’t cover up with long sleeves a
nd jeans?

  The story was that Mom and Chaz were in Alabama visiting family. Daddy was headed out to get them, but it was a three-day drive, in good weather. The girls were fine staying home alone without their parents, who would return within few days. That would give Savannah time to get them out of town and learn what it would take to become Molly’s legal guardian. She’d have to get it done before her insanity surfaced and shit hit the fan.

  From the look of Molly, it was tough not to break into a run. She walked fast, waving at others, but beat a bee line toward Savannah. Savannah got back in the truck and sat with the window down, trying to act casual. Molly jerked the door open, dropped her bag on the floorboard, and climbed onto the seat.

  “Hi,” Savannah said. “How did it go?”

  Molly’s chin trembled. “I was so afraid something would happen. Like, you wouldn’t be here.” She waved at two underclassmen, smiling with thin lips. “There’s something I need to tell you and I’m just going to get it out there so I don’t have to dread it anymore because—”

  “Spill it already!” If Molly kept babbling she’d blow up, especially considering she thought she would be the one breaking hard news, not both of them. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long weekend.”

  Molly was in tears. “It’s Tina, Vannie,” she said.

  “No,” Savannah moaned knowingly and sick to her stomach. Taking a deep breath, she started the truck and eased into the lane.

  “She’s dead and they think a mountain lion attacked her, but they aren’t sure yet.”

  Savannah gripped the steering wheel hard and rode the clutch through the crosswalk, braking for students. Some people waved as the truck crept past, inspiring rage. Tears blurred her view of the road. She smacked the wheel with a palm. How could they act happy and smile when everything in the world was wrong? When her friend was dead because she’d confided in her? It was all she could do to maintain until they made it past any other teenager.