Cora Frost: The Fasting Spider

by Matthew Smith

  ****

  Cora had found out that the Pruitt Farm was located in Kent after asking a man working in the market. She had wished that she had taken Nichole's generous advance. The carriage and train rides weren't exactly a part of her budget. It wasn't long to reach the farm from the Kent House Railway Station. She expected the lush greenery she had experienced on the ride over. Instead she saw wheat colored brush that the cow's begrudgingly grazed upon. Not too far out from the farm land was a house that seemed a touch larger, more pristine than the Kelly's home she witnessed in the vision.

  The needle of the Aliqou relaxingly spun in circles, something it did when it was in a dormant state. A glitter of sunlight sprung around in a circle around the compass's silver edges, something Cora faithfully took as a sign. Cora looked down at the Aliqou again hoping that it hadn't sent her on a wild goose chase. She doubted that the owner or the farm's employees would care to be accused of being an abomination of supernatural deviancy. As the thought entered her head the needle quivered and pointed right towards the home before returning to its peaceful orbit.

  “I guess that answers that question,” she said, placing the Aliqou in a small meager tawny sack she had brought with her.

  Cora had grown a healthy suspicion of the fantastical world she had unwillingly traversed. Within the sack she brought a small vile of holy water; a silver dagger (which she found killed most kinds of supernatural deviants), and a satchel of salt. She clutched the bag counting that she had each item still with her. Her suspicious nature was not exclusive to the magical world, she did live in the East End after all.

  Paying the driver, she walked carefully down a path leading to the ash colored mansion. It was odd for such a gargantuan house to be in such a rural area. The oddities continued as she was reminded of her whimsical pondering about a cow being the culprit. The bovines' doll like eyes seemed to follow her. They continued to chew the pale decaying grass with such malcontent that Cora was uncertain if the look was meant for her or just a sign of their discontent with their malnutrition.

  As she got closer to the door two pairs of human eyes, with the same brooding look, only affirmed that Cora was not welcome here. The eyes belonged to an elderly couple whose skin was so dingy it mimicked the color of sand. The couple's eyelids had become blackened circles as if they were catching the plumes of smoke from the pipes they both indulged in.

  “Good day,” Cora said, approaching with a small yet honest smile.

  “Don't see very much of those now, do we?” the elderly woman said, never looking directly at Cora.

  “Good days are like lightning strikes,” the man said with a bitter tone. “They never appear in the same place twice in a row.”

  “Well this conversation seems..... thrilling,” Cora said, losing a bit of her charm. “Can I talk to the farm owner please?”

  “The master's ill,” the woman said with a distinctive hack.

  “Ill?” Cora said with a grimace that depicted an enthusiastic curiosity. “I was once married to a doctor who taught me a little bit of his craft. Maybe my visit here can serve a dual purpose.”

  “Whatchya here fer anyway?” The man gruffed out in a bark.

  “My name is Cora Frost I am a........” That would be something a little hard for the farm workers to swallow. “I am making an inquiry for a friend of mine. She is interested in meeting Mr. Pruitt.”

  The two looked at each other like Cora was insane. A look Cora was all too familiar with. She took a stab in the dark that the owner was a man. She relied on the vision for that assumption. The form in the cloak looked too masculine, and the shaking eyes behind the flaming mask seemed to be masculine as well.

  “Your friend a gold seeking whore?” The woman crudely asked.

  “No, she had seen Mr. Pruitt once at........” she stumbled. Her skill at lying seemed to vanish the same time she had been separated from Alfonse. “At a friend’s party celebrating their daughter's engagement.”

  “That don't sound right. Webby doesn't get out much. The master is kind of a shy kid.”

  “Wait a second, Sherm. He did have something last month,” the woman said smacking 'Sherm' on the arm. “Was that where yer friend saw him?”

  “Yes.....” she said feeling like she had just gained points in a game. “Yes, it was last month. She she felt overwhelmed when she saw him. She nearly fainted. My friend is very shy.”

  They both looked at each other with a warmth that seemed to light the eyes embedded in the blackened circles. There was something all too parental about how they reacted and the woman rose off her feet with a smile full of rotted and missing teeth.

  “Let me see if he is well enough to take visitors,” she said as she leaped through the door into the house.

  Cora stood there quietly. 'Sherm' wasn't a talkative man, especially with his partner in crime away. He glowered at nothing in particular as wreaths of smoke circled his head. With these moments to reflect, she had wished she had brought the medical bag her ex-husband had left with her. She hadn't made the doctor bit up.

  Doctor Gregorson George had endowed her with enough knowledge that she could tell if Mr. Pruitt was really ill or faking it. Still, she hoped that the man was faking it. If he was sick the supernatural means would be all too apparent. An ill man jumping about throughout London and Kent wouldn't be hard for people to notice.

  “Well, he ain't too keen 'bout visitors right now,” the woman said with a daggered howl as she returned. “But he says for someone like you, now might be the best time seeing how he is so ill.”

  She followed the woman through the bleak house. The house seemed muted like the color had been lost in the wash. Everything from the tapestries to the marble floors and the walnut wood, all seemed in good condition. The entire house looked bleak and deprived of color despite seeming to be pristine. Being in this house seemed much like wearing dark and cloudy lenses that hid a vibrant world.

  She showed Cora up to the master bedroom with a little reluctance in the elderly woman's stance. Cora walked to the bed slowly as she noticed some fear in her escort's eyes. Mr. Pruitt was perhaps twenty eight years old. His girth wasn't placed in his belly like most of the aristocrats she had met. Instead his mass lay muscularly in his chest and arms. Pruitt was also clean shaven. He didn't maneuver his facial hair in flamboyant ways as was the fashion.

  Pruitt looked ill. She didn't need her brief marriage to Doctor George to see that. Sweat dripped from his short golden hair to his wrinkled brow like raindrops on a window. He had winter pajamas on and was wrapped in a down quilt and still shivered despite it being the tail end of summer. She drew in to examine his face closer. His sapphire sheen eyes where adorned with dark brown star bursts. The jewel like eyes were red as if the vessels inside had been obliterated.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Pruitt,” Cora said with a soft feather like inflection. “My name is Cora Frost. I think I may be able to help you with your illness.”

 

  “Ms. Frost or is it Mrs. Frost?” Pruitt asked, his deep voice that echoed in the expansive master suit. “I recall Mrs. Steck saying something about you being married to a doctor.”

  “Very observant, Mr. Pruitt,” she said. She noticed the towel and water on the night stand next to the king sized bed. “I am currently unmarried, but I have been married before. You may call me whatever you like. Do you mind?”

  “Please,” he said closing his eyes tightly. Cora dipped the towel and tapped it on his forehead. “You may call me Webster if you wish. Mrs. Steck says you have come here to say that a friend of yours has grown infatuated with me. No disgrace to you or your friend but maybe someone luckier in love would have made a better messenger.”

  “You cut me to the quick, Webster Pruitt,” Cora said with an onrush of exasperated air. “My friend is very trusting of me. That is why she wanted me to come in her place. Rose tinted glasses are a favorite accessory my friend adorns herself with. My eyes and ears aren't as easily persuaded.”r />
  “Oh I see your here to make sure I am a man of honor then?” he asked, his voice shaking with fevered quiver. “A stand in for a father collecting a confessional. The way I feel maybe a last confessional.”

  “I highly doubt your demise being nigh,” she said. “But I'm all ears if you have anything you would like to get off your chest.”

  “I was once engaged to be married. It didn't turn out very well.”

  “Oh?” she said. She pressed her forearm against his cheek. A trick she learned from her mother, not the doctor. He was fevered to the point that it felt like brushing her hand next to a fire. She decided to act calmly and deliberately despite the fever's unnatural temperature. “Did she or her family back out of the marriage?”

  “She died,” he said. He blocked a cough deep within his lungs with a fisted hand. “She drowned three months into our engagement.”

  There was something looming in the air. Like in the vision it seemed to cause a terror just inches away from Pruitt's face. When he closed his eyes again it seemed to confirm her theory that Pruitt was there that night. He had the same shaking eyes.

  “That is horrible,” she said with a sympathetic frown. “At least you can take some solace that she didn't leave you of her own accord.”

  “I hear a whisper of bitterness, Ms. Frost,” he said with his eyes still closed.

  “When I say that I've been married before, let’s say that Mr. Ezekiel Frost was husband number four. I was born Cora Serra. I have been Cora Hayes, Cora George, Cora Holmes.... Don't ask. Now a divorced Cora Frost.”

  “And I thought my luck was awful,” he said, his closed eyes squinting with a dash of laughter.

  “You have no idea,” Cora said as she began to go through her bag. “I have an ointment that may be of some use of treating your ailment.”

  Cora took the towel from his head. She brought out the vial of holy water and dabbed it on the towel. Reluctantly, she placed the towel back on. Webster writhed in pain, the sound like a howl trapped inside a tea kettle. A sure sign that whatever apparition that had attacked Nichole wasn't a good natured spirit. Mrs. Steck responded to the frenzied snarl by biting her fist with a whimper.

  “The possession is stronger than I realized,” Cora said as Webster began to surge in pain.

  She then took out the salt and created a circle around the bed. Flame began to bark out of Webster Pruitt's mouth and nose. Whatever had taken him over was on to Cora. Searching inside her shirt she unlatched a silver cross from her neck and placed it on Pruitt who began to react like a child having a fit over a broken toy. Mrs. Steck's demeanor reacted with the same mother like nature it had earlier.

  “Mrs. Steck,” Cora said, sternly holding her hand gently in the elder woman's path. “I know you want to protect Webster. I can possibly exorcise whatever creature that has taken over Mr. Pruitt and affected the farm, but I will need yours and your husband's help.”

  She looked frightfully at Cora dumbstruck. After a moment of thought she bowed her head. “What do you need, Mrs. Frost?”

  “I'll need more salt, more water. A candle, preferably white. Oh, I will need some kind of container. Do you have anything silver or lead?”

  “Webby's mother used to have a silver jewelry box,” she said.

  “Looks like we are going to get to know one another much better, Mr. Pruitt.”

  About the Author

  Matthew Leland Smith was born and lives in Utah. Cora Frost is his first published work and he is currently working on other exciting endeavors; including a full length Cora Frost Novel.