The Witches of Dark Root

by April Aasheim [paranormal]

  “Going to meet with our new recruits,” he said, standing to leave. “I will introduce you in the morning. Get some rest, sleepy girl.” He walked to the door and flipped the light when he heard my little yelp. “Oops, sorry Mags. You haven’t gone to bed before me in so long I forgot. Closet light okay?”

  I nodded yes and he cracked the closet door, reaching for the pull rope inside. A flicker of light fell into the room. Just enough light to keep the dark at bay. I smiled and closed my eyes as the door shut behind him.

  Four: Dreams

  Sister House, Dark Root, Oregon

  November, 1989

  “Get out!” Miss Sasha’s voice was fierce, as her long finger pointed towards the door. The red-haired man shook his head, spittle forming at the corner of his lips.

  “You’re a stubborn woman, Sasha. That will be your downfall.” He took a hat from the table and hugged it to his chest, pausing. Then he looked at the other grownups in the room. “I’ll be back.” He said the words quietly, but Maggie, though only three, could tell that it was more than a promise, it was a vow.

  He placed his hat on his head and walked out the door.

  “Anyone else going with him?” Miss Sasha eyeballed her friends.

  They shook their heads in response.

  “What’s happening?” Maggie whispered to her sisters, Ruth Anne and Merry. They were huddled together, spying on the scene from their secret spot under the staircase. Her two sisters shrugged, saying nothing.

  “I'm going, too,” spoke a skinny woman with long brown hair and glasses. “We don’t have to stay here,” she said, addressing the others. “I know a spot where we can ride it out, be safe. Dark Root isn’t the only stronghold in this part of the world.”

  Maggie heard commotion on the far side of the room. People talking, chairs scuffling, voices raised. She tried to step out for a better look but Ruth Anne pulled her in.

  “No, Maggie, patience.”

  In the dark, Maggie could feel her sister Merry shiver beside her.

  “Then it’s settled.” Miss Sasha’s voice was easily recognizable. “You go, too. We don’t need that here. But...” she said, her voice taking on a threatening tone. “...Mark my words. Your self-preservation will be your undoing.”

  “We’ll see,” said the brown-haired woman, gathering her coat and heading towards the door. “You squander your gifts, Sasha.”

  “Git outta here, den!” Aunt Dora said, shooing the woman towards the door.

  A few others followed her out, and the house grew suddenly quiet.

  Woodhaven Compound, Humboldt County, California

  September, 2013

  It was a dream. I’ve always dreamed in third person. Michael says it’s my way of protecting myself even though I’m safe and sound here at Woodhaven. In the past, my dreams had all been run-of-the-mill, images of daily life mixed with the incredible––like walking a dog that suddenly turns into a banana––but nothing real, nothing noteworthy.

  Since Merry called however, I’ve been treated to a nightly hodgepodge of clips from my childhood, more memory than dream, with every detail perfect and magnified for my viewing pleasure. But this was the first full-length clip I’d gotten, and I was surprised by how far back it went. I couldn’t remember myself at the age of three, but my subconscious did, and it offered me up to me for further study.

  Eyes still closed, I groaned, pulling the covers over my head, trying to shake the unease of being back in Dark Root. In my dreams, I was a powerless kid again, small, squashed and suffocated. Too young to understand, ask questions, or rebel. The world unfurled around me and I had no choice but to be part of that story. My mother’s story.

  I willed my mind to replace the dream with images of things I loved: Oreos, Jack-O-Lanterns, Michael. The last image didn’t help. Leah quickly joined him in my neurotic brain, smiling at me while she stroked his arm. My blood pressure rose and I changed tactics, trying an exercise Uncle Joe taught me when I was six, Find Maggie’s Happy Place.

  I did a quick mental scan and settled on the garden of my childhood home, a great floral wilderness surrounded by weeds. I smelled the earth, dampened by rain, felt the point of a thousand blades of grass as they stabbed at my bare legs, and saw the tree that Aunt Dora had planted in a far corner, hardly more than a seedling now, but that would one day give us the apples we candied in the fall.

  I willed myself into the picture, bringing my sisters with me: Ruth Anne, Merry, Eve.

  We ran through the garden playing tag, Eve’s eyes bright as she ran towards me, Merry pulling away just as I caught a tuft of her fine, white hair, Ruth Anne watching from the bench, an open book on her lap. We laughed as the rain came down on us, lifting our chins to the sky and taking in large gulps of water.

  “Ye’ll catch yer death o’ cold!” Aunt Dora hollered from the doorway and we screamed with glee in response. A clap of thunder in the distance sent us scurrying home, through the iron gates and onto the sanctuary of the porch.

  I smiled and the image dissolved into confetti.

  It was ironic, I thought, that the one place I ran to for comfort was the one place I needed to escape from. Home.

  I rolled onto my side, wanting to wake Michael and tell him about the dream, but there was a large gap on the mattress where his body should have been. He had not come to bed yet. I pulled the sheet down and opened my eyes. And that’s when I noticed it.

  The light in the closet had gone out.

  I was completely and utterly in the dark.

  I stared into the black void of the closet, trying to justify the reason. Probably just a burned out bulb, I thought.

  But what if it wasn’t?

  I threw the sheet from my body and felt my way towards the closet, using my hands as a guide. My fingers found the edge of the half-opened door. I pulled it open and stepped inside, measuring the space with my feet. I reached for the pull cord, took a deep breath, and tugged at it. The room flooded with light.

  I stood frozen, trying to figure out what had happened. Maybe Michael had turned it off while I was sleeping. But why? To save a few pennies on electricity? That didn’t make sense. He knew about my phobia and though he liked to tease me, he wasn’t cruel.

  I stepped back into my bedroom and looked around.

  Everything was in its place. There were no new mud tracks on the floor. If Michael had come in, he left no evidence.

  I was about to climb back into bed, chalking it up as a strange ‘coincidence’ that I would ask Michael about later, when one of the closet shelves crashed to the floor.

  In an instant I was racing to my bedroom door. I twisted the knob and fell into the hall, my heart beating so loudly, I could hear it in my ears. The corridor was dark but flickering lights beneath doorways assured me that others were still awake. I ran for the stairs that would take me down to the common room where Michael would be meeting with the new members.

  “You okay?” Jason asked as I bolted past him in the hallway. He was in a white t-shirt and gym shorts, carrying a glass back to his bedroom.

  I shook my head in some sort of yes/no combination and kept going.

  The common room was dark and quiet. I flipped the light switch on to see if Michael had fallen asleep on one of the couches, but he was not there. I shot a glance at the kitchen behind me but the lights were off there as well. I felt an urgency to find Michael. I needed him to comfort me and tell me that it was all in my imagination and that everything was okay.

  I raced across the living room, through the dining area, and into the library, Michael’s personal retreat. It was empty.

  Maybe he was back at the grange hall?

  It was possible. Whatever had caused that ‘boom’ earlier may have been something breaking, something that needed his immediate attention. I didn’t want to make the trek out there in the dark alone. I could ask Jason to escort me but I couldn’t bring myself to let him see me like this. I bit my lip, wondering how I should proceed.

  I
was starting to feel silly as I wandered around the house in my nightgown, looking for my lost boyfriend, all because of a dislodged shelf and a dark room. I decided to return to my bedroom where I would turn on all of the lights, leave the door open, and wait for him in private. It was bad enough that he knew about my fear of the dark. I didn’t want everyone else at Woodhaven––especially Leah––having that kind of power, as well.

  I crept back upstairs and down the hall, hoping no one would notice my return. I should have grabbed a biscuit or a cup of tea, some tangible excuse to prove that I had a reason for roaming about at this time of night. Something to prove that I wasn’t crazy.

  On the way to my bedroom I passed her door.

  The very dimmest of twinkling lights shone beneath it and the scent of pure lavender wafted out, a heady fragrance. Leah was burning candles. I paused at the door, listening, but there was only silence. Lavender was a well-known sleep-inducer, I told myself, an ancient remedy for insomnia that many were familiar with, not just those who practiced magick.

  I turned to leave. And that’s when I heard her giggle.

  Leah was a lot of things––a lot of wretched things––but she wasn’t a giggler.

  I started to panic but caught myself. Maybe she was on the phone, or reading a book? Or watching sitcoms on a smuggled-in TV? If I burst in now, she would know my insecurities.

  Another laugh––no longer a girlish giggle but a deep, throaty laugh––forced my hand to the knob. Before I could talk myself out of it, I pushed open the door.

  Leah stood in the middle of the room, her thin body draped in a long, sheer nightgown. She was surrounded by pink, red, and purple candles of all shapes and sizes, placed on shelves and dressers around the bedroom. Though she was facing me, her eyes were closed, her arms wrapped sensuously around Michael.

  “What...?”

  At the sound of my voice, Michael pushed Leah away and spun towards me.

  “Maggie!” he said, as Leah’s eyes turned to daggers. He made a grab for me, but I stepped back. “What’s the matter, baby?” he asked coolly, smiling and licking his lips as he continued to advance. “Couldn’t sleep?”

  I shook my head in disbelief.

  This couldn’t be real. Not Michael. Not with Leah. We had our problems but he had never given me a reason to distrust him. I felt sick, sick like I could throw up, right then and there. I swallowed, hoping to stave back the bile that was working its way up my throat.

  “How long?” was all I could manage to choke out.

  “Maggie, come on. You know me.” Michael took another step forward. His calm, smiling face filled me with rage. A red candle from a high shelf toppled to the floor. Leah let out a small yelp and jumped to grab it, swatting at the spot where the flame singed the carpet.

  “Maggie, stop! It’s not what it looks like.”

  “Now I know why you won't touch me."

  Another candle––larger than the last––plunged to the floor, like a swimmer from a diving board. The carpet hissed as the flame licked it.

  “Maggie, please...” His eyes were desperate. Leah crouched beside him, ready to grab any other candles that might fall. “We’ve just been talking shop. She has some great ideas for this place.” He opened his arms at his side. “...That’s all.”

  “I bet she does. I hope you take them all to heart too, Michael. You will need all the help you can get.”

  “Can’t we just talk...?”

  “Unless you want this whole fucking place to burn down, you will never speak to me again, Brother.”

  I ran down the hall, holding back the moan that was threatening to escape me. When I got to my room––our room––I slammed the door shut and turned the lock.

  Michael was right behind me, knocking, quietly at first, then louder, more insistent. He knocked for such a long time that I was sure his knuckles bled and that everyone in Woodhaven was now awake. After what felt like hours, he stopped, the knocking replaced by whimpers.

  “Please, Maggie, please open the door. I’m begging you. I was stupid. I love you. Please.”

  I had been a fool, but not again. Not this night.

  When he finally left, I fell asleep, slumped against the bedroom door, the light in the closet still burning.

  Five: Turn the Page

  I felt so many emotions during those first hours after discovering Michael and Leah together. Rage, jealousy, betrayal, hurt. I stayed locked in my room for two days, living on tap water and Oreos as my heart ran its emotional obstacle course.

  True, Michael had never married me, but he knew I would never share him. I had told him so, on many occasions after making love. He’d stroked my hair and told me I would never need to. We were soul mates, he assured me, an indestructible match forged by God himself.

  Fucking liar.

  I pulled his ring from my finger, shredding my knuckle in the process, and tried to melt it in a candle. I watched it sink deep into the votive, floundering in the wax as it made its descent, but it refused to dissolve. When the candle liquefied, I removed the ring and pressed it into my palm, searing my skin. The pain was excruciating, but it offered me a reprieve from the inner reel that played in my head of Michael embracing Leah, telling me I had gotten it wrong, crying at my door. It was my own little horror movie and it looped endlessly, without commercial breaks.

  Sometimes the scenes changed just a little, freeze-framing on Leah as she snatched at falling candles, or Michael, arms open as he moved towards me, but the ending remained the same and I was stuck through the closing credits.

  I opened my hand and surveyed the damage.

  The ring wasn’t hot enough to leave a mark.

  Too bad. I wanted a permanent reminder of his betrayal.

  Through the parade of emotions, I felt there was one that led the charge, refusing to go away no matter how many cookies I shoved down my throat. Humiliation. I couldn’t live in this house anymore, not amongst the people who had seen me played the fool. I imagined them whispering, mocking me, or worse, feeling sorry for me.

  I was leaving Michael, and Woodhaven, behind.

  On day three I emerged, with wild hair and hollow eyes, dressed in my white assembly gown.

  Michael was sitting by the door, looking thinner than I had ever seen him. “Maggie. Oh, God. I am so sorry.”

  He didn’t stand. He just sat there, crying. It was pathetic.

  “I’m going.” I announced simply.

  “Please, no.”

  He had spent the last two days shoving notes under my door and shouting out promises of what would change. He would kick Leah out of Woodhaven. We would start over, run off, leaving everyone else and this damned house behind.

  I was tempted to accept his offer, run away with him and then desert him in the middle of the night in some town in Godforsaken nowhere. Leave him, just as he left me. But it didn’t matter. There was nothing I could do that would hurt him the way he had hurt me.

  His tactics changed the next day as I packed.

  “You won’t make it in the outside world,” he said. “You’re institutionalized now.”

  I ignored him, throwing candles, magazines, a hair brush, and my clothes into a Goodwill suitcase.

  “You forgot your crystal,” he said, opening his hand to reveal the necklace I had left on the side of the bathtub the night he tucked me into bed. “If you do nothing else, take this. It will help channel your energy, and if anyone needs help with that, it’s you.”

  He smiled sadly, pressing his lips together.

  I stared at the necklace like it was poisoned, but I took it, shoving it into my skirt pocket, and then slammed the suitcase closed.

  “I did love you,” he said, his hand lightly grazing my wrist.

  I wrenched my arm away and stood on tiptoes so that we were eye to eye. “Michael. You never loved anybody but yourself.”

  “Ready, Sister?” Jason asked, peeking into my bedroom.

  I nodded, relieved that he would be the one dri
ving me to the bus station. He offered to take my bags but I shook my head. I wanted to drag it down the stairs myself, listening to the satisfying thump-thump as it hit each step. There were several members gathered by the open front door. I wasn’t sure if they were there to see me off, or to witness a final confrontation between me and Michael. I hugged a few, the long-term members I had practically grown up with, and nodded at the others. I didn’t cry, even as the goodbyes wrenched at my heart.

  They would never see me cry.

  Leah stood on the second floor, looking over the railing like she was bidding bon voyage on a cruise ship. It took every ounce of willpower I could muster to keep from willing that banister to break. Having Michael would be punishment enough. Let them burn.

  I took a last glance at the place I had come to call home and said a silent goodbye. I wasn’t sure what waited for me out there, but there was nothing left for me here.

  Jason grabbed my bag, placed it in the back of the van, and opened the passenger door to let me know the time had come. I closed the door to Woodhaven and slid into the passenger seat.

  I could feel Michael’s energy emanating from my seat and I almost asked Jason if I could drive instead, but I changed my mind. Though I hated Michael now, there were memories of love intermingled in that energy, and for some odd reason I felt it was important to hold onto that, too. I was full of bad at the moment, and an ounce of good, even if it no longer existed, was my only salvation. I might be grasping at dead straws, but it was all I had.

  I removed the crystal from my pocket and placed it around my neck, tucking it inside my shirt. We pulled out of the driveway.

  I could see Michael’s silhouette in our bedroom window.

  He caught me looking and moved away.

  “You’re going to love again,” Jason said as he drove, never taking his eyes off the road. “I promise.”

  “I can’t. I won’t go through this again. Ever.”

  Jason removed one hand from the wheel and touched my arm reassuringly. I smiled, pulling my lips into an expression they hadn’t experienced in days. But in that smile, I felt a ray of hope. Not for love, but for my life.