The Witches of Dark Root

by April Aasheim [paranormal]

  When we got to her Lexus she handed me a card that read: Jillian Lightheart ~ Psychic Medium. There was an address and a map on the back.

  “What’s this for?”

  “Maggie, dear,” Jillian said. “I’m not sure you are aware of it, but you have something behind you. It’s big and dark and hides whenever it thinks it’s been spotted. It’s kind of like a cloud behind the sun. I think this one is just a hitchhiker––most of them are––but some things attach themselves for a very long time. Even lifetimes. I think you are the sort of person who attracts...many things.”

  I looked over my shoulder but couldn’t see anything.

  She laughed and slid into her seat.

  “I told you, he’s sneaky. At any rate, I’d like to help you with it, if you decide you want to. Free, of course. It’s not often I get to meet someone of your talents.”

  I gave her a quizzical look.

  My only talents were in generating mild electrical surges and making predictions that sometimes came true. Nothing a professional psychic would be interested in. Before I could speak, she started the car and drove away.

  I looked at the card again. Her address was in Linsburg. Not far, if I had a car. Which I didn’t. I walked back to Dip Stix and thought about what she had said. She claimed she was a psychic medium, someone who could speak with the dead. According to my mother, that was one of the rarest and most powerful gifts a person could have. I was intrigued.

  I felt a touch of cold on my shoulder and looked behind me. Nothing.

  Maybe I would go see her before I left Dark Root behind forever.

  “What was that about?” Eve asked, emerging from Dip Stix with Paul.

  “Oh, you know, just another old, eccentric woman.”

  Eve laughed and slid into the front seat of the Explorer next to Paul. “As if we don’t have enough of those in Dark Root already.”

  “So what did you think of Paul?” Eve plopped down on the bed as I rummaged through my suitcase for pajamas.

  I removed my flannel nightgown and was seized by sadness, remembering the night Michael had dressed me for bed before returning to Leah. I shoved it back into the suitcase and pulled out an over-sized Berkley T-shirt instead.

  “...Isn’t he great?”

  “Hmm?” I asked, stalling for time.

  Considering the day we had, I was surprised she was focusing on Paul and even more surprised she thought he was great. Aside from his love of all things Elvis, he didn't seem to have a lot to contribute to conversations.

  “Where did you two meet?” I shimmied out of my clothes and pulled the shirt over my head. Though it hung to my knees, it was snug in the waist and I silently cursed Michael for putting it in the dryer. Another good reason to get rid of him, I reminded myself.

  Eve ran a comb through her long hair and I noticed that in addition to her bangs, she had piece-y layers that framed her face. I was fascinated and a bit envious. My own hair was far too unruly to pull off a stunt like that.

  “We met at an audition for Rock of Ages on Broadway.” Eve sighed dramatically, turning towards the mirror. She checked every angle of her head, smiled approvingly, and put the comb away. “We hit it off right away and have been hanging out ever since.”

  She stood and pulled off her shirt, giving me a glimpse of her newly-enhanced cleavage.

  “Did you get the part?” I watched, fascinated as she searched through the dresser for something to wear. I was no stranger to nudity, but I had never seen anything like the giant, floating orbs that Eve was now sporting. She was lucky that she had a naturally curvy bottom to balance her out, or she might have toppled over.

  I turned my head away so that I didn’t stare.

  “I got a call back,” she said, pulling on a loose, white t-shirt. “Would have been my first Broadway gig, too, but I didn’t take it. That same day, I got an offer to play the lead in a play, and I just couldn’t refuse.”

  “It must have been a pretty big deal to give up Broadway. Which play?”

  “Romeo and Juliet. If you want to be taken seriously as an actress, Shakespeare is the way to go.” Eve shrugged, pulling her hair up into a ponytail and secured it with a scrunchie.

  Even without makeup, she was still spotlessly beautiful.

  She climbed into the bed, fluffed her pillows and rested her arms behind her head. “Paul’s supposed to be going back to Seattle, but I’m trying to convince him to stick around for a bit. Lord knows this town could use a little more life in it.”

  “Seattle?” I was suddenly interested in Paul.

  If he was going to Seattle, maybe I could go with him. Then move on from there. It was a small stepping stone, but it would be a first step in getting out of Dark Root.

  “He has family there,” Eve continued. “Says he misses them.” Her lips puckered into a thoughtful pout.

  “Why don’t you give him one of your magical teas? That might keep him here.”

  Eve’s dark eyes clouded over. “Don’t think I haven’t thought of that. I have one dose, just for him, made with herbs I spent weeks collecting. But...” she sighed. “I’m hoping it doesn’t come to that. He’s too...” I could see her wrestling for the right word. “...Special. Nope, I would like for him to fall in love with me, fair and square.”

  I had heard Eve declare her unbridled passion for many boys before, but there was something about the way she spoke of Paul that made me wonder if this was different.

  “Think you’re in love?” I said.

  Eve rolled onto her side so that she could look at me.

  “I have no idea, but it’s something. Maybe it’s just the challenge. He’s the first guy I’ve ever met who wasn’t tripping over himself to impress me.” She shrugged as if it wasn’t really important whether it was love or the challenge, so long as she won. “Enough about that. What about you? You still with that religious guy?”

  My body tensed.

  I wanted to tell her the truth, but I couldn’t admit the way that things had turned out. It would give her too much leverage.

  “We are on a break for the moment,” I said. “I’ve been wanting it for some time, you know? Coming here was a good excuse to see how things would be without him. I was so young when we got together and I wonder if I missed out on life.”

  Eve nodded thoughtfully, but I wasn’t sure she bought it.

  “Ready for bed?” she asked, patting the space next to her. She was gooey and dreamy again and I couldn’t stay here when she was happy while I was miserable. Though I had put Michael out of my head, he wouldn’t stay out of my heart.

  “I think I might sleep in Merry’s room tonight. Seems a waste of a bed otherwise. You be alright?”

  Eve nodded, lost in thoughts of conquering Paul.

  I tiptoed out as she fell into an easy sleep.

  I crept down the hall, hoping to not wake Paul or Aunt Dora. Merry’s room was neat, except for a few stray toys on the floor. I crawled into bed, turned off the bedside lamp, and pulled the comforter up to my shoulders. The realization that this would be the first time I slept in a bed alone in years hit me and I snuggled in deeper.

  Think good thoughts, Maggie.

  The smell of Merry’s scent on the pillows helped relax me, and I settled my mind on thoughts of her at six-years-old, pulling me in a wagon around the front yard.

  “Faster, Merry!” I screamed as I held tight to the sides. “Faster!”

  The memory warmed me like the sun and I melted into a puddle of sleep.

  Eleven: Piano Man

  Harvest Home, Dark Root, Oregon

  October, 1995

  “Maggie, wake up.” Merry jostled her sister, rousing her from her nap on the couch.

  Maggie sat up, rubbed her eyes, and looked around. For a moment she forgot that she was in the living room of Harvest Home.

  “Already?” Maggie asked, pushing herself onto elbows.

  A loud chime coming from the grandfather clock confirmed that that it was midnight, time for
the ritual. Maggie felt the chill from the open door and looked around for her sweater.

  “We aren’t supposed to wear anything other than our robes tonight,” Merry cautioned, but helped Maggie into the sweater, anyways.

  “Where’s Eve?” Maggie asked. If she was going to have to wander the woods in the middle of the night for some crazy ritual, then Eve better be up, too. Maggie saw her standing by the door, jumping up and down, not tired at all.

  Miss Sasha and six of her friends emerged from the dining room, talking excitedly and exchanging knowing glances.

  “You girls ready?” Miss Sasha asked. This was to be their first grown up moon chant and Miss Sasha could hardly contain herself. She noticed the sweater Maggie wore over her long blue robe and frowned but didn’t mention it.

  Merry, Maggie, Eve, and Ruth Anne followed their mother and her friends into the night.

  It was cold and the sisters shivered as they wound their way along an old dirt road shrouded by trees to a circular clearing, a half-mile away. The girls had played in the clearing many times during the day, but this was the first time they had seen it beneath the light of a full moon. The grass looked dewy and lush as the soft light fell upon each blade, but the trees that surrounded the meadow looked foreboding and ominous, as if their long, twisted boughs were ready to snatch the girls, if given the chance.

  “What are we doing here again?” Maggie asked, as they made their way towards the center of the circle. “...And how long do we have to stay out?”

  The adults moved to a point in the very center of the clearing and the girls positioned themselves a few dozen feet behind them.

  Ruth Anne surveyed the area and sat, cross-legged, on the moist grass. “We are rooting out the evil spirits that are trying to infest Dark Root.” Her voice was as flat and informational as an encyclopedia entry.

  She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a key-chain flashlight and a comic book and started reading.

  “How do we do that?” Maggie asked, watching as the elders––five women and two men––linked raised hands towards the sky.

  They began singing, a soft melodic chant that Maggie had heard before.

  Merry answered, “Every fall, the Council of Seven places a protective spell around our town. It must be done before the second half of the year begins, on November 1st. It keeps out the dark energies and ensures that the circle is strong.”

  Maggie hopped on one foot, and then the other, trying to find warmth in the chill of the night. “But why do we have to do it now?” she moaned. “When it’s so cold?”

  Ruth Anne responded, never lifting her eyes from her book. “It’s the witching hour. According to legend, the hours between twelve and three AM are when all things magical, including witches, are at their most powerful.” She turned the page of her book and cracked a smile at one of the drawings. “...It’s too bad we can’t keep out the crazy.”

  Maggie widened her eyes. “But if witches are the most powerful now, won’t the bad things be more powerful too?”

  “I’m scared,” Eve said, jumping in place as the elders continued their chant. Eve liked magick, but only the lighter arts, and those that yielded her a reward.

  Merry took Eve’s hand and kissed it, and Maggie latched onto Merry’s other hand.

  “I’m scared, too,” Merry fibbed.

  Merry wasn’t afraid of anything.

  There was a long silence, followed by the heavy beat of a loud drum. Miss Sasha looked over her shoulder at her daughters, letting them know that it was almost their turn. They had been practicing the spell for weeks now, and Maggie hoped she wouldn’t forget the words.

  Ruth Anne set down her comic book and the four girls clasped hands and waded towards the center of the circle.

  Miss Sasha nodded and the girls began their incantation.

  As the Witching Hour chimes

  And the whole world sleeps and dreams

  We join our hands in sisterhood

  Staving back the darklings

  The circle stands, its shape eternal

  Though the darkness is still beckoning

  Our light will ward back the infernal

  And shield us from the doomsday reckoning

  Maggie was still tired and stumbled on a few of the words, completely missing some of them; however, Merry spoke them as loud and clearly as she recited The Pledge of Allegiance at school. All the while, Eve played with her hair and hardly tried at all. For her part, Ruth Anne recited the words without emotion, anxious to get back to her comic book.

  “Who wrote the spell?” Ruth Anne had asked their mother earlier that day while they were preparing. “It doesn’t sound right.”

  “It doesn’t matter if it sounds right or not,” Miss Sasha had explained. “It’s the power of words––especially when spoken in numbers––that matters. When we stand together, no enemy would dare traverse the boundaries of Dark Root.”

  Maggie caught a movement to her right. She thought she had seen a dark form take shape and then vanish. And then another. Were they coming or going? She couldn’t tell.

  The ritual continued for what felt to Maggie like an eternity.

  Her feet hurt, her face was cold, and she was afraid of shadows that zipped past, seemingly unnoticed by anyone else. She squeezed Merry’s hand until she was afraid she had hurt her sister, but Merry didn’t protest.

  At last, Miss Sasha declared the witching hour officially over and they were allowed to return to their homes.

  “Well, girls,” she said, rubbing her hands together as she escorted her daughters inside Sister House. “Wasn’t that fun? And…” she continued, her eyes twinkling. “Because you were up so late, I’m not sending any of you to school tomorrow.”

  “Yay!” Eve and Merry said almost simultaneously.

  Ruth Anne said she was going to school anyway.

  Maggie said nothing.

  She was too busy watching a small, dark shape slink into the shadows at the top of their staircase, proof that there was at least one ‘darkling’ the coven had not banished that night.

  Harvest Home, Dark Root, Oregon

  Sept, 2013

  “Wake up!”

  The voice was deliberate, masculine. I shook my head, trying to come awake.

  “Wake up!”

  My eyes flew open.

  Though the room was dark, practically pitch, I could make out a form on the right side of my bed, a black shadowy figure hovering beside me. It watched me, staring with cold eyes on a formless face. I tried to scream, but the only noise I could produce was a harsh rasping sound from my throat.

  My first instinct was to run, but I was somehow pressed onto my bed, my arms and legs held down by an invisible force. I could only move my head, and I thrashed it from side to side, trying to loosen the rest of my body, but the force continued to hold me down.

  My body was paralyzed.

  I began praying, saying the words that Michael had taught me. “Please watch over me and protect me with your pure, white light...”

  I repeated it in my brain, until my lips followed suit and I was verbally speaking the incantation. The form beside me vanished and I was free.

  Words have power.

  I flew from my bed, yanked open the door, and ran into the hallway.

  Mercifully, there were several night lights in the corridor. The clock at the end of the hall announced that it was 12:15 AM. I wasn’t going back to that room. Not yet. Not until the witching hour had come and gone.

  Dazed, I stumbled down the stairs, into the living room. Turning on lights as I went, I made my way to the kitchen. I was startled to see Paul at the table, reading a book. He looked as surprised to see me as I was to see him.

  He dropped his book like he had been caught doing something wrong. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be roaming around your house at night. I couldn’t sleep.”

  I smiled and waved my hand. “It’s not my house and you didn’t wake me.”

  He st
ood, pulled out the chair next to his, and offered it to me. My hands were shaking as he poured me a cup of coffee. I almost confessed to him why I was here but it sounded too ridiculous, even for me. I took a sip of the coffee and felt immediately calmed.

  “This is amazing,” I said, drinking more. I intended to stay awake, at least for the next few hours. This would help.

  “This is one thing I really missed about the Pacific Northwest when I was in New York...the coffee. The stuff here is not as good as the stuff you find in Seattle, but it’s a hell of a lot better than what they serve on the East Coast.”

  “I grew up in the Pacific Northwest, too, and this coffee doesn’t taste like any I’ve had.”

  “The secret,” he said, leaning in and whispering. “Is to add in a squirt of chocolate syrup and a pinch of nutmeg. I’m kind of a junk food fiend, and I get it however I can.”

  I laughed and raised my mug. “Cheers, then. To junk food. May it serve us well.”

  We clinked cups, then sat in silence. I listened to the clock in the other room tick down the minutes. He rose and took our cups, rinsing them in the sink.

  “Going to bed, then?” I asked hopefully. I didn’t want him to see me waiting for the monsters in my closet to disappear; I felt foolish enough, as it was.

  “Not quite,” he said, casually walking towards the piano in the corner of the dining room. “I hear you play.”

  It was a statement, not a question. He sat down on the bench and very lightly hit a key. When I didn’t respond, he hit another key, louder this time.

  “Shhh,” I said, rushing towards him. “You’re going to get us into trouble.”

  “With who?” he asked, looking around. “Your Aunt Dora is almost deaf, and once Eve finally crashes there’s not much that can wake her. The only things that can hear us down here are the rats and the ghosts, and I’m sure neither would object to some Paul McCartney.” He ran his fingers along the keys, tapping out snippets of ‘Let it Be,’ and ‘Band on the Run.’