The Witches of Dark Root

by April Aasheim [paranormal]

  The hall was long, narrow, and overly bright. Vases filled with fresh flowers were set on tables outside every door. Old people in wheelchairs, pushed by tired-looking nurses, greeted me as I walked by. A brass number on the nearest door let me know that I had arrived at room 312. I spun around and walked quickly in the opposite direction.

  “Maggie?”

  It was Merry’s voice.

  I stopped, smiled, and turned back around. Upon seeing her I opened my arms and said, “There you are!” When she didn’t call me on catching me mid-flight, I knew something was wrong. “Mother?”

  Merry bobbed her head, sniffling, and I followed her to the room.

  “She’s gotten worse in the few hours since we talked on the phone,” she choked, her red eyes tearing up. “I just don’t know what to do.”

  I handed Merry her bag and pushed open the door to peek inside. The woman lying there hooked up to a series of tubes and machines couldn’t be my mother. She had become so thin that the blue veins in her hands popped out like electrical wires. Her breathing was hoarse and intermittent, as if it might stop at any moment, puttering along like an old car.

  “Oh, Maggie,” Merry whispered.

  She placed a hand on my shoulder and I could feel that her life energy, usually so vibrant and robust, was fading. She must have been feeding it to Mother.

  “Do they still think it’s a stroke?” I tried to drown out the whirring and buzzing of the machines emerging from her room.

  Merry shrugged, allowing a lone tear to trail down her pale cheek. I wiped it away with the tip of my fingers. She looked like she was about to collapse.

  Merry was an empath. Whatever feeling she was experiencing, she was able to reflect onto others. She usually radiated joy and we clamored to bask in that happiness with her. But her empathy worked both ways, allowing her to take on the emotions and illnesses of those around her. She was a kind soul and never complained as she went about her ‘work,’ but I could sense that attending to our mother had taken too much from her.

  “Pull from me.” I said, taking her hands. “Take my energy, Merry.”

  She shook her head but my hands tightened around hers, squeezing them hard. I didn’t have Merry’s kind spirit but I did have something that she lacked. Strength.

  “Take it,” I said.

  Merry nodded and we closed our eyes and stood nose to nose, hands joined. She pushed her energy through me and I was overcome by feelings of her burden: sadness, helplessness, and desperation. When she was done feeding me hers, I offered her mine, hoping I wouldn’t poison her. Merry was pure love and I...wasn’t.

  When the transfer was complete, we opened our eyes. Merry had regained color in her cheeks while I felt weak and unsteady. I placed one hand on the wall to keep from falling.

  “Sorry to give you all that,” she said. “...And thank you.”

  I noticed her round, almost angelic features. June Bug had her face. They possessed an ethereal beauty that even Eve couldn’t touch.

  “I hope Mother gets better soon,” I said. My stomach roiled but I forced myself to stand upright. I knew the feeling would pass. “June Bug misses her mommy.”

  Merry brightened at the mention of her daughter. “Speaking of which, I talked to June Bug today. Thank you for looking after her.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “Did she say anything?” I hadn’t told Merry about our encounter in Sister House several days ago. She could only handle one worry at a time.

  “Just that she loves her aunties and that you guys are starting up the Haunted Dark Root Festival again. She is so excited.” Merry’s eyes took on a faraway look. “I told her stories about how much fun we had as kids. I’m just surprised.”

  “Surprised?”

  “Yes. You are the last person I expected to help out with something like that. This means more to me than you will ever know.”

  I almost told her I wasn’t sure how long I would be in town or how much I would actually help, but she looked so happy. We could talk later.

  “I need to go the cafeteria.” Merry glanced through the door at our mother. “Do you mind staying with Mama? You don’t have to go in. Just stand out here. If anything changes, there’s a button on her bed that will call the nurses. Don’t worry,” she added, sensing my nervousness. “There are always nurses buzzing around here. I haven’t had to push that button yet.”

  “Okay.” If she could stay here with Mother for days, I could survive a few minutes.

  “I love you, Magdalene.” Merry kissed my cheek, then left.

  I was left feeling like a peeping tom as I watched Mother from the doorway. I regarded her thin, lined face, her slightly parted lips as she struggled for breath. Her hair was tangled and matted around her. I stood for a while, lulled into a semi-trance as I listened to the machines hum along reassuringly.

  “She’d be a great decoration for Haunted Dark Root,” Merry said, startling me.

  I laughed at her joke. She wasn’t usually one for dark humor.

  “Yep. Put her in a haunted house.”

  “She used to scare the Bejeezus out of me when she would run around like a wild woman under the full moons,” Merry admitted.

  “Really? You never told me you were afraid of anything.”

  “Well, after awhile, it just became par for the course.”

  I took Merry’s hand and we stood like ghosts outside her door, lost in memories of a shared childhood.

  Suddenly, Mom jolted and her body began to convulse.

  “Mama!” Merry dropped my hand and raced inside. Mother’s head flopped violently from side to side. Her eyes opened, then rolled back into her head.

  Merry jabbed her fingers at the call button. “Maggie, quick. Find a nurse!”

  I sped up and down the hall, but the place was quiet. I came back to the room and Merry was holding our mother, trying to calm her.

  “You must stop Larinda!” my mother said, her head turning in my direction. “You must stop her!”

  “Where’s the fucking nurse?” I took over Merry’s job of punching the call button.

  “Calm down, Mama,” Merry said. “We are here. Everything will be okay.”

  “The circle will be broken!” Mother screeched, arching her back and aiming her chin towards the ceiling.

  Three women in gray scrubs rushed in, pushing us aside. “Please step out,” a nurse ordered me. I nodded, backing into the hallway.

  Merry remained at Mother’s side before being ushered out herself. The same nurse took a long needle and injected something into Mother’s bony arm. She let out one final yowl and collapsed onto the bed.

  “Larinda. She said the name a lot, that first day we arrived here. Who is that?” Merry asked.

  Her face was wet and I couldn’t tell if it was because of sweat or tears.

  The memory of the dream I had several weeks ago came back at me: The spiral-haired woman chasing us through the parade and Mother calling her Larinda.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I’m going to find out.”

  A nurse left the room and I caught her arm as she tried to pass. “Is she going to be all right?”

  She gave me a solemn look but didn’t respond.

  “Go home and take care of my daughter,” Merry directed me. “I’ve been here a few days now, I can stay here as long as I’m needed. Aunt Dora can relieve me if necessary.”

  I felt like a beaten dog as I slunk out of the hospital, but I couldn’t go back. I would rather face that ‘thing’ in the nursery a dozen times then see Mother like this. I stood in the elevator pressing random buttons, letting the doors open and close as I decided what to do. I remembered the vision of my mother lying in bed with me, telling the Universe that she loved me.

  Everything was so confusing.

  I reached for the bus ticket in my pocket––the ticket that could take me away from this place.

  I was a coward but I wasn’t so low as to leave things the way they currently were. I might not be able
to help with Mother, but I could do other things for a while, like help with June Bug and Shane’s stupid idea to bring back Haunted Dark Root.

  And maybe find out who Larinda was.

  “Fucking guilt,” I said, as a woman stepped inside the elevator.

  She gave me an empathetic smile.

  Maybe I wasn’t the only one in the world who had difficult decisions to make.

  “Are you sure you’re up to this?” Shane asked, as I slid into the passenger seat. He had made his way back to the parking lot, blasting country music so loudly that I could find him with my eyes closed.

  “I don’t know what I’m up for, anymore,” I sighed.

  He gave me a concerned look but didn’t start the car. This was his way of telling me to buckle up. I was getting used to his profound need to follow rules and I half-heartedly obliged.

  “Well,” he said, lowering the volume and starting the ignition. “Far be it from me to challenge the intuition of a witch.”

  I bristled at the word, but didn't take the bait.

  He laughed. “No comment? Does that mean I actually won? The score is now Shane, one, Maggie, one hundred...”

  “I wish I was a witch,” I said. “A witch could at least be useful.” I bit at a hangnail near my thumb.

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Mags. Witch or no witch, you are very useful.” He gave me a tight-lipped smile as he pulled onto the freeway. Linsburg was two exits away. “Are you going to ask about your mother?”

  I turned Jillian’s card over in my hand. If she really was a psychic medium, someone who could predict the future and talk to the dead, I had many questions for her.

  “Among other things,” I said.

  “You could ask her how to make our festival a success?” Shane put on his country boy grin.

  I had to admire his dedication. He had been working so hard, including coming up with a new look and theme for Dip Stix.

  “Fondue is all the rage in big cities,” Eve had explained to him. “And...it’s still in the dipping genre. You can use cheese, chocolates, wines, broths. There’s no limit to what can be dipped.”

  With that, he was sold, and the two had been making plans to turn the cafe into a posh restaurant by the end of October.

  “We don’t need a psychic for that,” I answered. “If you want the festival to be a success you have to advertise and get all those fogies in town to keep their shops open more than three hours a day.”

  “Advertising...yes. Brilliant idea! Signs, posters, Craigslist.”

  “Craig’s what?”

  “Never mind.” He scratched the left side of his jaw. “What about your mother’s shop? Think you gals will reopen?”

  I scrunched my lips as I watched the scenery wiz by. When I had left Dark Root I had vowed to never step foot in Miss Sasha’s Magick Shoppe again. But then again, so many of my plans had changed. Besides, it was only for a few weeks and it might alleviate a bit of this guilt that was building up. “It’s not on the top of my bucket list but we do need to open it if we are going to revive the festival. Without it, Haunted Dark Root would just be...”

  “...mundane,” Shane finished for me.

  We passed a sign that read, ‘Welcome to Linsburg. The Happiest Place in Oregon.’

  “Who comes up with the town slogans?” I asked.

  “That, my dear, is our tax money hard at work.” Shane scratched his head and a flake of dandruff fell out. I resisted the urge to make a snow globe joke. If living with Michael had taught me anything, it was that men were big babies when it came to their hair.

  Shane pulled into the lot of a yellow, cottage-like house on the outskirts of town. The flower boxes were empty and brown-green grass dotted the front lawn. The trim, pillars, and shutters were painted a dull white. The house had a certain charm but I could tell it had seen better days. A sign on the front door let us know that Jillian Lightheart was open for business until noon.

  If she wasn’t busy, that would give me a solid half hour.

  “Want to come?” I asked, grabbing my purse from the floorboard. “I could use the moral support.”

  “I’ll support you from afar and maybe at lunchtime if you are willing to try the spinach-cauliflower sauce I invented last night...”

  I nodded––though not quite sure about his concoction––and made my way up the four cement steps to the door of the house.

  I knocked politely, waited a moment, and turned the knob.

  I had known many people who claimed to be psychics. Mother loved to chat with them in the parlor of our home––“Oh, please tell me what the weather will be like for Spring. It’s been such a wet season already.” “So he’s going to cheat on me? That son of a bitch!”––but I had never consulted with one myself.

  The interior was nothing like I expected.

  For starters, it was clean, well lit, and organized. It looked more like an office than a place where people came to have their palms read and futures told. A desk and computer sat in the center of the room, facing two comfortable-looking chairs. To the right was a leather love seat. Built-in shelves lined the back wall, crammed with books about psychology, religion, spirituality, history, geology, archeology, astronomy, philosophy and astrology. I recognized several of the titles from Mother’s shop, Uncle Joe’s house and Michael’s library. I was glad Shane hadn’t come in after all. We might have been here all day.

  “Hello there.” Jillian’s lyrical voice greeted me.

  She emerged from a side room dressed in a two-piece suit and heels. She gave me a warm hug and took a seat at her desk.

  “Hi,” I said awkwardly, realizing she was probably about to leave. “I know I should have called, but I was in the neighborhood and thought...”

  “...Thought you’d get your fortune told?” Jillian’s eyes twinkled. “No worries, Maggie. I had a feeling you would be dropping by.” She motioned for me to sit in the chair facing her. “I don’t have much time, but the time I do have is yours. Just give me a moment.”

  She tapped on her keyboard and I shifted uneasily, pretending to be interested in a glass sculpture of a pyramid that sat on the table nearest me.

  “There,” she said, raising her hands and wiggling her fingers. “Just had to update my Facebook. Now what can I do for you?”

  Jillian rolled her chair out so that she was sitting directly in front of me. I wasn’t sure where to start. Larinda? The ‘thing’? My sick mother? It all felt crazy.

  Noting my hesitation, Jillian took the lead.

  “Hmmm...so much going on with young Maggie.” She reached for my hands, placed them on her knees, then covered them with her own. A warmth crept through me and I relaxed. “Maggie, dear, your mind is all over the place, but we will begin with the most pressing issues and we can talk in the future about the others...alright?”

  I nodded dumbly and Jillian closed her eyes.

  I could feel her energy searching me, poking through the holes and pits of my soul.

  Finally, she opened her eyes and smiled. “The good news is that the ‘thing’ you had following you when we last met has gone. Just as I suspected, it was a hitchhiker. Probably scared you a little during the night, fed, then disappeared. Nothing serious. Just siphoning off a bit of your life force before bouncing on.”

  I thought about the ‘thing’ I had seen hovering over my bed the night I rushed out of my room and found Paul in the kitchen. I shivered, unnerved that it had ‘fed,’ but relieved that it was gone.

  “But...” Jillian tilted her head as if we were conspirators in a secret. “There’s something darker and more powerful that has manifested. At your house, correct?”

  “The house I grew up in,” I said, grateful I didn’t have to explain.

  Jillian squeezed my hands. “For some reason, it has attached itself to you. I’m afraid he is here to stay.”

  “Is it a ghost?” I asked hopefully.

  Jillian bit her bottom lip thoughtfully. “I’m not sure. I can’t get a good read
on it. Let’s hope so.” She gave me a mysterious look. “There are some things in this world more frightening than ghosts.”

  “Like demons,” I said, in a voice so low I didn’t think she could hear me.

  Jillian stood, moving towards the bookshelf.

  “It’s a very old male energy and it likes your house because of all the feminine energy there,” she said. “Makes it feel strong, especially when it scares you. It also enjoys all the ‘power’ you girls put out. You have sisters, correct? And you all have gifts?”

  Jillian said this in a way that let me know she didn't expect an answer. She grabbed a book and thumbed through it until she found the page she was looking for.

  “And you, Maggie Magic...” she continued, catching me off guard by calling me by Michael’s pet name for me. “...You are the most gifted of all. It knows this and wants some of that power. It feeds off it. But the good news is, this particular entity is not a demon...

  “It’s not so bad.” Jillian smiled bemusedly when I didn’t respond. “I’ve been seeing spirits since I was in the cradle, too.” She opened the book on her desk and pointed to a picture, a photo of a woman in a rocking chair with a smoky haze behind her. Within the haze you could almost make out the shape of a face. “It happens.”

  Jillian flipped the pages of the book as she continued.

  “So, the question is, if it’s not a ghost and it’s not a demon, what is it?” She found the picture she was looking for and pointed. “Something in between. A dark energy from another plane of existence who has decided he likes it here for one reason or another, and wants to stay.”

  “Was it summoned?” I swallowed hard, remembering what Shane had told me about the original Council of Thirteen.

  “No, dear. There are many planes and planets and realities. This one happens to be ours. But sometimes, sometimes...” She tapped the page. “...Realities cross over.” The picture was a painting of a dark mass with two red points of light where the eyes should be.