Quirt looked around the room. “Hear what? I don’t hear anything.”
Mary’s movements were odd and jerky as she moved around, listening. “Singing,” she said. “I hear a child singing. Can’t you hear it?”
Quirt shook his head. “Nothing, Mary.”
Mary picked her way through the dusty, cluttered room, ending up near the closet. She looked at the door, noting the ripped-out latch. Puzzled, she stuck her fingers into the hole and opened the door. It was dark in the closet, a soft whoosh of stale attic air caressing her face. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see a set of narrow steps leading up. Her gaze trailed up the stairs and at the very top, she could see the outline of a small child silhouetted in the darkness. She froze.
“Quirt,” she hissed. “Come quick!”
Quirt scooted over to the door to see what had his wife so excited. When he peered up the steps, there was nothing there. Simply darkness. He looked at his wife.
“What is it?” he asked softly. “What did you see?”
Mary was pointing up the steps. “I’m not sure,” she said. “It looked like… like a child.”
“A child?”
She nodded firmly. “It was there and then….”
As she spoke, the light in the stairwell seemed to change, like the flicker of a soft white light or perhaps the moon glow when clouds pass over it. It was very faint but noticeable, flickering almost like static. Dim, bright, dim, bright…. Suddenly, a small girl was standing on the flight of stairs midway down. Both Mary and Quirt jumped back as she was illuminated by the flicker. But when the flicker grew dim again, she was gone.
Quirt opened his mouth to say something to Mary but the flicker came back again, stronger than before, and like a strobe light flickers violently, the little girl was suddenly standing in front of them at the base of the stairs. She flickered in and out, in and out, and with each successive flicker, her dark eyes turned to boiling liquid dark, running down her face, and her dark mouth opened to reveal ugly, sharp fangs.
Quirt slammed the door and grabbed his wife, running for the door to the bedroom, but it slammed in their face. Startled and terrified, Quirt crashed into the panel, hitting his head, as Mary smashed into the back of him. They both turned around, facing the bedroom that was now flickering strangely, also, to see the ghostly girl standing a few feet behind them. All running face and fanged mouth, the child with the stringy dark hair and old-fashioned dress cocked her head in a curious gesture.
“Ent thou home?” she hissed. “Whereas Rose?”
Mary and Quirt gazed back in various stages of terror, but Quirt regained some of his composure. He had to; otherwise, he was going to climb right through the wall and probably kill himself. He forced himself to breathe. Just breathe!
“Who are you?” he asked, trying not to sound terrified.
The ghost girl simply stared in return. At least, that’s what they thought she was doing; they really couldn’t tell because she had no eyeballs, just big black holes in her face. She took a step or two closer, the fanged mouth flexing horrifically. Then, a skeletal hand lifted, the bony fingers pointing directly at them.
“Fetcheth my Rose,” she garbled.
Above all of their fear, they recognized Rose’s name. Mary, her curiosity overcoming her fear, endeavored to communicate. As a medium, and a very good one, she tried to be clinical about it, but it was an uphill battle. Whatever stood in front of them wasn’t a little girl; she knew that. It was a spirit, or perhaps something even worse, manifesting itself as a child. It was a deceiver, something very wicked trying to make itself seem harmless. Every sense in her body was telling her that.
“Rose?” she repeated. “What about her? Is she your… your friend?”
The ghostly girl lowered her pointing finger. She took another step towards Quirt and Mary but they realized she wasn’t walking at all; her feet were mist and not even touching the floor. She seemed to be turning her head in Quirt’s direction.
“Thou Bebe stock?” she asked in that oddly hissing tone.
Quirt had no idea what she said but he knew it wasn’t good. He was a warlock, an artist in the magic arts, like his father and his father before him. The entire line back to Abigail Williams had the skill and knowledge, old practices that were kept private and secretive. It was in their blood, as he had told Cord. Like brown eyes or freckles, it was just something his family had. As he gazed at the fanged ghost, he drew upon that innate part of him that understood things of the paranormal nature. He accepted that there were things of this earth that could not be explained. But this thing in front of him… it was evil. He knew that in his gut, just like his wife did.
“Tenet creatura, redire unde orta es. Non es hic susciperent,” he said, lifting his hand to her. “Recede et non revertitur.”
The ghostly girl snarled at him, her mouth opening wide and an unworldly hiss bursting forth. Her bony hands turned to claws and lifted in their direction but Quirt didn’t back down. He jabbed a finger at the ghost.
“Et vade, te creaturam malam,” he said louder, casting a spell of departure and banishment. “Et revertatur in domum discedere inferni. Non habetis hic potentia.”
The ghost girl began to dissipate, like steam, but the gaping mouth continued to hiss. The horrible teeth gnashed at him. Quirt lifted both hands, palms-out, as if shoving the ghost girl and her evil away from him.
“In nomine Iesu Christi, ego præcipio tibi, et numquam ad locum istum omnia saecula saeculorum,” he commanded. “Et vade!
A clawed hand swiped in his direction but turned to mist when it made contact with Quirt’s arm. Mary shrieked and yanked open the bedroom door, pulling Quirt with her. As they fled into the hallway, the hissing followed them until the bedroom door slammed shut again. They raced down the stairs and into the living space below.
Cord found his parents on the porch a half hour later, sitting huddled up on the patio furniture as the snow fell and the night deepened. They wouldn’t go back in the house no matter how much he tried to coax them.
* * *
“Dad, it’s really freezing out here,” Cord said. It was nearing midnight and all of the wedding guests had departed, but Quirt and Mary remained on the porch. Cord had brought them blankets and hot coffee but they still refused to budge. “Can I at least convince you to come into the kitchen?”
Quirt shook his head, his arm around Mary, who was wrapped up in a quilt with a cup of coffee in her hand.
“Son, I’m not trying to be difficult, truly,” he said, “but no amount of convincing is going to get me back into that house again, not ever. I told you that.”
Cord sighed heavily. “Yes, but you won’t tell me why,” he said. “What in the hell happened that made you run out of the house and sit in freezing temperatures?”
Quirt eyed the front door as it opened and Alix appeared. She was out of her wedding dress and swathed from head to toe in a ski jacket, mittens, heavy pants, and boots. She was ready for the cold. She smiled timidly at Quirt and Mary as she made her way over to Cord, who put his arm around her.
“You two are going to get frostbite out here,” she said. “Won’t you please come inside?”
They both shook their heads as Mary spoke. “Where is your daughter?” she asked.
“Rose?” Alix said. “I put her to bed.”
Mary shook her head, almost violently. “Please,” she begged. “Don’t leave her alone. Don’t ever leave her alone in this house again.”
“Why not?”
Mary looked at Quirt, guiltily, and Cord had enough. He pulled out a chair that was sitting back against the wall and put it right in front of his parents. He planted himself in it and faced them.
“Look,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Something happened this afternoon and you need to tell me what it is. What has you two so spooked that you’d sit out here and freeze?”
Quirt cleared his throat and glanced at his wife. “Well,” he said reluctantly. “We… we
just didn’t want to ruin your wedding day, that’s all.”
“The wedding is over and the guests have gone,” Cord said, sounding rather irritated. “You can’t ruin anything. Tell me what’s going on.”
Quirt sighed heavily, taking a sip from his coffee cup before he spoke. He was gathering his thoughts, not wanting to over-dramatize what he’d seen but not wanting to diminish it, either. He and Mary had spent the past few hours trying to figure out what, exactly, to tell their son. They opted for the truth.
“Your mom wanted to see the house earlier,” he said, which really wasn’t a lie. Mary had wanted to see the house. “We were upstairs and ended up in that front bedroom with all of the boxes. When we were there, Mary thought she heard singing coming from the attic so she opened the closet door – you know – the one that leads up to the attic. We got more than we bargained for.”
Cord suspected what his father was going to say. “What did you see?”
“A little girl,” Mary said, looking between Cord and Alix. “There was a little girl there and… well, she was a ghost. Her feet didn’t reach all the way to the floor and she had big black holes where her eyes were supposed to be and sharp teeth. I think she asked for Rose.”
Alix, standing behind Cord, began to feel weak in the knees. She suddenly bolted for the house and Cord jumped up, running after her. The two of them raced up the stairs and threw open the door of Rose’s bedroom only to find the little girl sound asleep. Vastly relieved, Alix went into the room and touched her daughter’s head, just to make sure everything was all right. She couldn’t even describe the terror she was feeling now that Cord’s parents had seen the ghost girl; things were getting worse. She could feel it.
By the time she turned around, she could see Quirt and Mary standing behind Cord in the hallway. Evidently, they decided to overcome their fear of coming into the house with the prospect of a child in danger. Quietly, Alix walked out of the room and carefully shut the door. She faced Mary and Quirt.
“What else did she say?” she whispered. “That little ghost girl has been hanging around Rose since we moved in and she’s getting bolder. What else did she say about my daughter?”
Mary shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “I didn’t understand what she was saying but I did understand your daughter’s name. Alix, I don’t know if Cord has told you, but I’m a medium. I have been all of my life. I sensed something dark and heavy when I entered the house today and those feelings made me want to look around. I’m sorry if I was being nosy; I wasn’t trying to be, but the feelings I had were becoming overwhelming. When I entered that front bedroom, I felt such anger and sadness. It was like… like hysterical grief that had transformed into something very sinister and evil. When the girl appeared, I felt such darkness from her. I can’t describe it any better than that. She is here and she means to do you harm, I feel. You mustn’t leave Rose alone in this house. In fact, I want you to move. Move back to Cord’s house. Just don’t stay here.”
Alix felt as if she had been hit in the gut. She actually sucked in her breath. She looked at Cord, her eyes wide with fear and grief. Then her eyes began to fill with tears as hard as she tried to stop it.
“I… I don’t know,” she whispered, averting her gaze. “This is my home and I’ve put a lot of money into it. I love it; my kids love it. Cord and I are going to make our home here and I don’t want to abandon it, but if my daughter really is in danger, then I have to protect her.”
She was starting to cry and Cord put his arms around her, holding her close. As Alix buried her face in his chest, he looked at his parents.
“Mom, I respect your gift,” he said quietly. “You know I do. If you say there’s something awful here, then I believe you. I’ve seen it, too. But Alix and I need to talk about this, okay? I appreciate your advice, though.”
Mary was saddened by Alix’s reaction and put her hand on the woman’s back. “I’m sorry, Alix,” she said. “I didn’t mean to upset you so much. I just thought you needed to know.”
Alix sniffled and took Mary’s hand, holding it tightly. “I appreciate it,” she whispered tightly. “I’m glad you did. There’s been a lot of crazy stuff happening around here and hearing you talk about it… it just validated it for me. Something really terrible is going on.”
Mary squeezed her hand. “Quirt cast a banishment spell but I don’t know how well or how long it will work,” she said. “It seemed to do some good. The entity seemed to lose some of its steam.”
Alix looked at Quirt curiously. “Banishment spell?” she repeated. “How would you know that?”
Quirt looked embarrassed and hesitant. He glanced at his son as he spoke. “Oh, that,” he said, clearing his throat nervously. “Cord can tell you more about that. It’s just a little…something I do.”
“Did you really?” Cord interrupted, seriously questioning his father. “What did you do?”
Quirt shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. But he gazed at his son with equal seriousness. “Told it to leave and never come back,” he muttered. “Threw a few licks at it. Spun a fairly powerful web of protection, I hope. Cord, did you ever go down to the basement to see if there were remains of a stone circle?”
Cord shook his head. “I’ve been down there a few times, especially since the Historical Society told us about the legend of Mercy Good’s grave, but I haven’t checked for a stone circle since you and I discussed it.”
“Maybe you should give it some thought.”
“Maybe.”
Before Alix could question them further about spell casting and stone circles, Mary squeezed her hand again. “Can I please make a suggestion? Can I take all of the children back with me to our house?” she asked. “It would give you two a chance to have a honeymoon night without five children in the house and you wouldn’t have to worry… well, you know, worry about Rose.”
Alix wiped at her eyes, looking up at Cord for his response. He shrugged faintly, as if inclined to agree. She returned her attention to Mary.
“Are you sure?” she asked. “That’s a lot of kids invading your home.”
“We would love it. We don’t often get our grandkids and I look forward to getting to know our new ones.” She squeezed the woman’s hand one last time. “Please, Alix?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Alix agreed. “Okay,” she agreed. “The boys are still awake so you can go tell them to pack up. I’ll get Rose ready.”
Vastly relieved, Mary and Quirt went to get the boys organized as Alix and Cord took care of Rose. Within a half hour, all five kids were strapped into Quirt and Mary’s big SUV and heading back to their house. As Alix and Cord stood in the living room and watched them drive away down the dark and snowy street, Alix turned to her husband.
“Now,” she said, “what’s this about stone circles in the basement and your father casting spells?”
He faced her in the soft light of the fireplace. “Are you sure you want to hear this tonight?”
“You’d better tell me everything.”
Cord drew in a long, deep breath as he collected his thoughts. He pulled Alix into his arms, kissing her forehead before speaking. He found he was very nervous about it, terrified it would change her mind about him. But he knew, at this point, he had no choice. He had to come clean.
“Well, Your Honor, it’s like this,” he said, watching her grin. “Last month, after the incident on Halloween when the ghostly girl scared the boy’s right out of the house and then made an appearance to me, I went to see my parents. I thought they might shed more light on the history of the house than what Mrs. Mowbray told us since my dad’s aunt lived here for so long. My dad elaborated on the legend of Mercy Good being buried under the house. He told me that Abigail knew that the baby had been buried underneath the house to bring a curse upon her and that she cast a spell over a circle of stones around the grave to keep the curse at bay.”
Alix was listening intently. “Is that the circle of stones he referred
to?”
“Yes.”
“He asked you if you had gone down in the basement to look for them.”
“Yes, he did, but I haven’t done it. With everything that’s gone on since he told me, I just haven’t had the time.”
“So when were you going to tell me what he said?”
He sighed. “I just didn’t want to freak you out more than you already were,” he said. “Honey, there’s been so much going on and you were stressed out enough as it is. If I didn’t tell you, it was just to help keep you sane. I hope you understand that.”
Alix nodded, her eyes glittering at him in the firelight. “I do,” she said evenly. “But from now on, don’t hold anything back like that, especially when it’s a situation where my children are involved. I need to have all of the facts, okay? I’m not a weakling. I can take it.”
He was properly contrite. “I know you’re not a weakling,” he whispered. “I wasn’t trying to pull a fast one on you or hide anything from you.”
“I know you weren’t,” she said. “But what’s this about spell casting? What the hell is up with your dad?”
There was another big confession on the horizon. Cord scratched his forehead in thought as he pondered the right way to deliver the news that Alix had just married into a family of witches. He found himself praying that she would be understanding or, at the very least, accepting.
“I told you that my family descends from Abigail Williams,” he began, “who, in fact, was a very skilled witch. It was something in her blood, something she had within her like a gene or a curse, something that she passed down through the male line in my family through her son, John. All of the firstborn males carry this trait. My father has the gift of Casting, as did my grandfather and his father before him. In my family, it’s as natural as breathing. What you heard was my father talking about casting a spell of banishment on the ghostly girl.”
Alix looked at him with astonishment. “Are you serious?” she asked. “He thinks he’s a witch?”
Dark Secrets: A Paranormal Romance Anthology Page 245
