by J. Thorn
Mary turned to look at the path and the memories of standing on the gallows, the confrontation with Gaki, and the conversation with Mashoka began to fade into the ether. She still felt a sense of disconnection, but it lessened with each moment. This new experience felt like home. It felt right.
Mary stepped toward the forest and hesitated. For a moment she considered walking back in there and yet she couldn’t understand why. The sun beat down on her neck and she closed her eyes to listen to the songs of the birds that had stuck around through most of the summer and were still there to serenade them at the end of it.
“No, this is right,” Mary said aloud. “This is where I’m supposed to be. I can feel that.”
Her dad honked the horn and Mary turned to see both of her parents in the car, each with an arm dangling out of the window waving at her.
“C’mon, hon. We gotta vacate the spot for the next campers. Let’s go.”
Mary turned her face to the sky and smiled again. She was looking forward to going home, to her room, to her stuffed animals, to her life. She had one last fleeting glimpse of a violent creature, one with bluish-gray skin and a bulbous head.
Must’ve been a nightmare from a movie I watched, she thought.
Mary skipped to the car and opened the door of the minivan. She hopped inside as her father put the vehicle in reverse and backed out on to the main drive of Punderson Campground.
“Did you forget something, Sage?” her mom asked.
“No, nothing,” she replied.
Before the Realm: Transition
Pine Valley, 1890
The late summer wind knocked several apples to the ground where the girls stood with full aprons, welcoming the delicious fruit to their bosom. Their father forbid them from eating from the tree. He rambled about the biblical implications of such behavior and how Satan would have his way with the tempted. Prudence knew better. Being the firstborn and the one most privy to the family’s allegiances, she believed her father really loved apple pie and tried to scare the girls from the tree. He should have known better.
“They’re so juicy,” said Lilith.
Prudence nodded as she sunk her teeth into the ripe apple. The sweet, bitter tang made her eyes water. She chewed slowly to fully savor it.
“Papa said no apples. I’m telling,” replied Beatrice. “Y’all get whipped for it.”
Prudence walked up to her sister and stopped a few inches from her face. She kicked her hip to the side and continued eating her apple with exaggerated moans.
“It’s so good, Bea. You know you wanna eat it.”
Beatrice giggled and reached to the ground where another amber ball landed with a soft thud. A gunshot rang out in the distance and both Lilith and Beatrice looked at Prudence.
“Probably Mr. Benson hunting turkey again. I swear that man spends more time in the woods than he does in the pew.”
Lilith and Beatrice nodded, both munching on their apples.
“We should git home and help Mama prepare dinner. We’ll come back,” said Prudence.
“When?” asked Beatrice. She knew the answer before she asked the question.
“Why, after dark. Of course,” replied Prudence.
***
Lilith followed Beatrice who followed Prudence. They walked through the orchards and into the woods many, many times, and yet the night brought an unsettling feeling that never disappeared. At sixteen, Prudence began collecting glances from the boys in Pine Valley, not to mention their fathers. She had wide hips and curves that suggested a maturity beyond her natural years. Beatrice, however, appeared to be a child although only a year younger than her older sister. Her bright-red hair and freckles made her look immature in a manner that she began to resent. Lilith was the baby of the family and still a year or two from her first bleeding. Unlike Prudence’s dark mane and Beatrice’s shocking red hair, Lilith sported a sandy-blonde head with strands twisted and tangled from hours spent playing in the woods.
The girls walked down the path and through the trees in silence. The crescent moon hung like a polished dagger on the horizon, and the wind rattled the dry leaves above. Prudence shivered as the cloudless sky released the day’s warmth, and she shuddered again knowing what the night would bring. The fire would have to be bigger than usual.
“Do you have the satchel?” Beatrice asked.
“I do,” replied Prudence.
“How’d you get it?” Lilith asked.
“Don’t you worry none about that.”
Lilith and Beatrice knew not to push Prudence on the matter.
“Who you fancy?” Beatrice asked. She changed the question but not the nature of the inquiry.
“John Jackson,” Prudence replied.
“Didn’t his wife just give birth? A baby girl?”
Prudence waved a hand at Beatrice and continued deeper into the forest. The trees protected the ground from the light of the moon and yet the girls did not stumble. They stepped over fallen trees and around thickets toward the clearing. The deeper they walked into the forest, the more the natural sounds died away. By the time Prudence crossed the creek and climbed up the gentle embankment on the edge of the clearing, the girls heard nothing but their own breathing and swish of skirts over dried leaves. Even the sweet aroma from the orchard couldn’t penetrate the hidden darkness.
Lilith began to hum a lullaby and Beatrice turned and slapped her across the face. Lilith gasped and rubbed her cheek before running to catch up with her older sisters. She looked over her shoulder twice before catching up.
Prudence stood on the edge of the clearing, eyes closed and her mouth spread into a full grin. Her hands grasped the rawhide drawstring of the satchel and her breasts rose with her breath.
“Tis the perfect night for the dance.”
Beatrice agreed and Lilith remained silent, her cheek sore with a dull thrumming.
“John?”
“Aye. John,” replied Prudence.
Beatrice and Lilith looked at each other in the dark, a mix of excitement and dread.
“Elmore been giving you the eye. Why not Elmore?”
“He is a boy. I want a man.”
Beatrice nodded. “Git the kindlin’,” she said to Lilith.
The youngest Williams sister scrambled into the field, where she gathered twigs and broken branches in her apron.
“Will he be joining us tonight?” Beatrice asked Prudence.
“No. Tonight is us, for us.”
“For you,” Beatrice said.
“Us,” replied Prudence. “Make the markings and prepare the ground.”
“Tis not a full moon, nor even an Esbat.”
“I know,” replied Prudence. “We shall make do with what we have. Prepare the circle while I get the Athame and the chalice ready.”
Beatrice did as her sister instructed and used her foot to clear the circle. The ash remained from the last fire, and Lilith dumped armfuls of twigs on to it. Prudence set the dagger and the chalice on the rock. She removed her stay and frock. The cool air stiffened her nipples and stole her breath for a moment.
Lilith placed another stack on the fire pit and Beatrice lit it. The flames cast an immediate amber glow on Prudence’s smooth, white skin. The firelight danced upon her naked body and lit her eyes. Beatrice followed suit and stepped out of her garments, the mounds on her chest slightly larger than they had been even a few weeks ago. Lilith did as her older sisters had, standing naked as well.
“Call him forth,” Beatrice said.
Prudence nodded and leaned over to remove the articles from the satchel.
***
At first, Ruford Benson thought a few of the town drunks from Pine Valley had climbed up the ridge and into the woods to down moonshine. He saw the fire through the trees but could not hear it at such a distance. His wife would be upset. He took a risk staying out after dark, in hopes that’d he come home with a turkey. Coming up empty and coming home late would not bode well. He moved through the trees with his shot
gun over a shoulder. Firing in the dark would result in wasted shells, spooked birds, or worse. Benson didn’t think anyone else poached behind the Williams’ orchard, but he was not going to reveal his own guilt. Hunting the birds on private property in the daylight was risky enough, and no turkey would be worth getting shot or arrested.
He pushed branches from his face and turned his head upward. Ruford listened but heard nothing. He knew the woods grew quiet as summer waned, but it was never silent. He shrugged off the thought and moved closer to the fire, becoming more cautious and slow with each step.
Ruford found a wide oak and set his gun down at the base of the tree. He smelled the burning fire and heard the crackle from the wood with moisture still trapped inside. The flames flickered as shapes moved back and forth, but he was unable to tell who was there or what they were doing. Benson’s stomach grumbled and he cursed under his breath, fearful that his own intestines would betray his presence. He thought that he might be able to blackmail whoever it was into handing over some deer jerky and a swig of moonshine. Ruford doubted that anyone would be out in the woods at night doing the Lord’s work.
He took a few steps closer and heard voices. He stopped and turned his good ear toward the fire, his other eardrum blown out at Antietam and long since useless. He paused.
“Children?” he whispered.
Ruford took a few more cautious steps until he could see through the trees bordering the clearing. The sight nearly stole his breath and his heart skipped a beat. He squinted and dropped low to gain a better perspective.
A child stood by the fire, her back to him. Judging on the length of her hair and diminutive body, Ruford knew it was a little girl. Given their location in regards to the Williams’ property, he also surmised it was most likely Floyd’s youngest daughter, Lilith.
But why in God’s good name is she out here stark naked?
Ruford looked to the right and saw another flash of bare skin. It was another girl, her hair competing with the fire’s flames. Ruford averted his gaze when his eyes fell upon her burgeoning breasts. This peek gave him a jolt and he shook his head to try to clear the thoughts bouncing around.
If that be Lilith, then that one be Beatrice. And that means…
Before Ruford could finish his own thought, he saw Prudence.
She was lying on a fallen tree, the trunk inclined at an angle that gave him a full view of her naked body upon it. He gasped and felt a growing heat in his loins. Benson had seen the girl around Pine Valley since she was a baby, and he knew she was coming of age, but he did not expect her to be so close to womanhood.
Body of a woman, mind of a child, he thought. Ruford tried to suppress his primal urges.
He blinked and looked again. Prudence was on her back, her knees apart and the growing pubic mound showing in the firelight. Her pert breasts remained upright on her chest with shocks of dark hair cascading down the sides like serpents. She held a dagger in one hand and a cup in the other. Ruford could feel his erection pushing against his trousers.
“Time to go, Ruford,” he said. “Ain’t no good comin’ of this. You know better than to dabble with the Williams clan whether they know you be doin’ it or not.”
But he was not able to convince himself to leave, and his hand reached down inside of his trousers on its own accord.
He drew a heavy breath as Prudence lifted her head. He could see the look on her face and his hand quickened the pace. Her breasts shook as Beatrice took the knife and cup from her sister’s hand. Lilith passed another object to Prudence. Before Ruford could tell what it was, Prudence used both hands to place it inside of herself.
Benson heard her moan as she pushed it in and out. Her knees came up higher and the fire grew stronger, giving him a better look at all of her forbidden places. He gasped and closed his eyes. But only for a moment. He looked back at Prudence as her moans and motions quickened. Ruford quickened as well and he considered walking to the fire. He wanted to put it inside of her, and he thought she’d rather have the real thing than whatever was inside of her now.
Before he could do that, the fire erupted and both Lilith and Beatrice stepped back. It blinded Ruford for a moment, and when he looked again, Prudence stood next to her sisters, finished with the god-forsaken self-fornication. Benson sighed, removing his hand from the limp member inside of his pants. He turned and picked up his gun, his head cloudy and distraught. Ruford hoped he could remember how to get back to the orchard and how to forget everything he just saw.
***
“Did he leave?” Beatrice asked.
“Yes,” replied Prudence. “He will have trouble finding his way home. Would serve him right to meet a coyote on the way.”
“You didn’t stop,” said Lilith.
“Once the ritual begins, you cannot stop. That man was not worth forsaking what had to be done.”
“For you? For John?” Beatrice asked.
“For all of us, dear sister. It is John, for me, tonight. It shall be another for you two when the time comes.”
“Is it done?” Lilith asked her oldest sister.
“It is,” she replied. “The daughter of John Jackson will be dead before the rooster crows. And then he will be in my snare.”
***
“Floyd Williams,” said Constable Allen Jackson. “This be the law. Constable Jackson. Open the door.”
“Go away,” said a man’s voice from inside the house.
Jackson stepped back from the door and looked in both directions. The wind stirred the tall growth on the property, and it massaged the side of the Williams’ place like thin tentacles. The air teased him with the lure of autumn although the late summer humidity was not gone completely. Jackson put a hand on his revolver and another on his hat.
“Ain’t gonna ask again, Floyd. Gotta serve papers to your wife. She’s under investigation for the death of Sarah Jackson. That’s my cousin’s baby girl, Floyd, case you didn’t make the connection.”
The house remained silent until thumping came from behind the left window. Jackson caught a glance of shapes moving within but could not make out the identity of the people behind the filthy glass.
“We ain’t got nothing to do with that,” came the voice from inside. “Step off my property, Allen.”
“Got to serve these papers to your wife, Floyd. Meredith needs to answer some questions.”
The house fell silent again, and Allen drew the gun from his holster. The clouds thickened and he could feel a thunderstorm forming over the Blue Mountains. Jackson turned to face Pine Valley and immediately regretted it. The bullets burst through the door as the armed defenders within the house fired into it. Allen leapt off the side of the porch and crashed into the unkempt hedges bordering the east side of the house. A jolt of pain shot through his collarbone and the sound of gunfire masked his scream. Gun smoke drifted across the porch and with it came another call from inside the house, this one sounding clear and determined, as if Floyd was standing in the doorway.
“You step on my property again, I’ll shoot ya, Johnny Law or not. You ain’t got no right coming here on a witch hunt.”
Constable Jackson crawled from the brush. He slid his gun into the holster and used his right arm to hold the left, which felt numb.
“Gonna take it to the judge, Floyd.”
“Take it all the way to God Almighty, Allen. Don’t make no difference to me.”
***
When Constable Jackson returned that night with arrest warrants for the entire Williams family, he brought a posse with him. Judge Thornton wanted the family apprehended, and Jackson’s cousin was clamoring for justice. He brought his deputies to the house, where they came up the walk with torches lit and eyes open, ready to return Floyd’s gunfire.
“Floyd Williams. I have an arrest warrant signed by Judge Joseph Thornton for the arrest of your entire family in conjunction with the death of Sarah Jackson. If you do not surrender peacefully, me and my deputies will be coming through your door.”
“They ain’t in there,” said one of the deputies.
“We don’t know that,” replied Jackson.
“They knew you was coming back, sir. They done took off.”
Allen stood holding the torch with his sore arm. He had his gun in hand and looked about the property. He saw no evidence of any of the family and thought that maybe Floyd would flee in order to save his wife and kids.
“Gotta do our diligence,” he replied. “Got to follow the law.”
Jackson motioned for the posse to follow him up the front steps and to the door. He looked at the bullet holes from their earlier confrontation and saw nothing but darkness inside them. His heart raced and he instinctively stepped to the side of the door. Allen put his torch up to the house and moved it around. The flames cast flickering shadows on the shutters but did not reveal a presence inside it.
“Floyd!”
Silence filled the void after the Constable yelled the man’s name. Jackson nodded and two burly men stepped up to the door. They handed their torches to him and faced each other with a shoulder leaning on the door.
“One, two, three.”
The men threw their bodies into the door, shattering the wood into dozens of pieces. They stumbled inside with the posse coming in next. Jackson stepped through the threshold and felt queasy in his stomach, which he attributed to the injury he sustained earlier in the day. He pushed his torch through the heavy, air seeing nothing but ratty furniture and dust motes. The house smelled of onions and body odor, neither stench enough to overpower the other.
“Floyd!” Jackson screamed again.
The posse pushed past Allen and moved through the house. He heard their boots going from room to room on the second floor while the other half spread out through the first floor. Jackson stood in the main living room alone, his skin crawling and a sweat breaking out on his forehead. He turned to look at the wall, and for a moment, felt as if eyes behind it were watching him. He laughed and shook his head at the ridiculous thought when the men reconvened behind him.
