A Town Bewitched

by Suzanne de Montigny

  Uncle Jack,

  There’s someone throwing rocks at the house again. I can’t see who it is. You’re right. It’s definitely not Kate McDonough. Please come.

  Kira

  I hope he sees my message before it’s too late. If only I had a smart phone, I could text him.

  I wait for an answer, but none comes.

  Stupid red-head. She’s probably taking up his time. The phone! I’ve got to find the phone.

  Cursing Mom again for not letting me have a cell, I creep down the stairs, so quietly my feet barely sink into the carpet. Slowly, I make my way to the kitchen.

  I see a dark silhouette casting stones up to my window through the sliding glass door. I gasp. Can I get to the phone without being seen? Clinging close to the walls, I sidle to where the port stands, keeping my eye on the intruder. It’s only inches away. I reach, my hand moving in slow motion and grasp … air.

  Oh, shoot! Where did I leave it?

  My mind flies back to Mom’s call. I was so furious I hurled the phone on the ground.

  Where did I throw it? Somewhere in the living room?

  I lower myself to my knees and crawl soundlessly to the next room. It’s too dark to see anything, so I search with my hands like a blind person, feeling around on the rug.

  Where is it?

  I feel some more, but still can’t find it. In desperation, I crawl back to the kitchen and reach my hand to the port. I finger it until I feel the locating button.

  If I could just let it beep once, I’ll know where the phone is.

  I push the button. It blares as loud as a British ambulance, not just once, but several times before I can slam it shut. I duck down. Did he hear it? Moving my head a little higher, I catch a glimpse of a dark face squashed up against the glass. It definitely isn’t Kate McDonough or Travis! But he looks familiar. Stifling a scream, I make a dash for the phone and run upstairs.

  My fingers trembling, I dial Uncle Jack’s number. It rings five times.

  “Hurry up, Uncle Jack. Please hurry!” I whisper.

  His voice mail kicks in.

  “Hi, this is Jack. I’m not home right now, but you can leave me your number after you hear the tone. Thanks and see you tonight at the Stompin’ Boot Pub … beep.”

  “Uncle Jack, please answer. There’s a man outside our house! I think it’s the same guy as last night. Help!”

  I hear a scraping sound at the back door.

  “Oh, my gosh, he’s trying to get in. Quick, Uncle Jack!”

  Hanging up the phone, I dress hastily. There’s no time to call the police. I have to get out, and now.

  I fly down the stairs and throw my shoes on, shoving my arms in my coat sleeves, and then yank the door open. I’ll go to Uncle Jack’s like he said. He’ll be there by now and probably already called the police.

  I flee, horrified, searching frantically for the one house, any house, whose lights are still on, but all the windows are dark and the doors surely locked. By the time they answer, I’ll be a goner. I have no choice but to get to Uncle Jack’s.

  My chest heaves, and the cold air burns my lungs as I run. I throw desperate glances over my shoulder. I can’t see the man yet, but I hear his footsteps echoing in the deserted streets. I must have gotten out before he realized I was gone and had a head start. Just a few more blocks, and I’ll be at Uncle Jack’s place.

  My thighs are on fire and my heart is hammering when I finally see his house in the distance. His car isn’t parked out front, but maybe it’s in his garage. I run, terrified, the rest of the way, dash up the front steps and pound on the door.

  “Uncle Jack? Uncle Jack, open the door!” I scream, my breath heaving. I listen for movement inside, but the house is quiet.

  “Uncle Jack!” I scream again. I can hear the madman’s running footsteps coming closer.

  It’s obvious Uncle Jack’s not there. Feeling around the doorframe for a key, my hand touches only wood. I flip over the welcome mat, but find nothing. The steps grow louder. I have to hide, but where?

  I glance at the trail that leads into the mountains at the end of the road.

  The woods! He won’t find me there.

  Racing up the trail, I climb higher and higher. I hear the crazed lunatic’s rasping breath. He’s getting nearer. I have to hide and quick. Scanning the dark woods, I barely make out the outline of a large boulder beside the trail. I dive behind it. Branches scratch my face. There’s hardly room for me. Bending down on all fours, I drag myself farther and farther behind the rock, soaking my knees and elbows in mud. Almost far enough so the maniac can’t possibly see me, I push further, and then slip …

  Chapter 33

  Cold

  I’m airborne. There’s nothing beneath me. For an instant I know what it’s like to be a sky diver, that feeling of free fall, like it’ll never end. Like riding the darkest and steepest water slide, not knowing where I’ll land. Am I going to die? A feeling of peace comes over me, and I ready myself. Scenes of my life fly past. Like when I was four and Dylan arrived from the hospital, a tiny baby – how I had been jealous. Playing in the backyard with Charlotte and Taylor, jumping our dogs over homemade hurdles. I was the judge and made Charlotte lose because I was mad at her. Practising the violin with Mom, and how I had yelled at her because the G# minor scale was too hard. Dad’s funeral and the arrival of Kate McDonough. Kate McDonough! Her image jolts me and sends my head spinning. In a split second, I realize I’ve been so wrong about her, but how?

  A sharp pain stabs my left leg. Something’s broken my fall – a branch? I let out a cry, and then land with a loud thud.

  It’s a terrible hurt, like I’ve never experienced before. I’ve heard of women talking about the pain of childbirth, like it’s a medal of honour. Is it anywhere near as bad as this? If it is, I’m never going to have babies.

  My ears begin to ring, and the night sounds grow distant. I lose consciousness.

  I don’t know how long I’m out, only that it feels like I’ve lived in my dream forever. I see Uncle Jack’s face when he reads my e-mail, how he drops his keys on the ground. His eyes widen and his face turns grey. How he listens in horror to his voice mail, and then seizes the phone, his hands shaking, and dials 9-1-1.

  The night sounds fade in again, and I come to. Where am I? With a shock, I remember the hideous face pressed up against the sliding glass door.

  “There’s a man after me!” I whisper.

  Pushing my aching body up, I scour the darkness like a hunted animal and listen. The cold wind blows softly. There’s water bubbling, an owl hooting, but that’s all. He’s gone.

  I feel my leg with my hands, sliding them up and down until I find the spot bent at an odd angle. Comparing it to my other leg, I know without a doubt – it’s broken!

  Groping around, I try to figure out where I am. My fingers meet cold stone. I lean forward, searching. A sharp pain, far worse than the fire that already burns there, stabs my leg. I groan. I’ll have to wait until it grows light to figure out where I am. Feeling helpless, I lay back on the hard, freezing rock.

  The night grows more bitter. After all, it’s nearly Christmas. My teeth chatter so hard my jaw hurts. Slipping my icy hands in my coat pocket for warmth, I touch something soft.

  “My toque and gloves! I stuffed them in my pocket before going to the DVD store.” Slipping them on, I feel better, but not warm enough. The agonizing hours drag on. My stomach rumbles, and my throat is parched from the chase.

  I drift into unconsciousness again.

  Uncle Jack is shouting. “Damn it, Pierrette. Why wouldn’t you let her have a cellphone? Now we have no idea where she is. She could be dead!”

  “I’m not dead, Uncle Jack,” I shout from afar, but he can’t hear me.

  “I didn’t want her texting all the time,” Mom says through sobs. “You know how teenagers are – never paying attention in class. I wanted more for my daughter.”

  “Mom, what’s wrong?” asks Dylan, rubbing his eyes. I
t’s dark outside, and they’re still at Aunty Agnes’.

  Then I see Mom and Dylan speeding through the night to get home – to find me.

  I awake. My whole body’s shaking. Not a shiver like when you come out of the pool in the summer to a cool breeze, but a terrible skeleton-like rattling. They say it’s colder just before dawn, and they’re not kidding. I can’t help but wonder if this is how mountain climbers feel right before they die on Mt. Everest.

  A thin, yellow line on the horizon promises dawn. And then a red glow. Sunrises are lovely, but not nearly as breathtaking as this one while I wait in hope for the light and warmth that might save me.

  As the shadows of predawn disappear, I take note of my surroundings. Looking up, I see the steep cliff and the boulder. Thirty feet of empty space separates me from the huge rock and the narrow ledge where I now lay. Beside me, a single evergreen’s roots hug the cracks in the rock’s face above the ledge. Following the tree with my eyes, I note the fractured branch, its white innards exposed. It broke my fall and probably saved my life. Had I been one foot over, I would have surely fallen to my death far below.

  Maybe I could climb this tree. It’s possible if I use only my arms and one leg. Continuing with my eyes, I follow the branches all the way to the boulder. Some of them brush the cliff, but as the tree reaches higher, its limbs grow further and further from where I slipped. There’s nothing to do but wait until someone finds me. Panic grips me.

  “Help!” I shout.

  My call echoes through the mountains, bouncing back several times, each time slightly softer than the last.

  “Uncle Jack’s right,” I whisper, recalling my dream. “How easy it’d be to get help if only I had a cell.”

  Anger sweeps through me at Mom’s stubbornness. “You always have to be so difficult, Mom! Can’t you just let me be like everyone else?”

  The cold wind whistles through the trees. There’s no one there to hear me.

  I try to reassure myself. “Someone has to save me. Probably the whole town’s out looking for me now.”

  Yet the sun travels further across the sky. My stomach growls worse than ever, and my mouth is painfully dry. I wish it would rain so I could catch raindrops in my mouth. Anything – I’m so thirsty.

  Fatigue overcomes me, and I drift off again.

  Mom is crying. Herb and Sandra are trying to console her.

  “Why would anyone go after her?” She’s sobbing so hard, her shoulders shake.

  Dylan is curled into a little ball, Charlotte’s arms encircling him. He’s trembling.

  “I’m here, Mom,” I shout. “Just follow the trail by Uncle Jack’s place. I’ll keep calling so you can find me.”

  They don’t hear me.

  The sound of a helicopter overhead wakes me. Through the branches, I see its blades, spinning, spinning, hypnotising me. Lying half awake, I watch it until it begins to move away, jolting me from my stupor.

  “Hello!” I wave frantically. “Hello!” I shift myself closer to the side of the ledge. Bits of shale break off, clattering far below. I scream. Forcing myself back, the sharp pain jabs me again. When I look up, the helicopter’s gone.

  “Stupid tree.” I break off a piece of shale and throw it at the trunk, leaving a scar in its bark. Angry tears roll down my face. “What if no one finds me?”

  Images of hikers chancing upon my body in the spring intrude my thoughts.

  “No!” I force them out. “Someone has to find me. Do you hear? Someone’s going to find me.” My words bounce around before returning to me, empty.

  My leg is so swollen I can’t feel my toes; maybe it’s frost bite. Is it cold enough for that? Hunger gnaws at my insides. The pizza I ate yesterday is long gone.

  Oh, what I’d do right now for Mom’s meat and rice with either broccoli or carrots, and a cup of hot mint tea. Or hot chocolate. Or even just water.

  The day passes with little hope, and the sun sinks lower in the sky. I’ve been here all day, and no one has found me. The shadows grow longer.

  “No! Please, God. Not the night! It’s too cold.” I scream again. “Help!” The single word bounces back, mocking me.

  Panic overtakes me again, and I gulp for breath. I’m hyperventilating, but no comforting arms console me.

  “Mom? Uncle Jack? Please find me.” Sobs shake my whole body. “Daddy?” The cold wind whistles, freezing my ears even though I’m wearing the toque. “Daddy, please help me. You’re a spirit. Please talk to someone. Show them where I am. I can’t survive another freezing night!”

  Despite my pleas, the sun drops lower and lower with menacing beauty. The sky fades to the cerulean blue I admired the first time Kate McDonough’s music drew me from the twilight of deep sleep. Kate McDonough! Isn’t this about the time she starts playing?

  I lean forward, my ears straining to hear the music I had so resented. Anything that reminds me of home, but then I remember.

  She doesn’t play on Sundays.

  The night’s even colder than the last. Weak from hunger and thirst, I hug myself closer and closer and move into a tiny indentation in the rock. It’s not much, but it helps. Anything will. I need sleep, but just as I nod off, the wind blows up again and wakes me.

  Remembering that exercise causes people to sweat, I tense my muscles. For a while, it works until small aches spring up all over my body. I try imagining a sunny, hot day in Mexico, but I’m still cold.

  Finally, I drift into sleep.

  Dad’s there.

  “Have you come to get me, Dad? I’m dying, right?”

  He shakes his head vigorously at me. He’s trying to tell Uncle Jack where to find me, trying to get Mom to hear him. I see other people too. Constable Douglas and Constable Fortier. But everyone is deaf to his pleas.

  “Dad, talk louder!” I shout in my dream. “They’ve got to hear you. Louder, Dad.”

  I awake with a start. Something moves beside me. I draw in a sharp breath. There’s someone else on the ledge.

  Chapter 34

  The Revelation

  I slowly edge my eyes to the left where a soft light like a lantern glows. Is it him? Is it the intruder? I scarcely breathe. Turning my head slowly, I prepare to lock my eyes with my killer, but instead, I see Kate McDonough.

  “Kate?” My voice squeaks from thirst. I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my whole life. “Is that you?”

  She smiles, the light surrounding her, growing brighter. “Yes, it’s me. There are a lot of people out there looking for you, but they were taking too long, so I thought I’d help.”

  “But how?” I crease my brow. “The cliff. You don’t have a rope.” I look down at the beat-up case in her hand. “And how did you get here carrying your fiddle?”

  She throws her head back and laughs that ringing laugh of hers that’s now music to my ears. “There’s plenty of time for all that, but first, let me help you.”

  She bends over and places her fingers on my back. Her hand grows warmer and warmer, spreading heat throughout my entire body. Through each vein, through each cell, I feel my temperature rise. It’s like I’ve never been exposed to the cold wind, like I don’t have hypothermia. The pain in my leg fades as does my hunger and thirst.

  I stare up at her, incredulous.

  “Feel better now?” She smiles.

  “Who are you?” I demand. “Or what are you? I mean, you bewitched the town, you glow, you disappear, and you eat raw birds. And now you show up on a cliff carrying a fiddle? What gives?”

  She lets out a hilarious chuckle. “First of all, I don’t eat raw birds. I don’t eat anything.”

  “Yeah, Charlotte and I noticed your fridge was em …” I catch myself.

  She gives me a knowing smile. “It’s okay. I know you were in my cabin.”

  Glancing away, I hide my remorse. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry. I wasn’t really living there anyway. That’s why I didn’t lock the door. But then I guess you already figured that out.”

&n
bsp; “Well, not quite.” I bury my chin in my shoulders. “So where do –”

  “I go?” She finishes my line for me. “Back. To another plane. Some people call it Heaven.”

  I’m beginning to think I’m hallucinating. I read somewhere that happens to people when they’re near death from freezing.

  “So you’re a … spirit?”

  “Yes. You read about me once online,” she says before I have the chance to freak.

  I think hard, and then stare at her like a great revelation has come to me. “The famous Cape Breton fiddler in the 1800s?” I ask.

  “Mm-hm.” Her lips turn up into an impish grin.

  “It said you were the finest of all the Cape Breton fiddlers.”

  She laughs. “I don’t know if I was the best, but yes, that’s me.”

  “And you died in childbirth.” I look away, not quite knowing what to say.

  “It’s okay.” She waves the emotion away. “It was my time.”

  I raise my eyes back to her level. “And it said that your fiddle was the best one in Cape Breton. It’s been compared to a Stradivarius. They called it the Golden Fiddle. But it disappeared. What happened to it? Was it stolen? I didn’t read the whole article.”

  “No.” Kate shakes her head. “I removed the strings when I was near giving birth because my husband wanted to sell it once the baby was born. He thought I should give up fiddling to raise kids, and there was no way that was going to happen. So I hid it in my mother’s attic and pretended it had been stolen.” Kate sighs before continuing. “Then several years later, after my mother died, someone bought the house. The owner found the fiddle and hung it on the wall as a decoration. He had no idea what he had.”

  “The Golden Fiddle a wall ornament?” I let out an incredulous laugh.

  “Mm-hm. Then when he died, his daughter sold it in a garage sale for fifty dollars. Eventually it ended up in a pawn shop.”

  My chin drops. “Oh, my gosh! In a pawn shop?” I frown. “So where is it now?”

  “It’s right here.” She lifts the case up to show me. “I bought it back and had it restrung and restored.”