“You look a bit pale. Would you like to sit down?”
“Maybe we should go back to Grannie Smith’s. We just wanted to visit the baby for a short while,” Robin said.
“Sorry she wasn’t more amenable to company.”
“More what?” asked Stephen.
“She was cranky, Stephen,” Robin clarified. “She’s better now, but it’s time for us to go back for lunch.”
“We can set some food on the table for you kids,” said the husband.
“Let them go home, dear,” Mrs. Crowther said, glancing down at her granddaughter and back to her husband.
“Don’t go, Stephen. I’ve missed you. I want you to stay with me forever. Let us be one, please.”
The soft, pleasing voice of his mother made Stephen sleepy. He almost lost his balance except that Mr. Crowther supported his small body.
“I’d better carry him over.”
“No, he can walk, can’t you, Stephen?”
Robin’s voice came from so far away, and yet she appeared to be right in front of him. He reached for her and she grabbed his hand.
“Just help me down the steps, Mr. Crowther, and we’ll be fine. My cousin needs some fresh air.”
Once outside and on the front lawn Stephen withdrew from the cavernous tunnel in which his mind had gotten lost. Robin held his hand and Mr. Crowther stared down at him.
“I’m okay,” Stephen said, letting go of Robin’s hand.
“He had an allergic reaction. He’s allergic to dogs,” Robin explained.
“I must say you and Spike were down in that basement for quite a while. Robin and I got so wrapped up in discussing Three Stooges’ films that we forgot about you. Did you ever get him to come up?”
“No. He’s probably still down there.”
As Stephen spoke, Spike came out of the house and dropped a smoking object under the direct rays of the sun.
“What the heck have you got there?” Mr. Crowther walked over to pick up the ball of clay. “Can’t imagine where you found this, Spike.” He turned to Stephen. “Is this some leftover play clay you left behind when you moved?”
“I don’t want it.”
The dog barked several times.
“Guess if you want to roll it around in the grass a bit, it can’t hurt.” Mr. Crowther threw the lump of clay into the grass and the two dogs nudged it about, occasionally biting into the sun-softened clay.
Chapter
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“I’d take the bus if I were you,” said the troll.
Brandy couldn’t decide. Should he run away or face the witch one more time?
“She can’t be trusted. I remember once when she kidnapped a husband. Brought him to the house by advertising for a tutor. Of course she had no intention of advancing her education. Instead she turned him into a zombie and led him around with a collar round his neck.”
“What happened to him?”
“I believe he’s the third window frame from the left, top floor.”
They both stared upward until they heard a cry come from deep within the cottage.
“Don’t have much more time to catch the bus,” the troll said, looking at the sundial he wore on his wrist.
“Won’t there be another bus tomorrow?”
“Sure, but you might not be able to be on it.” The troll tapped his large, ugly, naked foot on the cement pathway.
“Can I at least go in and check on her prisoner?”
“Why? The prisoner doesn’t mean anything to you.”
“But she’s taken my place.”
“So? Be glad she did.”
“She didn’t do it voluntarily, did she?”
“None of them do. You’ve seen what that basement looks like. Who’d want to spend time down there?”
“Then I must save her.”
“Who?”
“The prisoner.”
“What if you miss the bus?”
“You told me there’ll be another.”
The troll put an arm around Brandy’s shoulders. His body odor caused Brandy to almost faint.
“Listen, if you go back into that cottage she’ll never let you go again. She may not even free the young lady who has taken your place. Why should she?”
“But she doesn’t need both of us.”
“The witch will feed off her soul.”
“But if you help …”
The troll dropped his arm from Brandy’s shoulders and took several steps back.
“I can’t help. I’m just as dependent on her as she is on you.”
“But you’re a troll. You’re strong and scary.”
“I wouldn’t double-cross the witch. She’d cast a spell on me. Make me small and frightened like a mouse.”
Brandy turned away from the troll and walked into the cottage.
“Oh, you’re back,” the witch twitted from the end of the hall. “I did miss you. I checked everywhere for you. Under the beds. Under the pillows. Even under the stove. But I couldn’t find you. Bad boy.” Even as she said “bad boy” she smiled.
“Free the woman you have captive in the basement and I will come back.”
“What woman?”
“The troll told me that you—”
“He did?”
Stephen woke in the middle of the night, his sheets wrapped around his legs and his pillow tossed to the side along with the naked lady. Hurriedly he freed himself from the bed linen and jumped out of the bed. He ran to the window and looked across at his mother, who sat with her palms against the windowpane. He swept the curtains across the window, erasing her image.
He opened the drawer in the night table and pulled out a burgundy velvet cloth and laid it on the bed. The smooth material eased the tension in his body. For a few minutes he simply ran his palms across the fabric. Finally he pulled apart the corners and revealed the items that had belonged to his mother: a pair of pearl earrings, a tortoiseshell comb with a tooth missing, a locket containing the missing tooth, a missal from his mother’s first Holy Communion, and a holy picture depicting the Assumption of the Virgin Mother. He reached across the bed for the naked goddess. He placed the goddess inside the fabric with the other utensils he had used to bring his mother back and rolled the entire package into a tight bundle. He no longer wanted to know the magic hidden inside the naked goddess. He decided magic couldn’t be trusted. But he might have to use what power he had one more time.
Chapter
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In the morning Stephen bravely opened the curtains and peered across at the room that used to be his. His mother stood wild-eyed and angry. She’s missing the old woman, he instantly realized. She senses that I have something to do with the old woman being gone.
A soft knock on his door pulled him away from the window.
When he opened the door Robin immediately rolled into the room.
“Your father is coming.”
“He can’t travel. He isn’t that well yet.”
“He knows all about what happened to my mother. Mrs. Rosen explained every detail to him. Mom told her all about the crow, and they both agreed it was the same crow that attacked Mom a few days earlier.”
“Dad can’t come ‘cause he’d be in too much danger.”
“So are you. I saw you yesterday in that house. You can’t fight her.”
“The old woman is dead. The dog carried her out into the sun and destroyed her. She has no ally.”
“The crow?”
“I can’t explain that. She never made contact with live animals when I worked with her. I think it may have been the old woman who worked some magic on the bird. Mom couldn’t reach into this world like that.”
“She’s able to reach inside you and the baby.”
“Only because we’re especially vulnerable. The baby is very young and I brought Mom back into the world. Otherwise she would have taken either Mr. or Mrs. Crowther.”
“Then your father will be safe. She has no allies.”
“I don’t think she
does, but I’m not sure.”
“What are you children doing up here?” Grannie Smith peeked into the bedroom. “I have a hot breakfast downstairs waiting.”
“Grannie Smith, is my father really planning on coming back here?”
“Come on down to the breakfast table and we’ll talk about it.”
At the table the children hardly touched their food. Grannie Smith tried to explain what Stephen’s father had said.
“His doctor doesn’t want him to travel. He’s afraid too many days away from physical therapy and your father will lose too much flexibility and not be ready for the next scheduled surgery.”
“In two months,” Stephen said. He posted the dates on a calender in his room. “The doctor hasn’t told him when he’ll stop operating.”
“Your father has a lot of damage.”
Robin reached across and grabbed Stephen’s hand.
“And your mother, Robin,” continued Grannie Smith, “is scheduled to come out of the hospital in two days. She wants both of you ready to travel. I think she hopes to cut Stephen’s father off at the pass, so to speak.”
“Grannie Smith, have you visited the baby next door?” Stephen asked.
“I’ve been over there when the baby screams, tormented by some hell.”
“By my mother.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Crowther would never believe that. I suggested they go away on a vacation or perhaps take the baby to her parents. I suggested maybe the baby missed its mother, but they wouldn’t listen. They simply believe the baby is colicky. Thinks that since the baby is eating and otherwise seems healthy it’s just a stage.”
“Momma will wear the baby out.”
“You think the baby will die?” asked Grannie Smith.
“No. At least not in the physical sense. Momma wants the body alive, not dead. I need to talk to Momma.”
“You can’t talk her out of what she’s doing.” Robin squeezed his hand tighter. “I’m already packed. When Momma comes out of the hospital I’m ready to go home.”
“I can’t talk to Momma while other people are in the house. They’ll think I’m bonkers. Grannie Smith, can’t you get the Crowthers and the baby out of the house?”
“And send you in to confront your mother? Stephen, your father would never forgive me.”
“The Crowthers won’t be happy either if they have my mother as their grandchild. Grandma had to scold her a lot. And where will the baby go?”
“Don’t they take the baby to the doctor?” Robin asked.
“Lord, what are you asking me to do?”
“You’ve got an extra key to their house, don’t you? You always kept a key to Stephen’s house and vice versa in case of an emergency.”
“Yes, Robin, I have a key. But what if Stephen doesn’t come out of the house?”
“I’ll stay with him.”
“And what will you do?”
“Drag him out if it gets too dangerous.”
“You’re not strong enough or agile enough to do that, dear.” Grannie Smith stood up and paced the kitchen for several minutes. “The Crowthers take the baby to the doctor on Thursday.”
“That’s tomorrow,” shouted Robin in Stephen’s ear.
“I will take Stephen into the house and, Robin, you’ll stay here.”
“No. I have to go with Stephen. I’ll know what to look for in his eyes. I’ll know when he’s in trouble. We should all go.”
“Your parents would kill me if they knew what we planned. But I must admit allowing that baby to be possessed is something I can’t do. I wish I was able to confront your mother.”
“She’ll ignore you ‘cause she can’t reach inside your heart and soul.”
“Let’s pray we still have tomorrow to save that child,” Grannie Smith said.
Later that afternoon Mr. Crowther picked up something from his front lawn when Stephen wandered over to say hello.
“Hi, Stephen. I guess the dogs are tired of playing with this lump of clay. They seem to have abandoned it.” He threw the clay into the trash bin at the side of the house.
“How’s your granddaughter?”
“Still colicky. But sometimes she’ll sleep fitfully for hours at a time. I think she tires herself out with all her crankiness.”
“Maybe she should be sleeping in the bedroom with you and Mrs. Crowther.”
“The kids said she slept alone at their house. Never heard any complaints from them about all her crying. Mrs. Crowther and I can’t take much more. We’re too old to be minding a colicky baby.”
“Maybe she doesn’t like the house.”
“Or the house doesn’t like her.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, it’s silly.”
“No, tell me what you mean.”
Mr. Crowther placed a hand on Stephen’s head. “Did you have any ghosts when you lived in the house?”
Stephen bit his lip. Dare he share the truth?
“We did.”
There was a split second of silence before Mr. Crowther laughed.
“Yeah, I suppose I had my own bogeyman under the bed when I was a kid. Now I’m feeling kinda stupid because I know there isn’t any bogeyman under the bed.”
“The bogeyman isn’t real; ghosts are,” Stephen said.
“I shouldn’t be talking to you about this. I’ll be giving you nightmares.”
“You feel someone else in the house, don’t you, Mr. Crowther? Someone you can’t see.”
“And I’m a foolish old man for letting it get to me.” “No, you’re sensitive. Momma said some people are.”
“Was your mother a gypsy or something?” “A witch.”
“Ah, new age stuff.” Mr. Crowther nodded his head. “I’ve got to get into the house and do my chores. You should be running around having fun instead of speaking to an old superstitious man.” He waved goodbye and went into the house.
Once Stephen felt sure he couldn’t be seen he took the lid off the trash bin and fished out the lump of clay.
Chapter
87
The troll stood in the doorway of the witch’s cottage. His massive body filled up the space and blocked the sunlight.
“I’m sorry,” the troll meekly said. “I couldn’t help myself. But it is the truth about the bus.”
“It’s too late for that damn bus,” the witch said.
“Lies. There have been so many lies. Neither of you wanted to be my friend. You both wanted to use me.”
“Friend? What’s a friend?” the witch asked of Brandy.
“Someone a person can trust.”
“I told you not to trust trolls,” the witch said.
“She’s right. We male trolls can’t be trusted.” “Neither could your father,” the witch said to Brandy. “My father never hurt me. He didn’t want to steal my hand. He didn’t lock me up in a cage.”
“I offer you far more than your father ever could. Powers he will never comprehend.”
“He loves me and wants me to be me.” Brandy looked the witch in the eyes. “You selfishly want to bind me to you. You want to live through me.”
“Nonsense. We will share life together. I’ll put my arm inside yours and we’ll be linked forever. Not my fault that those idiots will see only one when there are two of us. The troll will see two.”
Brandy and the witch looked at the troll. “I’m so sorry,” the troll said.
Brandy walked toward the doorway, but the troll didn’t move.
“I’m not that sorry. I gave you the chance to run.” “Why would he want to run away from me?” the witch asked. “He and I are very close. Mother and son, I’d say.”
“You’re not my mother. You are a shade. My mother is dead.”
“Dead? How can I be dead when I stand before you? Dead is when a spirit gives up. I never give up.” The witch giggled. “And you can never leave me. Always you will be drawn back to me. You’ll wonder what I’m doing. Who I’m touching.” She reached out and touched his cheek. “And
you’ll be jealous. You came back because you thought I had someone to take your place. Admit it. Admit it and join with me forever.”
“That’s not true,” Brandy said defiantly.
“Not true? You chose me over your father.”
“I didn’t know. I tried to protect him.”
“You’ve protected no one but me and what is mine. Put your hand inside your pocket.”
Brandy did. He felt something hard and slippery.
“Take it out,” the witch said.
His hand came out of his pocket holding a tiny goddess covered with blood. He tried to throw it away, but it stuck to his flesh.
“I lent her to you. She carried you through the hardest days, didn’t she?”
The troll shook his head, stepped outside and closed the door behind him.
From a distance the troll could be heard saying, “Too much blood, way too much to forget.”
“I don’t want to forget. I want to remember, for then I’ll never do any of these deeds again,” said Brandy.
The witch laughed.
“Talk. Nonsensical words fly out of your mouth and float high up into the sky and out to the universe.”
The witch toddled over to the basement door and opened it.
“The bigger cage is empty now. The circus picked up their cats. I’ve cleaned it for you. Even put in some straw for a bed and a lamp for when you want to read.”
“I thought you weren’t going to give me any of your magic books.”
“I will share everything with you, Brandy. All you have to do is take my hand and walk down these stairs with me.”
“And lock myself inside a cage.” Brandy fisted his hands and screamed at the top of his lungs. “No! No! No!”
“Wake up, Stephen.” Grannie Smith sat on his bed and held him in her arms. “She can’t have you, Stephen. We’ll keep you safe from her.”
“I’ve been afraid of hurting Momma, that’s why she’s been able to rule me. I was afraid she wouldn’t love me. But her shade isn’t Momma. Her shade doesn’t love me. It only loves itself.”
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The Witch Page 26
