The Witch
Page 27
The morning sun sprayed Stephen’s room with its light. Everything in the room had a happy shine. No one stood at his old bedroom window, and several birds chose to sing among the branches of the tree flowering outside the house.
Stephen had fallen back to sleep in Grannie Smith’s arms. He didn’t know whether she had stayed the night with him and left early to prepare breakfast or whether she had tucked him in and returned to her own bed after he dozed off. He had slept that soundly and dreamlessly.
He got up and used the bathroom, dressed, and checked for his velvet bundle hidden under the mattress. He stared at the bundle, remembering how he had managed to save these few items. His father had sent all of Mom’s things to charity. Everything. He never asked whether Stephen wanted something. Dad seemed ready to be rid of Momma. Grandma had been annoyed there had been no wake. Momma went away, and two days later her ashes were tossed into the ocean. No grave to visit. No headstone marking where she lay. Gone.
Yes, they visited the ocean and threw flowers into the water, hoping Momma would find them, but he never got to kiss her goodbye.
He had brought back an evil-stained shade to substitute for Momma. With a few cheap utensils he had brought a bad momma back. He gave her existence and power over him. He gave this to her. She had no way back without him.
Stephen put the velvet bundle back where it belonged and went downstairs for breakfast.
In the kitchen Robin and Grannie Smith sat quietly at the table, their toast cold, their eggs hardening, their bacon shriveling, and their fruit turning brown.
“What time do they take the baby to the doctor?” Stephen asked.
“You don’t have to go back to your old house, Stephen. We’ll understand if you can’t.” Robin’s green eyes looked too serious for a child her age.
He looked at Grannie Smith.
“They’ll leave at ten. Should be back by noon for lunch.”
Stephen pulled out a chair to sit at the table, and to the others’ amazement he managed to eat a big breakfast.
“Is this your last meal?” asked Robin.
“Child, don’t say that,” Grannie Smith reprimanded.
“Finally I know what to do. That’s all,” Stephen said as he reached for another slice of toast.
Chapter
89
Cathy watched as the Crowthers dressed the baby. The tiny hands kept trying to grab onto the grandparents.
The baby always sensed when Cathy entered the room. The grandmother lived totally oblivious to her surroundings. But the old man suspected. He hovered over the baby too much. He broke the spell too often that Cathy had tried to weave. His hands were warm, bringing the baby back to be with him. Over and over the baby rejected the cold touch of death.
Cathy missed the old woman. The crow no longer visited. He vanished at the same time as the old woman. Such true love, thought Cathy. She wished she had experienced something at least similar, if not of the same strength. She still had her little boy. He idolized her. He would come round. He would bring her back into the world.
The baby kicked off its blankets, its legs and arms a whirl of movements.
“Dare I touch you one more time? Your innocence weakens me.”
Hearing the words, the baby’s eyes filled with tears.
“Oh, no. I think she’s going to start up again before we even get into the car.”
“She’ll be all right,” said Mr. Crowther, lifting the baby into his arms. “She just wants some cuddling. Right?”
The baby cooed and rested its head against the grandfather’s strong shoulder.
“I’ve turned up the heat in this room, but it hardly ever feels warm in here,” Mrs. Crowther said, putting the last of the baby supplies into a canvas grip.
“Don’t worry about it now or else we’ll be late for the doctor’s appointment.” The grandfather headed out into the hall. “Have everything?”
“What don’t I have in here?”
Cathy watched the family leave and hurried to the window to see the car pull out of the driveway. But someone waited on the porch next door. Stephen with his too-long hair and sad eyes, holding a burgundy velvet bundle in his hands. He held the bundle tightly and close to his body. He didn’t glance at the house; he watched the neighbors’ car pull away. She looked for tear stains on his cheeks, for worry lines furrowing his young brow, for tense lips drawn into a straight line, for a nose red from rubbing, but none were present, only his sad eyes. Had he resigned himself to joining with her? He certainly didn’t look conflicted anymore.
“What are your thoughts, my little one?” Her whisper emptied into the silence of the house. None would hear her words but her little boy. Appropriately he looked toward the window, his brown eyes weighted with whatever decision he had made. He untucked the bundle from his chest and offered it to her. The bundle quivered in his hands, not a trick of the light but a nod to his strengthening determination.
The bundle contained the utensils he had used to bring her back. She could see the outline of the goddess, the trinkets that kept the wooden image company, and something else. The remnants of the old woman. What had Stephen done to her? The piece of clay sat in the bundle unanimated.
Fear passed through Cathy. Why the old woman? How had he managed to reach her?
Her sister’s handicapped child appeared behind Stephen, the wheelchair an eternal extension of the child’s inabilities. The biddy who lived next door came out to take the handles of the wheelchair and guide it carefully down the ramp that had recently been installed.
Stephen didn’t immediately follow. Mesmerized by his mother’s face, he stared until the biddy called his name.
“Leave him be. Let him stay,” Cathy spoke to the air. Her words didn’t cause the slightest ripple.
He hesitated for a second, tucking the bundle again close to his body, and slowly descended the porch stairs.
Chapter
90
“Are you sure you want to do this, Stephen?”
The boy nodded. The bundle became heavier the longer he carried it.
“I have to go to the backyard first,” he said.
“What for?” Grannie Smith held her neighbors’ front door key in her hand.
“I gotta bury this,” he said, showing the bundle to Grannie Smith.
“Why?”
“Because none of this stuff is mine. It all belonged to Momma and she should have it back.”
“I don’t think she can take it from you.”
“I can bury it behind the house and she’ll know it’s there.”
The three of them walked around to the back of Stephen’s old house. Upon opening the gate the Labrador retrievers ran over to them with tails wagging.
“I can’t pet you now,” Stephen said, carrying his package to a flower bed situated against the house.
He knelt and started scooping up the loose soil. The flowers had recently been planted, and he had no trouble burying the bundle among the plants.
“Momma can take them with her,” he said, looking up at his two companions. “We can go in now.”
The trio retraced their steps to the front door. Grannie Smith fitted the key in the lock and threw open the door. Stephen entered first, with Grannie Smith assisting in bringing the wheelchair over the few steps.
“Is your mother present?” Robin asked, her eyes checking the hall carefully.
He didn’t answer; he continued down the hall to the nursery. The too-still room worried the boy. Would his mother hide from him? Perhaps she had given up on taking his body captive. But the familiar cold gradually enveloped him.
“Welcome back,” his mother said, her voice charming and close to being human, the floral odor covering the scent of baby powder.
“I came to say goodbye.”
Quickly the room filled with the stink of decayed garbage.
“You can’t leave me, Stephen. You will take me with you. Is it to Austin we’ll be traveling to live with the cripple and my sister?”
; He looked at Robin in the doorway and realized she couldn’t hear his mother’s words.
“That’s cruel, Momma. You used to speak kindly of her.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”
“Because you’re not really my mommy. You’re a shade of her that was left behind. The bad part that was barred from heaven.”
“You’ve a wonderful imagination. Or maybe you attributed kindly wishes to one who didn’t live by her words.”
“I can’t say what exactly you are, but you’re not my mommy. You’re hurtful and selfish.”
The smell in the room grew worse. Grannie Smith pulled Robin’s wheelchair back into the hall and Robin protested.
“You have to go to wherever you belong.”
“I belong on this earth with you.”
“No, Momma gave up on the earth. She didn’t want to be here, and you have to go with her. You and Mommy are one.”
“This foolish nonsense about there being two mommies isn’t going to stop me from returning. If you refuse to open your heart and soul, then I’ll seek another.”
“I am the one keeping your shade here. I banish you to …” He couldn’t and wouldn’t say hell. “I banish you to serve the penalty for your crimes. I know then you will be able to rest.”
“Stupid, moralistic child. Do you believe you have such a power?”
Stephen swallowed hard.
“Yes, because I received it by birth. You passed it on to me. I keep nothing that belonged to you. The utensils I used are buried in the backyard. I release you from the spell that bound you to me.”
He heard his mother laugh but never wavered in his confidence. Not a complete shade, she played on the insecurities of humans. On his fear of being alone, his fear of losing his mother’s love, his fear of having to make a choice between parents. His momma had made the choice for him when she killed herself. For a long time he couldn’t say those words. She killed herself.
“Leave the house with me.”
“Of course I will.” His Mother’s voice brightened. The stink of death dwindled.
He felt her make a rush for his body, but he expected it and stood firm. He caught his breath after the first attack and waited for her to niggle her way inside his flesh.
“You’ve turned to stone. There’s no love left in your heart for me.”
“Wrong. I love Momma, but I don’t like the part of her that was left behind. And …” He took a few moments to choose his words. Smiling he said, “I’ve become a scholar. I can live without you and make friends and love other people too.”
He saw her shade form within a white puff of smoke. While trying to hold the image her face look pained. Her form faded, coming back diminished each time she tried.
“Don’t fade away here alone,” Stephen said. “I’ll walk with you into the sun.”
“I need your body for that, fool.”
“No, you need to be willing to give up the earth for some rest.”
Smoke circled his body, and Grannie Smith almost made a grab for him, but he raised a hand to stop her.
“Momma can’t get inside me.”
He heard curses, pleas; a mad cacophony of words poured forth from his mother’s shade. He walked out of the room, the white halo still surrounding him.
Grannie Smith pushed Robin to the front door she had left ajar. Slowly she lowered the wheelchair back onto the cement path before turning toward the boy. As he reached the warmth of the sun the halo withdrew, fading back into the hallway.
Stephen stepped outside and Grannie Smith locked the door.
“Will she go away?” asked Robin. “There’s no one to keep her here,” he said. The threesome strode to the house, each looking over his or her shoulder, checking for a sign, but the house looked normal and quiet.
Chapter
91
“I’m your mother,” screamed Cathy. “I birthed you. I am as whole as when I walked this earth.” Except for a physical body, a self-doubt reminded her. “I don’t need a boy to bring me back. I am here of my own accord. Nothing, no one gives me permission to be here.” Her words echoed around her, yet she knew no one heard her.
In the backyard one of the dogs barked, incessantly, demandingly, loudly. She went to the kitchen window and saw the male dog looking up at her, its coat full and clean. Its face never turned away from her. Beyond him, centered in the yard, lay the burgundy velvet fabric, and trailing it lay the items Stephen had used to bring her back. The mound of clay looked singed by the sun, and the other items seemed cheap and used up. The dogs had mauled the goddess. Teeth marks bruised every inch of the wood. Chips missing had either been eaten or spat out onto the grass. But the figure no longer retained any specific shape; it was merely a discarded twig of a tree or broken-off bit of furniture.
For a time the sharp backyard image stayed tattooed upon her vision, but soon it blurred as the surroundings faded. The sight and sound of earth lost the reality she so longed to keep.
Her tired spirit wanted sleep. Death claimed her back into its bounty and cradled her in its arms.
Don’t miss Mary Ann Mitchell’s next book, due out October, 2007 from Medallion Press:
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Horror
October 2007
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Sirena is a beautiful young woman. By night she strips at Silky Femmes, enticing large tips from conventioneers and salesmen passing through the small Florida city where she lives.
Sirena is also a loyal and compassionate friend to the denizens of Silky Femmes. There’s Chrissie, who is a fellow dancer as well as the boss’s abused and beleaguered girlfriend. And Ross, the bartender, who spends a lot of time worrying about the petite, delicate, and lovely Sirena. Maybe too much time.
There’s also Detective Williams. He’s looking for a missing man and his investigation takes him to Silky’s. Like so many others, he finds Sirena irresistible. But again, like so many others, he’s underestimated Sirena.
Because Sirena has a hobby. Not just any hobby. From the stage she searches out men with the solid bone structure she requires. The ones she picks get to go home with her where she will perform one last private strip for them. They can’t believe their luck. They simply don’t realize it’s just run out.
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His name is Topiltzin. He is the son of the Dragon, a blue-eyed Mesoamerican hero. He is also a godless ballplayer, a wanderer, a rogue warrior. He will become known as the Plumed Serpent, the man who became a god, who transcended death to become the Morning Star.
In the world of the Fourth Sun, Topiltzin is the unconquered hero of the rubberball game. When he comes with his companions to a city to play, children flock to meet him, maidens cover the roadway with flowers for him to tread on, and people gather to watch the mighty Turquoise Lords of Tollan. They are the undefeated champions of the ancient game of ritual, a game so fanatically revered that spectators would often wager their own children on its outcome. To lose meant decapitation. The Turquoise Lords of Tollan never lost. At least until now.
The Smoking Lord, descended from Highland Mountain kings, has come with vast armies. He has learned of the splendid Tolteca from a priest who tried to teach him the true way of the one god. After offering the old man up as a sacrifice to the midnight sun, Smoking Mirror has now come north to see if the legends are true.
An army has come, and a new age. Topiltzin witnesses its horrors. He finds cities destroyed, villagers raped and ritualistically slaughtered by sorcerer priests sent as heralds to offer up human sacrifice. Unable to stop the blood slaughter of innocents, realizing the vast armies of the Shadow Lords will annihilate even the mighty Tolteca, Topiltzin becomes obsessed with one final
objective, one last move in the rubberball game: the death of the Smoking Mirror.
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Teen-aged filmmaker Tom DeFrank, through his hobby of stop-motion photography, conceives a monster: he builds and animates a demon puppet. Unbeknownst to Tom, however, the “toy” creates a subliminal bond with a dark entity. As he labors with the miniature beast, making his movie, the boy unwittingly summons a force that wreaks the terrible vengeance of Tom’s repressed rage.
Only reclusive psychic Stephen Parrish and his daughter Julie know of the ancient evil awakened in their little town. As romance blooms between the teens, Parrish senses the strange presence within the troubled young filmmaker and seeks to unravel the mystery of the demon.
But people are dying as bitter grudges come to the fore. Rumors abound of a strange creature loose in the countryside, and a fearful public turns suspicious on Parrish. Will he be able to leash the monster and the will of its creator—a boy little conscious of his power to create … or destroy?
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Unsuspecting Rick Summers had simply gone to the cemetery to visit the graves of his mother and sister, killed in a car accident years earlier. He had the cabbie wait for him. But when he got back into the taxi, he didn’t have the same driver. His new chauffeur was a re-animated corpse. And he was about to take a drive into hell.
The doors to hell open in the house of his ex-lover, Katarina, where he is delivered by his not-so-sweet smelling driver. Rick learns that Katarina is missing and has been recently plagued by a stalker. That’s just the beginning of the bad news. When the house changes right before their unbelieving eyes, taking them somewhen and somewhere else, a horrifying mystery begins to unfold. At its heart is unrequited love. And Rick Summers.