Burn, Witch, Burn!

by Abraham Merritt

I tried to speak—and could not. I stood tongue-tied, furious, humiliated. I realized that I had been trapped like the veriest tyro—I who should have been all alert, suspicious of every move. Trapped by voice and eyes and weaving hands by the reiterated suggestion that I was weary so weary… that here was peace… and sleep… sleep… What had she done to me while I slept? Why could I not move? It was as though all my energy had been dissipated in that one tremendous thrust out of her web of sleep! I stood motionless, silent, spent. Not a muscle moved at command of my will. The enfeebled hands of my will reached out to them—and fell.

  The doll-maker laughed. She walked to the cabinets on the far wall. My eyes followed her, helplessly. There was no slightest loosening of the paralysis that gripped me. She pressed a spring, and the door of a cabinet slipped down.

  Within the cabinet was a child-doll. A little girl, sweet-faced and smiling. I looked at it and felt a numbness at my heart. In its small, clasped hands was one of the dagger-pins, and I knew that this was the doll which had stirred in the arms of the Gilmore baby… had climbed from the baby's crib… had danced to the bed and thrust…

  "This is one of my peculiarly best!" The doll-maker's eyes were on me and filled with cruel mockery. "A good doll! A bit careless at times, perhaps. Forgetting to bring back her school-books when she goes visiting. But so obedient! Would you like her for your granddaughter?"

  Again she laughed—youthful, tingling, evil laughter. And suddenly I knew Ricori had been right and that this woman must be killed. I summoned all my will to leap upon her. I could not move a finger.

  The long white hands groped over the next cabinet and touched its hidden spring. The numbness at my heart became the pressure of a hand of ice. Staring out at me from that cabinet was Walters! And she was crucified!

  So perfect, so—alive was the doll that it was like seeing the girl herself through a diminishing glass. I could not think of it as a doll, but as the girl. She was dressed in her nurse's uniform. She had no cap, and her black hair hung disheveled about her face. Her arms were outstretched, and through each palm a small nail had been thrust, pinning the hands to the back of the cabinet. The feet were bare, resting one on the other, and through the insteps had been thrust another nail. Completing the dreadful, the blasphemous, suggestion, above her head was a small placard. I read it:

  "The Burnt Martyr."

  The doll-maker murmured in a voice like honey garnered from flowers in hell:

  "This doll has not behaved well. She has been disobedient. I punish my dolls when they do not behave well. But I see that you are distressed. Well, she has been punished enough—for the moment."

  The long white hands crept into the cabinet, drew out the nails from hands and feet. She set the doll upright, leaning against the back. She turned to me.

  "You would like her for your granddaughter, perhaps? Alas! She is not for sale. She has lessons to learn before she goes again from me."

  Her voice changed, lost its diabolic sweetness, became charged with menace.

  "Now listen to me—Dr. Lowell! What—you did not think I knew you? I knew you from the first. You too need a lesson!" Her eyes blazed upon me. "You shall have your lesson—you fool! You who pretend to heal the mind—and know nothing, nothing I say, of what the mind is. You, who conceive the mind as but a part of a machine of flesh and blood, nerve and bone and know nothing of what it houses. You—who admit existence of nothing unless you can measure it in your test tubes or see it under your microscope. You—who define life as a chemical ferment, and consciousness as the product of cells. You fool! Yet you and this savage, Ricori, have dared to try to hamper me, to interfere with me, to hem me round with spies! Dared to threaten me—Me—possessor of the ancient wisdom beside which your science is as crackling of thorns under an empty pot! You fools! I know who are the dwellers in the mind—and the powers that manifest themselves through it—and those who dwell beyond it! They come at my call. And you think to pit your paltry knowledge against mine? You fool! Have you understood me? Speak!"

  She pointed a finger at me. I felt my throat relax, knew I could speak once more.

  "You hell bag!" I croaked. "You damned murderess! You'll go to the electric chair before I'm through with you!"

  She came toward me, laughing.

  "You would give me to the law? But who would believe you? None! The ignorance that your science has fostered is my shield. The darkness of your unbelief is my impregnable fortress. Go play with your machines, fool! Play with your machines! But meddle with me no more!"

  Her voice grew quiet, deadly.

  "Now this I tell you. If you would live, if you would have live those who are dear to you—take your spies away. Ricori you cannot save. He is mine. But you—think never of me again. Pry no more into my affairs. I do not fear your spies—but they offend me. Take them away. At once. If by nightfall they are still on watch—"

  She caught me by the shoulder with a grip that bruised. She pushed me toward the door.

  "Go!"

  I fought to muster my will, to raise my arms. Could I have done so I would have struck her down as I would a ravening beast. I could not move them. Like an automaton I walked across the room to the door. The doll-maker opened it.

  There was an odd rustling noise from the cabinets. Stiffly, I turned my head.

  The doll of Walters had fallen forward. It lay half over the edge. Its arms swung, as though imploring me to take it away. I could see in its palms the marks of the crucifying nails. Its eyes were fixed on mine—

  "Go!" said the doll-maker. "And remember!"

  With the same stiff motion I walked through the corridor and into the shop. The girl watched me, with vague, fear-filled eyes. As though a hand were behind me, pressing me inexorably on, I passed through the shop and out of its door into the street.

  I seemed to hear, did hear, the mocking evil-sweet laughter of the doll-maker!

  Chapter 14 - The Doll-Maker Strikes

  The moment I was out in the street, volition, power of movement, returned to me. In an abrupt rush of rage, I turned to re-enter the shop. A foot from it, I was brought up as against an invisible wall. I could not advance a step, could not even raise my hands to touch the door. It was as though at that point my will refused to function, or rather that my legs and arms refused to obey my will. I realized what it was—post-hypnotic suggestion of an extraordinary kind, part of the same phenomena which had held me motionless before the doll-maker, and had sent me like a robot out of her lair. I saw McCann coming toward me, and for an instant had the mad idea of ordering him to enter and end Madame Mandilip with a bullet. Common sense swiftly told me that we could give no rational reason for such killing, and that we would probably expiate it within the same apparatus of execution with which I had threatened her.

  McCann said: "I was getting worried, Doc. Just about to break in on you."

  I said: "Come on, McCann. I want to get home as quickly as possible."

  He looked at my face, and whistled.

  "You look like you been through a battle, Doc."

  I answered: "I have. And the honors are all with Madame Mandilip—so far."

  "You came out quiet enough. Not like the boss, with the hag spitting hell in your face. What happened?"

  "I'll tell you later. Just let me be quiet for awhile. I want to think."

  What I actually wanted was to get back my self-possession. My mind seemed half-blind, groping for the tangible. It was as if it had been enmeshed in cobwebs of a peculiarly unpleasant character, and although I had torn loose, fragments of the web were still clinging to it. We got into the car and rolled on for some minutes in silence. Then McCann's curiosity got the better of him.

  "Anyway," he asked, "what did you think of her?"

  By this time I had come to a determination. Never had I felt anything to approach the loathing, the cold hatred, the implacable urge to kill, which this woman had aroused in me. It was not that my pride had suffered, although that was sore enough. No, it was the
conviction that in the room behind the doll-shop dwelt blackest evil. Evil as inhuman and alien as though the doll-maker had in truth come straight from that hell in which Ricori believed. There could be no compromise with that evil. Nor with the woman in whom it was centered.

  I said: "McCann, in all the world there is nothing so evil as that woman. Do not let the girl slip through your fingers again. Do you think she knew last night that she had been seen?"

  "I don't know. I don't think so."

  "Increase the guards in front and back of the place at once. Do it openly, so that the women cannot help noticing it. They will think, unless the girl is aware that she was observed, that we are still in ignorance of the other exit. They will think we believe she managed to slip out unseen either at front or back. Have a car in readiness at each end of the street where she keeps the coupe. Be careful not to arouse their suspicions. If the girl appears, follow her—" I hesitated.

  McCann asked: "And then what?"

  "I want her taken—abducted, kidnapped—whatever you choose to call it. It must be done with the utmost quietness. I leave that to you. You know how such things are done better than I. Do it quickly and do it quietly. But not too near the doll-shop—as far away from it as you can. Gag the girl, tie her up if necessary. But get her. Then search the car thoroughly. Bring the girl to me at my house—with whatever you find. Do you understand?"

  He said: "If she shows, we'll get her. You going to put her through the third degree?"

  "That—and something more. I want to see what the doll-maker will do. It may goad her into some action which will enable us to lay hands on her legitimately. Bring her within reach of the law. She may or may not have other and invisible servants, but my intention is to deprive her of the visible one. It may make the others visible. At the least, it will cripple her."

  He looked at me, curiously; "She musta hit you pretty hard, Doc."

  "She did," I answered curtly. He hesitated.

  "You going to tell the boss about this?" he asked at last.

  "I may or I may not—tonight. It depends upon his condition. Why?"

  "Well, if we're going to pull off anything like a kidnapping, I think he ought to know."

  I said, sharply: "McCann, I told you Ricori's message was that you were to obey orders from me as though they were from him. I have given you your orders. I accept all the responsibility."

  "Okay," he answered, but I could see that his doubt still lingered.

  Now, assuming Ricori had sufficiently recovered, there was no real reason why I should not tell him what had happened during my encounter with Madame Mandilip. It was different with Braile. More than suspecting, as I did, the attachment between him and Walters, I could not tell him of the crucified doll—and even now I thought of it not as a doll crucified, but as Walters crucified. If I told him, I knew well that there would be no holding him back from instant attack upon the doll-maker. I did not want that.

  But I was aware of a most stubborn reluctance to tell Ricori the details of my visit. The same held good for Braile in other matters besides the Walters doll. And why did I feel the same way about McCann? I set it down to wounded vanity.

  We stopped in front of my house. It was then close to six. Before getting out of the car I repeated my instructions. McCann nodded.

  "Okay, Doc. If she comes out, we get her."

  I went into the house, and found a note from Braile saying that he would not be in to see me until after dinner. I was glad of that. I dreaded the ordeal of his questions. I learned that Ricori was asleep, and that he had been regaining strength with astonishing rapidity. I instructed the nurse to tell him, should he awaken, that I would visit him after I had dined. I lay down, endeavoring to snatch a little sleep before eating.

  I could not sleep—constantly the face of the doll-maker came before me whenever I began to relax into a doze, throwing me into intense wakefulness.

  At seven I arose and ate a full and excellent dinner, deliberately drinking at least twice the amount of wine I ordinarily permit myself, finishing with strong coffee. When I arose from the table I felt distinctly better, mentally alert and master of myself once more—or so I believed. I had decided to apprise Ricori of my instructions to McCann concerning the abduction of the girl. I realized that this was certain to bring down upon me a minute catechism concerning my visit to the doll-shop, but I had formulated the story I intended to tell—

  It was with a distinct shock that I realized that this story was all that I could tell! Realized that I could not communicate to the others the portions I had deleted, even if I desired. And that this was by command of the doll-maker—post-hypnotic suggestion which was a part of those other inhibitions she had laid upon my will; those same inhibitions which had held me powerless before her, had marched me out of her shop like a robot and thrust me back from her door, when I would have re-entered!

  During that brief tranced sleep she had said to me: "This and this you must not tell. This and this you may."

  I could not speak of the child-doll with the angelic face and the dagger-pin which had pricked the bubble of Gilmore's life. I could not speak of the Walters doll and its crucifixion. I could not speak of the doll-maker's tacit admission that she had been responsible for the deaths that had first led us to her.

  However, this realization made me feel even better. Here at last was something understandable—the tangibility for which I had been groping; something that had in it nothing of sorcery—nor of dark power; something entirely in the realm of my own science. I had done the same thing to patients, many times, bringing their minds back to normality by these same post-hypnotic suggestions.

  Also, there was a way by which I could wash my own mind clean of the doll-maker's suggestions, if I chose. Should I do this? Stubbornly, I decided I would not. It would be an admission that I was afraid of Madame Mandilip. I hated her, yes—but I did not fear her. Knowing now her technique, it would be folly not to observe its results with myself as the laboratory experiment. I told myself that I had run the gamut of those suggestions—that whatever else it had been her intention to implant within my mind had been held back by my unexpected awakening—

  Ah, but the doll-maker had spoken truth when she called me fool!

  When Braile appeared, I was able to meet him calmly. Hardly had I greeted him when Ricori's nurse called up to say her patient was wide-awake and anxious to see me.

  I said to Braile: "This is fortunate. Come along. It will save me from telling the same story twice over."

  He asked: "What story?"

  "My interview with Madame Mandilip."

  He said, incredulously: "You've seen her!"

  "I spent the afternoon with her. She is most interesting. Come and hear about it."

  I led the way rapidly to the Annex, deaf to his questions. Ricori was sitting up. I made a brief examination. Although still somewhat weak, he could be discharged as a patient. I congratulated him on what was truly a remarkable recovery. I whispered to him:

  "I've seen your witch and talked to her. I have much to tell you. Bid your guards take their stations outside the door. I will dismiss the nurse for a time."

  When guards and nurse were gone, I launched into an account of the day's happenings, beginning with my summons to the Gilmore apartment by McCann. Ricori listened, face grim, as I repeated Mollie's story. He said:

  "Her brother and now her husband! Poor, poor Mollie! But she shall be avenged! Si!—greatly so! Yes!"

  I gave my grossly incomplete version of my encounter with Madame Mandilip. I told Ricori what I had bidden McCann to do. I said:

  "And so tonight, at least, we can sleep in peace. For if the girl comes out with the dolls, McCann gets her. If she does not, then nothing can happen. I am quite certain that without her the doll-maker cannot strike. I hope you approve, Ricori."

  He studied me for a moment, intently.

  "I do approve, Dr. Lowell. Most greatly do I approve. You have done as I would have done. But—I do not thi
nk you have told us all that happened between you and the witch."

  "Nor do I," said Braile.

  I arose.

  "At any rate, I've told you the essentials. And I'm dead tired. I'm going to take a bath and go to bed. It's now nine-thirty. If the girl does come out it won't be before eleven, probably later. I'm going to sleep until McCann fetches her. If he doesn't, I'm going to sleep all night. That's final. Save your questions for the morning."

  Ricori's searching gaze had never left me. He said:

  "Why not sleep here? Would it not be safer for you?"

  I succumbed to a wave of intense irritation. My pride had been hurt enough by my behavior with the doll-maker and the manner she had outwitted me. And the suggestion that I hide from her behind the guns of his men opened the wound afresh.

  "I am no child," I answered angrily. "I am quite able to take care of myself. I do not have to live behind a screen of gunmen—"

  I stopped, sorry that I had said that. But Ricori betrayed no anger. He nodded, and dropped back on his pillows.

  "You have told me what I wanted to know. You fared very badly with the witch, Dr. Lowell. And you have not told us all the essentials."

  I said: "I am sorry, Ricori!"

  "Don't be." For the first time he smiled. "I understand, perfectly. I also am somewhat of a psychologist. But I say this to you—it matters little whether McCann does or does not bring the girl to us tonight. Tomorrow the witch dies—and the girl with her."

  I made no answer. I recalled the nurse, and re-stationed the guards within the room. Whatever confidence I might feel, I was taking no chances with Ricori's safety. I had not told him of the doll-maker's direct threat against him, but I had not forgotten it.

  Braile accompanied me to my study. He said, apologetically:

  "I know you must be damned tired, Lowell, and I don't want to pester you. But will you let me stay in your room with you while you are sleeping?"

  I said with the same stubborn irritability:

  "For God's sake, Braile, didn't you hear what I told Ricori? I'm much obliged and all of that, but it applies to you as well."