by J. Z. Foster
“A ghost?” Beth leaned in and feigned interest. “Have you ever seen a ghost?”
He grinned sheepishly. “Well, I’ve had my fair share.” He sank his teeth into the burger and tore off a piece. He hadn’t quite finished chewing before he started speaking again. “But, you know, it’s usually just light and noises. Haven’t found anything too, uh, visual yet.” He shoveled a handful of fries into his mouth.
“So I guess you’ve never encountered a demon either then?”
“Oh yeah, sure, of course. One scratched my arm up pretty good. I mean, some people were just saying it was dark and I bumped against a wall…” He stared off for a moment of reflection. “But my sensei was completely convinced that it was a demon. He knows what he’s talking about.”
“What have you found?” she asked, looking up from her notepad, which was nearly devoid of ink, save for a few scribbled drawings.
“Oh?” he said as though he had misheard her. He glanced up to the ceiling. “I mean, all sorts of things. Like I said, that demon-wall that scratched me once. Saw a few lights too. Hell, even heard something creaking around upstairs while I was clearing the spirits out of an old house once. My buddy said he thought it was a cat, but I’ve never heard of a cat that can move that fast!” He paused to take a slurp from his straw. “Really though, it’s my coven. They’re the ones always finding stuff. They always come back with these wicked stories about strange voices chanting the Lord’s Prayer, or throwing holy water into a ghost’s face! Man, it’s righteous stuff. They do some good work, I gotta tell you. I’m more of a lower level cadet or something, but they tell me I have potential.”
“Right,” she replied and pretended to read something from her notepad.
I’m sure they do. And all for a monthly fee I would bet.
“Well, you said something about locating our next place to go?” Beth was already packing her things away and standing up before Richard could speak.
Richard sucked down the rest of his diet cola and nodded to her. He motioned for her to follow him as he turned to walk out of the restaurant. She gathered her things and moved behind him.
I really hope this night doesn’t last long.
Outside, the sun was quickly retreating in the shortening autumn days, allowing darkness to creep back over the streets and houses of Bridgedale. Richard froze for a moment as though he had just remembered something. He stared out the window, looking into the orange sky, then slowly turned to look at Beth over his shoulder, his eyes bright and grin wide.
“What a lovely night for a witching.”
Chapter 2
“Does any of that work?” The larger detective grimaced, only half seated in his chair as he leaned forward. “I mean with the ladies. Does it ever actually work? God, I hope not.”
“Yeah, I mean… I wasn’t doing it to try and hook up with Beth! She was following me to go after the witch!” Richard’s collar felt tight, choking. He sunk a finger beneath the dirt-stained edge of the collar and stretched it out.
The gray-haired detective breathed out a tired sigh. “So this is the part where you got the knife?” He leaned farther on the wall and rubbed his thick mustache.
“Yeah, I, uh, I needed the knife to find the witch.” Richard pulled his sleeve up to wipe the sweat that dripped from his face.
“Pfft.” The larger detective shook his head and lowered his voice. He was clearly tired, though he spoke in as soothing a tone as he could muster, as though he were doing Richard some kind of favor. “Enough with the witch. Tell us how you killed her, and tell us the names of your accomplices.”
Something hot boiled and gushed in Richard’s chest. He slammed his fist down, causing the table to shake. “I didn’t kill her! I don’t know what happened!” He grimaced, and started rubbing his now aching hand. He glanced up to see the two men staring at him, waiting. “Don’t I, um... don’t I get a lawyer or something?”
The larger detective leaned in to place his elbow on the table. “Sure, we can get you that lawyer. But I’m thinking a judge would appreciate it more if he could read about how very forthcoming and what a team player you were, how you made all our jobs just that much easier. So how about you keep talking and we can wait it out for the public defense attorney to get on down here? You play ball, and we’ll make it easy. Only the guilty have anything to hide after all.” Richard could smell the man’s stale breath from across the table, could practically taste the shots of liquor the detective had enjoyed earlier to keep the night warm. He was afraid for Beth, and for himself.
Did I really kill her? Could I really have done that?
The room sat in a deathly silence as they waited for Richard to speak. He took a few shallow breaths before he spoke again. “Can I just tell you what happened next?”
The gray-haired detective grinned with coffee-stained teeth. “Sure, Dick, sure. What happened next?”
The news van drove down the old, winding country road. The trees were nearly bare, their dead leaves already fallen to the earth. Raked piles of orange and brown were formed in front of the houses. “Pretty place,” the reporter said. “I’ve always been a sucker for all these autumn colors.”
Richard bobbed up and down in his seat, swaying with the curves in the road and the hills that seemed endless. His initial courage was starting to burn off and the van was closing in on him like a metal coffin. He gulped and wished for a window that he could crack but, much like a coffin, there was none. It was empty, save for a few bits of equipment, and Richard, the lone witch hunter in the back, waiting. “So what’s with the camera?”
“Oh, the editor didn’t tell you?” Beth turned to see him, and her gorgeous brown, gold-specked eyes seemed to pull him in. “I’ll write up a piece for our blog, but we’re also shooting something for one of our evening segments.” She was beautiful, a slim and stunning woman. Richard’s stomach tied knots with itself whenever she looked at him.
It was several moments before Richard realized that he was staring. “So, uh,” he sputtered. “I’m going to be on TV?”
“If the editor likes it. But I don’t imagine they’d turn anything down.”
“Hell, I don’t think so,” Ted said from the driver’s seat, his voice deep and confident. “Not after that garbage Jen had on last week about the neighborhood playground.”
“I know, right?” She glanced at Ted and then back to Richard. “Don’t be worried though, all right? You’ll do fine.”
Ted’s eyes flashed in the rearview mirror to capture Richard’s. And they did. Where Beth’s eyes were inviting, Ted’s were something else. Ted was the type of man that Richard used to wish he could be back in high school. He was thick-chested, with short, trimmed, red hair, and seemed sure of himself, maybe even with a hint of cruelty. Whatever the case, he didn’t seem to have any trouble talking to Beth.
Richard said a silent prayer that he wouldn’t embarrass himself. His mouth dried at the idea of Beth or Ted thinking they wasted their time.
I’m going to do it. I’m going to make it worth their time. I’m not going to be like Jen and her playground. Everyone is going to like me.
The van’s headlights painted a small, wrought-iron gate just off the road. “Turn here and stop at the graveyard.”
“Graveyard, huh?” Ted laughed. “Do witches hang out in graveyards? I always pictured them more as a house-deep-out-in-the-woods type of thing. Little bit of a cliché, huh?”
Richard’s stomach hardened.
Beth smirked at Ted and slapped his leg with the back of her hand before glancing into the back. “Why exactly are we headed to a graveyard, Richard?”
Richard cleared his throat. “The, uh, energy, of course. Necro energies. The dead, the afterlife, sadness, and even sometimes relief. These things all hold a lot of energy. On evenings like this, the dead may dance here.” He couldn’t help but smile with that last line.
That definitely won them over.
“That’s nice,” said Beth.
What
? She didn’t like ‘The dead may dance here’? Man, that’s gold!
Suddenly, the van felt a little smaller, his collar a little tighter. That dull and bored look in Beth’s eyes sent him scrambling.
Time to spice things up.
He dipped his hand into his rough, old, leather bag and pulled out a dagger. It was a wicked thing, with a curved blade and wooden handle, etched with designs and runes, said to channel ancient energies with arts lost to modern man.
They’ll dig this. They have to.
“Check this out.” He held the knife up to the front of the van for them to see.
“Whoa, whoa!” Fear spread across Beth’s face.
“Oh!” Richard paused when she looked frightened; he slid it back into his worn leather bag. “It’s only part of the ritual. It’s made of, uh, special materials. And it can point us to where the witch’s energy is strongest.” He grinned uneasily. “It’s easy; we just use my bowl, fill it with local water, drop in some of the graveyard dirt, say a few chants, and bingo! This thing will point us to where we have to go next.” He nodded and hoped that was convincing enough.
“But, hey, man, let’s not be pointing out any evil spirits while in the van.” Ted’s green eyes locked him in. “Save it for the camera, yeah?”
“Yeah, yeah, makes sense.” Richard put his leather satchel back down as they pulled into the Bridgedale cemetery.
It wasn’t a large place, and there were no walls or tall gates, just a simple fence that seemed more decorative than anything. The fading sun cast long shadows that crept out over the gravestones and turned the bare trees into desperate pointed fingers, clawing over the ground as though to wake the dead.
Ted was the first one out, and easily hefted the camera bag with a single arm. “Spooky!” He glanced at his watch. “Hmm. Might have to use the camera light. I hope it doesn’t ruin the shot too much.”
Beth kept her jacket high up on her neck. “It’ll be fine.” She laced the microphone through her jacket and then turned to do the same to Richard.
His heart fluttered as she began to pull around his loose jacket, and he immediately regretted not having dressed nicer and a bit warmer. He took a deep breath, and the air chilled his lungs.
“Just a little cool out here, right?” asked Beth.
He puffed out his chest, trying his best to look as tough as Ted.
Beth faced the side mirror of the van to adjust her hair one last time. She then walked over to several large gravestones that were set beneath a crooked tree. With a smile, she motioned for Richard to join her and, together, they waited for Ted.
Ted hefted the heavy camera onto his shoulder. “Ready?” She nodded and Ted counted down.
“This is Beth Sanders with WB19 and I’m here with Richard Fitcher, local witch hunter.” While Beth seemed to glow in the camera’s light, Richard suddenly felt awkward and unprepared. “He’s invited us onto a witch hunt in time for autumn. There have been reports of obscure activities here in Bridgedale, and we’re here to get to the bottom of it!” She giggled and turned to Richard. “Richard, earlier today you told me we needed to come to this graveyard because of the dark energy here, and that it will help your investigation. What do you hope to do here?”
Don’t screw up, don’t screw up, don’t screw up.
Now that the camera was actually on him, Richard felt far more aware of his red hat, his faded jacket, the few extra pounds he carried, and a hundred other things that suddenly demanded his full attention.
Don’t screw up, don’t screw up.
“Richard?” Beth pushed the microphone a little closer to him.
“Yes!” Richard cleared his throat and looked directly into the camera. “There’s a witching here in Bridgedale. A blight upon the land, and it’s up to those who would stand against the forces of darkness to take up the vigil. We must hold the candle in the dark, lest the darkness cover us all.”
“Yeah, fantastic! And we’re coming along for the trip!” Beth smiled, showing her unblemished teeth. “But what is it you plan to do here, Richard?”
“Oh yeah, right.” Richard composed his voice once again. “With the energies here, we’ll locate the source of the blight, of this plague. From there, we’ll bring the fire.”
“Right.” Beth turned back to the camera. “You’ve heard it here folks, we’re out here saving the day so you can sleep well at night!” She smiled wide until Ted turned the camera off.
Ted pulled the camera down and snorted to Beth. “You want to do another shot?”
She shook her head, “I’m freezing. Let’s just get what we can and get going.” She turned and looked at Richard. “Richard, listen, just be yourself, okay? Don’t worry about trying to impress us. Let’s be honest here, at best this story’s going to be a five-minute clip on the evening news. Just answer my questions and we keep this thing rolling. Let the editors add in the spooky music and what not. That’s what they get paid for. You just take it easy.”
Richard felt his heart sink deep into his chest. “Oh, okay,” he said.
No one told me we were filming any of this.
Beth gave him a soft smile and placed her hand on his. “Don’t worry, the editing room will chop this all up and make it interesting, I promise.”
“Fine.” He slid on the best smile he could and then turned to grab his satchel from the van.
A cold, vaporous trail formed from Richard’s mouth as he breathed; the night’s chill set in quickly. The moon rose to greet them as clouds rolled over it. He unzipped the satchel and took out a brown-red bowl with carvings on it similar to his knife. He placed it on the ground and knelt to fill it with water from a bottle.
Beth leaned in to watch over his shoulder. “I thought you said it had to be local water?”
“It is. I gathered it from the stream before you arrived.”
Richard then walked from grave to grave. He gathered just a bit of dirt from each and collected it in a small paper cup. “Dead man’s dirt,” he mumbled to no one in particular.
A howling wind came blowing through like a cry of warning, tearing at Richard’s hat and nearly taking it from his head. He gasped and held it down. The hair on his neck rose and an eerie feeling crawled beneath the skin of his back. The wind grew weaker, and where it howled before, it only whispered now—whispered tortured moans of warning and threats of pain, in a language Richard couldn’t understand. He held for a moment, waiting for it to make sense.
“Maybe that’s your witch, huh Richard? Maybe he’s getting pissed off!” Ted said with a laugh.
Richard didn’t laugh. He turned and looked out across the graveyard and jumped when he saw one of the shadows move out of view, then sighed when he realized it was only a tree swaying beneath the moon. “Yeah…” The whispers stopped, but something was wrong. He felt like something was there, moving in the graveyard. Something they couldn’t see. Something behind a gravestone or lurking beneath the ground, watching.
Ted chuckled again, and Richard returned to the bowl. “Are you going to get this part on video?” Richard held the paper cup of graveyard dirt just above it.
“Sure. Why not?” Ted aimed the camera at Beth and turned it on.
She plastered on her practiced grin. “Richard, tell us what it is you’re doing here.”
“This is a little method I’ve learned for tracking.” His voice kept steady and without theatrics. “We mix a few things together inside this ceremonial bowl and place this dagger inside.” He held the blade up for the camera. It glinted in the light, lethally sharp.
“That’s a pretty unique dagger there, Richard.” Beth inspected it with some distance between her and him.
“Well, it’s a very unique build.”
The handle was carved from a tree where a witch was hanged, and the blade was forged by a priest inside a church.
Richard kept that part to himself, though.
“My, uh, organization sent me this one. It’s important when tracking a witch.”
&nb
sp; Beth’s smile tightened. She watched as Richard pulled up the bowl and dumped the grave-dirt inside. Above them, lighting cracked as a storm cut through the sky. Richard peeked up at the sky and then looked down at the swirling dirt and water in the bowl. An eerie sense of dread nestled into the back of his mind, just as the wind had. He’d never felt this way before, never had this glut of pained emotions digging its way through him. Ignoring it all, he placed the dagger into the water and held the bowl up just below his chin. It bobbed up and down, the metal blade sinking as the wooden handle kept afloat. Richard began to chant some words, “Carpe et ferrum illud—”
Beth cut in, “So, as you said, you’ll chant now and it’ll point us in the direction of the witch? Was that Latin I heard?”
Richard cleared his throat and nodded. “Yeah, Latin. After I finish, it should work.” Beth smiled at that, the Latin. A renewed sense of energy washed over him.
Richard began chanting again as the knife shifted around in the bowl. “Carpe et ferrum illud. Ostende mihi pythonissam.” He slowed the words and finished the chant, “Ostende mihi pythonissam.” The dagger bobbed a little, still angled down over one of the graves. Richard had done this trick before, with the same results.
“I guess we have a winner! I think its rig—HOLY SHIT!” Richard’s eyes went wide. The blade snapped up to level with the water, as if a ghostly hand wrenched it into action. It turned halfway around in a quick motion and went dead still. The water seemed undisturbed and was completely motionless despite the movement of the blade. Richard nearly dropped the bowl.
“What was that?” Beth whispered. “What just happened?”
“I’ve never seen it move like that.” The words fumbled in his mouth. “I’ve never seen it move so fast.”
“Did you get that all on camera?” Beth shot a wide-eyed look back to Ted, who gave her a thumbs-up. She motioned for Ted to bring the camera over to her. “You’ve seen it folks, we’re on the trail! We’ll be here all night until—” Suddenly rain began to pour down on them. “Ah, this is Beth Sanders of WB19, signing off!” She smiled for the camera before Ted lowered it. Cursing, she ran toward the van. Thunder and lightning clashed overhead as it rained onto them.
