One Night in Salem

by Amber Newberry

  “We’ll be right down!” Patti called as the three girls hurried out of the costumes and back into their clothes.

  Barbara was dressed first, and she reached for the Stereoscope again, this time, curious about the simple, three dimensional viewing device, itself. She examined the floral details in the tin, noticing the wear to the outside and a tiny set of initials, “F.O.” for “Francine O’Connor” carved into the wooden handle. She held it to her eyes without a slide. There were some minor scratches on the left lens. She looked through them and stared at Stella, who said she looked like a space cadet.

  “How do I look?” Stella questioned, placing a hand on her hip and the other in her hair.

  “Like you just had a roll in the hay,” Barbara teased, “You missed a button,” she then said, pointing with her free hand, the Stereoscope still over her eyes. As Stella looked down, a growing stain of red appeared at her chest, running down her torso and onto her skirt. Stella’s face twisted into some indication of intense pain and horror.

  “Oh God, Stella, oh my God!” Barbara screamed as she watched her friend contort and writhe in convulsions. Blood appeared at her lips and poured from her mouth, down her chin, drenching her starched, white collar.

  “What is wrong with you?” Patti said, snatching the Stereoscope from Barbara’s hand. Barbara looked from Patti to Stella, catching her breath, waiting for her heart to stop beating wildly against her chest. Stella was herself again, not a drop of the crimson from her lips or her sweater.

  “I don’t know what came over me…I…I must have been daydreaming,” Barbara said between breaths, slowly calming.

  “Better keep this one off the gin,” Stella teased as Patti handed the Stereoscope back to Barbara.

  “Help me clean this up. We’d better get down there before Mother comes up and sees these costumes lying out,” Patti instructed.

  The girls gathered everything up, and as Barbara placed the old Stereoscope into its box, she noticed a folded slip of paper that seemed to have scripture written on it. “Thy will be done,” it said in splattered black ink, scrawled in what might have been exquisite cursive, if it wasn’t written by someone who was obviously shaking. Barbara folded it back up and placed it in the box where it belonged, before following her friends down the stairs, carrying two large, plastic ghosts.

  ** *

  After the final bell, Barbara met Stella and Patti at her father’s car. She was to drive it home and then the three would spend an hour or two downtown, watching the costumed children parading about, before heading to Patti’s to get dressed. Barbara was quiet as she drove, while Patti and Stella excitedly talked about who they’d see at the party that night. Barbara had been uneasy all day, having experienced a nightmare repeatedly for the past several days. She’d blamed the book she was reading and all of the gothic and horror literature the teachers had focused on over the last week. Her nights had been restless, and she felt tired and dazed.

  “Barb, look out!” Patti screamed in the seat beside her. Something darted across the road, and the tires squealed as Barbara slammed on the brakes coming to a full stop.

  “What was it?” Stella asked.

  “Probably a black cat, it is Halloween, after all!” Patti teased, “You okay? You look startled.”

  “Of course I’m startled! I would’ve been fine if you hadn’t screamed at me!” Barbara glared at Patti, then softened when she saw the look of surprise on her face, “You scared me more than the squirrel did, you ninny!”

  Patti smiled, “Black cat.”

  “It was definitely a squirrel,” Barbara said, driving again.

  When she’d pulled into the space at her apartment building, Barbara insisted she needed to run in for a part of her costume she’d forgotten.

  “I’ll meet you at Bette’s. Just order me an Orange Cream.” With that, Barbara left them. When she got to the third floor apartment, she thought no one was home and headed upstairs, right for her stepmother’s vanity. She sifted through the fine scarves and pulled out a sheer orange one to wear around her neck. She sprayed it with Donatella’s Chanel. She hated the thought of wearing something that belonged to her stepmother, but she knew it was the perfect thing to complete the outfit and she didn’t have any scarves of her own that were orange.

  “All you had to do was ask, Barbara,” Donatella said from the door way.

  “Good, then you don’t mind,” Barbara sang as she walked toward her. Donatella stepped back, allowing her stepdaughter into the hallway with her. She blocked the top of the stairs.

  “What are your plans for tonight?” Donatella wanted to know, a note of parental authority in her tone.

  “I already told Pops, I’m going with Stella and Patti to Caroline’s party,” Barbara started to pass by, to get down the stairs, but paused as her shoulder brushed Donatella’s.

  “You girls should stay in tonight. They still haven’t found who strangled that poor woman at the Langdon Apartments,” Donatella said, sincere concern in her voice. Barbara ignored her, moving toward the stairs. She pictured her stepmother falling down them, the way the second Mrs. Crane had in The Haunting, rolling and rolling all the way down, landing at an unnatural angle at the bottom. As she gleefully pictured the whole thing, she rushed down the stairs and even imagined stepping over her lifeless body at the very bottom.

  “Goodnight, witch!” she yelled behind her as she pulled the apartment door closed, replaying the incident in her head.

  Barbara got to Bette’s just in time to see the waitress place her Orange Cream on the table. She passed the high end scarf around the booth, Stella and Patti cooing over the fabric and the expensive perfume. The three of them watched children passing by outside. There were several white-sheet ghosts, a cowgirl or two, at least five princesses in varying dresses, both store-bought and homemade. People walked up and down the streets, stopping to say ‘hello’ to neighbors, shop-owners, and friends, while the girls looked on, excited to get into their own fancy dress. Barbara’s eyes moved over the people, losing herself in the sea of costumes.

  “Barbara, what is with you, lately?” Patti asked, and Barbara snapped back to the present.

  “Nothing, I’m just a little sleepy, that’s all,” Barbara responded before taking another sip of her pale orange frappe.

  “Hurry up, let’s get going!” Stella said. They paid their tab and headed down Essex Street, which was congested with people making their way to houses for treats, parties, and other festivities. When they reached the local gag shop, Patti insisted the three go in, “Just in case there’s something for our costumes.”

  They tried on glasses with noses and mustaches on them, and they laughed when the owner, dressed as a magician, accidentally sprayed himself with the flower on his lapel. He’d asked Stella to smell it and she’d declined. He retreated to his counter to try and fix his trick daisy. The girls pointed out their favorite board games, and Stella reminded them she could get them all free since her father was an executive at Parker Brother’s.

  “Look at this! Something new and exciting from exotic Japan!” The magically challenged clerk returned and held out a thin envelope with the words “Fortune Teller” printed across a flat red ribbon, hovering above an ocean with a fish leaping from the waves. Below that were the words “Miracle Fish”.

  “I’ve seen these before, they sell them at the five and dime,” Patti said.

  “Just give it a try, you’ll be astounded and delighted!” the magician said, slipping the little, red fish from its paper casing. He handed Barbara the envelope, which had instructions to place the fish on the palm, and then gave examples of what any change to its demeanor meant. He placed the fish, red with gold scaly details, flat on Patti’s hand. He had to rush to the back of the shop to stop a duo of young boys from stealing penny candy, so he left the girls to their own devices. Barbara and Stella looked on as the fish remained flat in Patti’s hand.

  “It doesn’t work!” Patti said, slightly disappointed.
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  “Maybe it’s supposed to do that, what does it mean if it’s flat?” Stella asked. Barbara looked down at the envelope and shuddered visibly.

  “What?” Patti wanted to know.

  “It says when the fish is motionless…it means death,” Barbara told her.

  “Nonsense, let me see that!” Stella said, snatching at the thin, red and white instructions.

  “Nope, she’s right, that’s what it says…Guess Charlie’s going to suck the brain right out of your head through your mouth!” Stella teased.

  “Oh wait, it’s curling up! What does that mean?” Patti begged.

  “It says you’re ‘passionate’…but I think that’s just a nice way of saying stubborn,” Barbara giggled.

  “Hey!” Patti said, resentment in her voice as Stella grabbed the fish.

  “My turn!” Stella squealed. The fish lay flat in her palm.

  “Maybe it just takes a minute,” Barbara insisted, but the fish never moved. It remained in the same position, decumbent and utterly inert. Barbara thought of the nightmares she’d been having, the image of Stella, drenched in her own blood. “This is dumb, let’s go get dressed,” Barbara rushed out the door, the other girls following her.

  As Stella fell into step beside Barbara, she held her palm out for her to see that the fish still remained flat against the lines of her hand.

  “You bought that stupid thing?” Barbara asked.

  “I wouldn’t say I bought it,” Stella smirked, the three of them laughed.

  “You’re a bad girl, Stella Maria Bianchi!” Patti teased.

  They tried not to be too conspicuous as they turned down Derby to make the short walk to Lafayette, ensuring not to make eye contact with anyone they knew from church. It would be best if they didn’t run into anyone their parents might see that night. As they traveled along Lafayette, the three pointed out the best decorations they saw. There were plenty of the same blown plastic ghosts, jack-o-lanterns, and cats that were now arranged on the O’Connor’s lawn, but there were a few homemade pieces that really stood out, including a few pumpkins that had been expertly carved into ghastly luminaries. One house had a bunch of paper maché spiders crawling all over the walls, another had several white ghosts hanging from trees and blowing in the cool October wind. One renegade house had a dummy who appeared to have hanged himself from a second-story balcony.

  Many of the trees had already lost their leaves, the few that still hung on, shivered in the breeze while the already fallen fronds lay in neat piles on manicured lawns. Stray mounds of them formed along the sidewalk, and when the girls came across a yard that hadn’t yet been raked, they marveled at the scattered orange, yellow, red, and brown that dotted the still-green grass. The laughter of children filled the crisp air while off-beat rhythms of knocks and door bells mixed with a chorus of “trick or treat” that sang out into the early evening. As the trio made their way to the old Victorian home, the sky grew orange and pink, a pale ghost of the full moon appeared above Salem, waiting to glow brilliant in the velvet black hiding just beyond twilight.

  When they reached the tall, purple and gray house with the pointed tower, Barbara began to feel sick. She felt dizzy, her mind spinning. She stopped on the path, just before the first step.

  “I don’t feel so good,” she muttered.

  “What’s wrong?” Patti asked, worry apparent.

  “I’m dizzy,” Barbara responded, reaching out to hold onto the short railing.

  “Let’s get you inside and have a glass of water,” Stella said, placing a hand on Barbara’s shoulder. She shrunk away from the touch, and Patti and Stella exchanged a look.

  Once inside, Patti insisted Barbara lay on the couch. Stella brought her a glass of water and told her she should stay there.

  “Just rest a while. We have plenty of time before the party. No one with any sense goes to a real party before nine,” Patti told her.

  “We’re going up to the attic, come up when you feel better,” Stella said as Barbara fell into something between daydreams and nightmares.

  Barbara jolted awake at the sound of high heels on a hardwood floor somewhere behind her.

  “Oh, sorry, Barbie, I didn’t mean to wake you!” Patti said as she passed the parlor, headed toward the back of the house. She called back to her friend, “If you feel better, go on up and get dressed! Stella will help you!” Her voice grew faint the farther away she went.

  Barbara’s head pounded. The furniture twisted into unrecognizable shadows as the floor warped and swelled into hills. Barbara stood and walked unsteadily toward the hallway and then the stairwell, as though she were hypnotized, being dragged along by some silent force. It felt as though someone had tied an invisible rope around her, and pulled from far up the stairs.

  As she climbed up the spiral, she wavered wildly, holding onto the banister as though it were the railing of a ship tumbling over hurricane waves in a ferocious sea. She was overcome with a hunger, mixed with the nausea of starvation. It was as if her very soul begged for subsistence. The pull from the attic was strong, guiding her unsteady, but deliberate steps upward, toward the molasses smooth strains of a crooning Patsy Cline, mixed with the crackle of the old phonograph.

  When she reached the top of the stairs, for a moment, as the record skipped and repeated the word “crazy” again and again, Barbara swayed, nearly tumbling backward down the three-story corkscrew. She stumbled forward, catching herself at the zip of the needle over the record, set straight on the song it was playing. The music filled her head; her heart billowed with intensity as tears began to well up in her eyes, the invisible rope pulling her, still. From the doorway, Barbara saw Stella, dressed in her costume; her hair was glossy black perfection, the end of the ponytail lost against the dark fabric of the bodysuit. She clutched something in the fist of her right hand, dropped at her side. She gently rocked, side to side, lost in the honey-dipped voice of a nightingale they’d lost all too soon. It had broken their hearts, and now, Barbara felt grief anew, knowing what must be done.

  As she stumbled forward, her heel caught on a sheet, disturbing the empty gin bottle, which broke into thick shards against the old, wooden floor.

  “Oh, Barbara! You scared the hell outta me!” Stella laughed until she saw Barbara suddenly collapse into a fit of sobs.

  “Whatever is the matter with you?” Stella dropped to her knees and wrapped an arm about the shoulders of her broken friend.

  “I’m sorry,” Barbara sobbed, “I’m so sorry.” The apology fell from her mouth, a struggle between whimpers.

  “Barbara, for what?” she asked, pulling her closer, “Sorry for what?”

  Stella hadn’t noticed Barbara’s fingers searching the broken glass for a shard that was long and sharp enough. As she clutched the jagged fragment, Barbara yanked Stella’s ponytail to a yelp of pain. She saw Stella as she had through the lens of the Stereoscope, only days prior. She shoved her to the dirty floor and pressed an open palm against her shoulder to hold her down while her rage and sorrow blossomed into a glistening thorn. She brought the shard of glass down into Stella’s flesh, again and again, the crimson spray mixing with salted tears while she wailed in despair against the sound of blood gurgling from Stella’s throat, forcing itself from her lips into a waterfall down her cheeks and chin.

  “I’m sorry!” the glass met flesh, “I’m so sorry,” it tore at beaded fabric and powdered skin, “I’m so sorry,” she repeated to the record skipping on the same word it had before. She moaned the apologies down at her friend, long after the screaming ceased and the blood ran slower from her wounds, mixing with that which poured from Barbara’s hand that still clutched the glass blade.

  Downstairs, Patti heard a knock. She rushed to the door to find a police officer and Barbara’s father standing on the porch. It was dark, now, the gossamer moon hanging among diamond stars in the soft black of the night.

  “I can explain…” Patti began, and paused, searching for a way to explain why she and her
friends were here, and not at Caroline’s Halloween party.

  “Explain why my daughter pushed her stepmother down the stairs?” Barbara’s father asked with a note of both anger and concern that can only be achieved by a parent in panic.

  The men followed Patti up the stairs, the record still skipping at a volume far louder than it would’ve been, had Patti’s parents been home. When they reached the attic room, they found Barbara curled up in the corner, the Stereoscope held over her eyes, no slide placed in the apparatus. She whispered, “Thy will be done,” between the repetition of the skipping record as the ephemeral Devil and all his demons encroached on her.

  Stella lay in a lake of blood, her eyes open, the mascara spread out in blackened rivers down her temples. In her right hand, she clutched the miracle fish, which lay as flat then, as it had that afternoon.

  2016 & 1723

  maiden from the sea

  Charles Reis

  During her free time from classes, Rebecca liked to read up on local ghost stories at the library of Miskatonic University. A few days ago, she read about a story that took place near Great Haste Island that captivated her.

  “Hey, this Halloween, let’s sail to that island,” she suggested.

  Her brother, Richard, responded, “Halloween on the water…sounds cool!”

  They were born into a successful family in Salem, Massachusetts. Both were currently enrolled at Miskatonic, with Rebecca majoring in history while Richard majored in medicine. Going out on Halloween to find ghosts had been their tradition for the past eight years. They invited friends they’d known since high school (Anne, Jack, and Charles) to join them. While they all believed in ghosts, Rebecca was the die-hard paranormal enthusiast.

  When the day arrived, they met at the Palmer Cove Yacht Club, where Richard and Rebecca’s parents kept the family’s fifty-foot-long sailing yacht. Richard came up with the idea to make it a pirate-themed party, so the men wore pirate outfits that included hats and eye patches, but with Richard navigating the boat, he wore a fake mustache instead of an eye patch. Anne’s costume was a “sexy” pirate, while Rebecca wore a white dress that was appropriate for the 18th century. With plenty of booze and pizza on board, they set sail before sunset.