Salem's Daughters

by Stephen Tremp

  Emily yawned and closed her eyes for the cameras, playing completely bored with the research and lecture.

  Denise spoke directly into the camera. “But let’s not stop with numerical concepts. Over history, cats were mystical characters that have delighted and terrified people for thousands of years.”

  Emily rolled on her back and playfully patted her paws in the air, mimicking batting at a piece of yarn.

  “Recent research shows cats may have been first domesticated in Mesopotamia. They lived in close association with humans in Egypt four thousand years ago. In ancient Upper and Lower Egypt, religious acts were centered on animals, including cats. The females were revered as goddesses and received the same mummification rites as humans. Cats controlled vermin and snake populations, although that would be difficult to tell by looking at these six lazy felines.”

  Just keep talking sweet cakes, Emily thought as she yawned again.

  “They were highly regarded in Rome and Greece, but not worshipped. However, in China, the myth was that the gods appointed cats to oversee the beginning of the world and they were granted the power to speak.”

  Denise turned back to Emily. “Tell me, my purring fluffy little friend, can you speak?”

  Henry poked at Emily. “Well, this one looks completely bored. Like a total waste of a life. I don’t think she’s listening to a word you’re saying.”

  Denise slapped Henry’s probing arm aside. “Don’t be fooled. Cats are nocturnal. It’s already past midnight.” Denise pointed at Emily. “This cat should be out prowling. Why, Henry, is she and five other cats down in the basement sleeping?”

  Before Henry could answer, Denise motioned for one of the cameraman to step up and focus in on Emily.

  “Oh, I’m getting strong vibes from this one. What's your name, little kitty?"

  Emily calmly lifted her head and stared at Denise through wide open eyes. She placed the thought loud in Denise's mind.

  Emily.

  Denise jerked upright and rubbed her ears.

  “What's the matter,” Ned asked.

  “That was almost deafening. I definitely heard her say her name was Emily. Didn't any of you hear it?”

  Ned and Henry looked at each other. “No,” Henry said. He reached out and held Emily’s name tag from her collar in his fingers. “But this tag clearly states her name is Emily. Maybe you noticed this and thought you heard it.”

  “I’m not stupid. And by the way Henry, you’re an idiot.”

  Denise placed her fingers in her ears and massaged them. “My eardrums nearly exploded.” She looked at the crew. “Really? No one heard that?”

  As both cameramen turned their attention on Denise, Emily took advantage of the distraction and jumped down to the floor.

  Denise, now infuriated, looked around for Emily. “Hey, where'd that cat go?”

  She trotted around the basement shining her flashlight back and forth across the floor. “Here, kitty kitty kitty. Come out, come out, wherever you are, you little shit.”

  Denise looked behind a stack of boxes marked Industrial Cleaning Products. “You can’t hide from me. I’m not fooled by your calm and mushy demeanor. Everyone else may be. But not me.”

  “Um, are you alright,” Ned said. “You’ve never acted like this. It’s just a cat.”

  Henry added, “For the first time, I’m a little creeped out. I thought we’re looking for active paranormal activity. Not lazy cats.”

  “We are,” Denise snapped. “It’s the cats, you stupid sack of monkey nuts. Haven’t you figured it out yet? Do I have to do all the work?”

  “Whoa. Take it easy. No need to snap at us.”

  Denise gave Henry a dismissive sweep of her arm. She moved to another corner of the basement. “Just keep the cameras rolling and follow me. The trail ends here. I promise you, tonight will be our biggest night.”

  The cameramen followed Denise as she talked, broke away to pan the basement, then focused again on the female star. Emily waited until Denise made her way to the south wall and jumped back up on the shelf with the dented cans of fruit cocktail.

  “There you are. Look at you. I’m not fooled, Emily. You think you’re so coy. But I know you’re the epicenter of everything that’s evil about Murcat Manor.”

  Emily sat and stared, then licked her paws for the viewing audience as she was now in the background behind Denise. Now was the time. She gave the order.

  “Chloe, do your thing.”

  Chapter 43 Confrontation

  Before Denise could say another word, her hair started to lift and float, as if it had broken free from Earth's gravity. First, the bottom ends curled up. Next, entire sections bobbled and rose. They lifted and fanned out in a fantastic display, swaying as though a gentle breeze casually blew through them.

  The cameramen, mouths agape, filmed Denise from both sides. Ned and Henry simply pointed, unable to utter a word.

  Denise was so engaged with Emily she didn’t know her hair, live for a viewing audience of over two million people, had left its rightful place off her shoulders and back. It swayed back and forth, forming a two foot aura that framed her smug face.

  Emily glanced over at the other cats. “It’s begun.”

  Denise was now mocking Emily, oblivious to her rising hair. Emily stared at the TV hostess, raised her right paw, and made a sweeping motion. Five large cans of fruit cocktail fell on their sides and rolled off the shelf and onto the floor. She repeated the process with her left paw. Five more cans joined the mess on the concrete below.

  Denise turned to face her crew. “Hey, are you morons getting this?”

  “Whoa,” Henry said. “Your hair.”

  “My hair? What about it?”

  “It’s like,” he made a billowing gesture with his arms. “Floating?”

  “Floating? Look, numb nuts, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but turn those cameras around. That cat, Emily, she’s doing magical things.”

  The two cameramen focused on Denise as she pointed at Emily, then the ruined cans of fruit on the floor.

  “Yes. Your hair,” one of the cameramen said. “I’ve never seen anything like this in my three seasons on this show. Have to admit, up until now I thought you three were full of shit. This was the only job I could get and you paid well and treated me right. But right now, I’m a believer. This place is haunted.”

  Denise stuttered over her words as she looked up. Her initial response was she was spellbound, but still trying to lead the show for the live audience. She frantically matted down her prized hair, only to have it drift up again. She ran her fingers through it, then swatted at the billowing tresses. After a few more failed attempts, she gave up and focused back on Emily.

  “Guys, get your cameras on Emily. I know she’s the source of the evil at Murcat Manor.”

  Denise tried again to pull her hair down, only to watch it leave her shoulders and drift above her head.

  “They’re just messing with me. Playing their immature games. My hair, this is just a distraction. Focus on that stupid good for nothing cat.”

  “Stupid, are we? Nobody calls me stupid,” Emily shouted to Denise. The hostess stood ramrod stiff at Emily’s second internal communication.

  “Helen, your turn.”

  Emily stared at Denise with proud satisfaction as Helen cross-switched the thoughts of Ned and Henry’s brains. The process occurred in an instant. There was no outward motion from either of the brothers. No jerking of the shoulders or twitching of the mouths. Their eyes didn’t bulge. They didn’t cough or buckle over. But Emily knew the maternal twins now thought they were each other.

  “Are you crazy,” Henry said. “You’re the star of the show. Look at your hair. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  Denise fired back. “I don’t take orders from you. Ned’s the leader. It’s his show.”

  “I am Ned. Denise, as much as I respect you and your abilities, I think I need to take you upstairs. It’s getting the bett
er of you. Henry can take over.”

  “No. You’re Henry. And I never liked you. You’re a loser and here only because of your brother Ned. Damn it Johnny, don’t just stand there fondling your balls. Do something.”

  She aimed her flashlight at the five cats on Raymond’s workbench. “And don’t forget about the rest of those cats. I want those cameras on them. Now.”

  Emily knew the floating hair gimmick would keep the cameramen’s attention on Denise, the star of the show. Time to move forward.

  “Annie, you’re up.”

  Behind the cameramen on the workbench, Chloe levitated Scarlett, Helen, and Jacqueline. Emily’s cousin once again demonstrated her ability to raise three cats, circle them in a tight orbit, then gently lower them back down.

  With the cameras still aimed at Denise, and the Leeds brothers and Johnny Rocket staring at her, the female hostess was the only one seeing the airborne wonder. She stared in awe, trying to formulate words. All she could do was point her flashlight at them, her long bushy red hair still floating around her head like it had a will of its own.

  Johnny’s words were squeamish as he looked on Denise’s hair with an open jaw. “Guys,” Johnny cleared his throat and came back in with a slightly deeper tone. “Do what she says. Turn around and get a shot at that cat.”

  The basement fell silent. All cameras, eyes, and flashlights, were now on Emily. She rolled over on her back and lifted a leg, licking herself in places sure to give the television audience something to laugh at.

  “Okay Chloe, mission accomplished with Ned and Henry,” she said as she began playing with her white socks feet for the cameras, then batted her paws in the air. “Their minds have been officially switched. Scarlett, take care of Johnny Rocket. Don’t hold back.”

  The silence was shattered as Johnny grabbed his head, dug his fingernails deep into his scalp, and let out a horrible, deafening scream that echoed off the basement walls. The cameramen turned to their producer. Denise jumped back, visibly terrified for the first time tonight.

  Johnny Rocket, the man who brainstormed the idea of filming live at Murcat Manor, their fearless leader, now whipped his arms at anyone close to him. He connected with one of the cameramen and knocked the camera out of his hands.

  Jacqueline dropped Johnny’s core body temperature to a threatening ninety degrees, causing extreme shivering and mental confusion, adding to his bout of madness. The chance of his heart stopping increased to an alarming rate.

  Johnny Rocket gave the viewing audience what they were looking for. His breakdown, accompanied by burrowing his fingernails into his head then pulling out large chunks of blood-soaked scalp and hair, attested to this not being an act. Ned and Henry each grabbed an arm and pulled him to the ground so he couldn’t further hurt himself.

  “What the hell is happening to him,” Denise screamed, frantically pulling her hair in. She shone her flashlight where Emily should have been. “And where’s that damned evil cat?”

  Johnny screamed in ghoulish howls. He began to beat his head on the pavement. The Leeds brothers fought to control him.

  “Time to go in for the kill,” Emily said. “Annie, raise Johnny’s blood pressure as high and fast as you can. Explode his heart. And bring the noise.”

  The much thinner Johnny Rocket continued to flail on the ground as Ned and Henry fought hard to contain him. Both now had bloody noses and busted lips. Ned spit out a tooth.

  “Annie. Do it now.”

  Johnny continued to wail and punch and kick.

  “Annie, what’s going on?”

  A telepathic scream filled Emily’s head. “Chloe. Was that you?”

  “Yes. Annie, she’s dead.”

  Emily ran to the work bench and jumped to where Annie lay on her side. Emily didn’t need to investigate. She knew her soul had departed her feline body. Annie was certainly dead.

  “Chloe, what just happened?”

  Emily heard the fear in her own cracked voice. Terrified not only at her friend’s death, she discerned something had been unleashed that she couldn’t see, attacking her and her sisters.

  “Chloe. Answer me.”

  Helen’s head was hung, her voice somber. “She can’t. Chloe’s dead too.”

  “That can’t be. What happened?”

  “I don’t know. Like Annie, she just fell over.”

  Across the room, Johnny broke free. The cameramen aimed their flashlights and filmed him as he ran across the side of the basement, arms out like sideswipers, bashing the shelves free of their contents. He screamed and punched at Ned who tried to tackle him.

  Denise stood, shining her flashlight on her hair, again trying in vain to pull it in. Her pride and joy, like liquid vanity, slithered like snakes and escaped through her fingers.

  Emily went to Chloe, but tripped over another cat. It was Jacqueline. She also lay dead. She had simply dropped without a fight.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Emily screamed.

  But her voice was lost. Her last words echoed between the reality she departed and the strange place she was thrust into. Emily Livingston had been ripped out of her body with a terrible force. The searing pain was akin to being turned inside out. She had passed out, if only for a few moments.

  She floated aimlessly with no purpose. One moment, her arms swung over her head. Next, her legs were on top and she fought to regain control of her body, her movement, and the direction she was going. Sensory deprivation prevented her from gaining any restraint, not only from her bodily movements, but her will.

  Silence wailed.

  The absence of noise was anything but peaceful. Now that she had attained a natural reduction of physical stimuli she once believed would bring her peace, she was instead filled with terror. Rather than a serenity that would heal the wounds of her past, she now had no control over her world. Was this a world? Emily was at the mercy of whatever, or whoever, had brought her here in dreadful violence.

  She was in a void of darkness. There was no sense of up or down. She cried out, but struggled to discern the sound of her voice. Emily hadn’t been this terrified since the night four hundred years ago when the mob chased her through the Boston countryside.

  A voice spoke. Vague at first, but as clarity set in and the pain diminished, she recognized the tone and pitch.

  “I have you right where I want you. Don’t try to fight. It will only make things worse for you.”

  Emily struggled to get away. She moved her feet to run. But she was suspended. There was no ground. Her torso and arms were caught in a sticky net or possibly a spider’s web.

  She gulped in air and shouted out, “Where am I? Why did you bring me here?”

  “I’m an old friend from the Turner place. I was a much younger man then. But with all the people coming and going, I’m not surprised you do not remember me.”

  The voice was now crisp and clear.

  Indian Joe.

  “Oh, and in response to your question, where are you? Very simply, you’re in my Soul Catcher.”

  Soul Catcher?

  “Let me enlighten you.”

  A light shone on Emily. She could see her arms. Her hands. She wiggled her fingers, but she didn’t feel like flesh and blood. Yet somehow she had her original pinkish and frail human form.

  “Some of your friends are here, too.”

  Emily looked around. As she tuned into her present reality, she began to make out their forms to her left. Their screams became clearer. Louder.

  Annie.

  Chloe.

  Jacqueline.

  “What is it you want?” Emily cried out, struggling with her wrists, trying with all her might to escape her entrapment.

  “It’s not what I want. It’s what needs to be done. You are true evil, as are your twelve friends. You killed the Amish family. Then somehow, by a magical power I’ve never seen, you came back and killed everyone at the Turner place. And now you’ve returned again and killed five innocent people at Murcat Manor.

&nbs
p; “I saw the reports on the news, and I knew the same wickedness that worked on this property when I was a young man is back. Now, I’m going to stop you once and for all so you can no longer continue this cycle of murder.”

  Emily strained against her imprisonment. But the more she moved, the more she became entangled. She looked up at a figure descending upon her with a long knife that looked more like a short sword.

  “You’re going to kill us with that?”

  Indian Joe’s voice was calm and calculated. “No. I’m not a murderer, like you. What remains of my life is short, and I do not want to have to account for your shed blood at my day of judgment.”

  The man wielded his long knife above his head as if it were an extension of his arm. “You are truly witches whose souls inhabit cats. The fact I saw you fifty years ago at the Turner Place tells me you have tapped into strong magic that has given you nine lives.

  “And I detect a mixture of English and New England accent in your voice, so I conclude you came out of Colonial America. I can only hope this life is as close to if not your final life, and that you never again leave the Netherworld. With any luck, you will go straight to your final judgment."

  Indian Joe, not fully flesh and blood, but very much real, was not willing to negotiate. Emily had but a few moments to hatch an escape plan. Or die.

  Chapter 44 Strong Magic

  Emily tried to make sense of her desperate situation. She didn’t know where she was. The shaman-like powers Indian Joe used were far beyond anything she had experienced over her four centuries. The terrifying screams of Annie, Chloe, and Jacqueline howling in undiluted panic for her help only added to the confusion.

  To further intensify their plight, her abilities, along with her sisters, were useless in the steely interlaced threads. For one short second, Emily chided herself for not having Madelyn research spiritual matters in addition to the scientific.

  They had four centuries to do so. Emily and her following were professionals in her own tight knit realm. But now, she was thrust out of her element. She was completely ignorant and at the mercy of a foe she damn sure should have been prepared for.