Salem's Daughters

by Stephen Tremp

  “So we prepared to separate our souls from our bodies. This was an ancient and most difficult magic within our craft. As our physical bodies fell to the ground in a heap, our souls entered a litter of young cats in the first of their nine lives.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Bob finally said.

  “Ah, Boring Bob. I’m not surprised. Here. Brace yourself. Maybe this will help.”

  Debbie felt something, or someone, invading her mind. Numbness began to dull her will. She could only explain it as a presence penetrating the defenses of her resolve. It controlled her thoughts while leaving her free will to wonder and question the events unfolding inside her head.

  Debbie wretched and clutched her head in defiance. But she couldn’t stop the stream of thoughts entering from the left and parading across her mind.

  The images came swiftly. Sound followed. It was as if she were watching a movie, then sucked into the scene. The landscape was vivid and laden with emotion. Emily’s bitterness and hatred consumed Debbie to the point she felt she was living in the event. She could feel the cool temperatures and a mist in the air.

  An auburn haired woman of seventeen led dozens of young women racing down a muddy moonlit two-wheel path through a heavily wooded area. They desperately tried to outrun a mob with torches and pitchforks. With the clothes everyone wore, the muskets and flintlock pistols the pursuers fired, Debbie discerned this had to be Colonial America.

  “That would be me,” Emily said, the words hostile and bitter. “Trying to save my people from a mob of drunken idiots.”

  Debbie saw some fall in midstride. Three horsemen rode to the front of the riotous throng and chopped down the women with pistols and hatchets.

  “See that innocent young girl,” Emily spat out. “She’s my beloved sister, Sarah. She was only fifteen. Sarah had her whole life ahead of her. I promised my mother I would watch over her.”

  Debbie couldn’t move. She felt like her vocal cords were rusted shut. Her eyes were forced to stay open and watch the madness and carnage unfold. Her focus zeroed in on Sarah as she saved Emily’s life, but was cut down by a hatchet between her shoulders.

  Then Debbie plunged deeper into the vision. She felt the hooves of horses thundering on the ground. An intense pain of the cold night air, being forced in and out of her lungs as she was also running for her life, was overwhelming.

  More young women were gashed down to the left and right. Up ahead, a barn stood. The doors opened on their own. Emily led the women in with the three horsemen, then the doors closed moments before the mob could reach them.

  The scene fast forwarded to two of the horsemen dead on the ground. The third was naked and babbling like a madman to his horse.

  There were over twenty women in the barn. One, a dark haired beautiful girl about the same age as Emily, began running in a circle. A younger woman, the spitting image of the circling girl, and most likely a younger sister, encouraged her on. A small fire started in the center.

  “Rebecca,” Debbie managed to eke out.

  “That’s right,” Emily said, the repulsive vile still in her voice. “That’s Rebecca. And Annie was her younger sister.”

  Oh, shit, was all Debbie could think. No wonder Annie always followed Rebecca around Murcat Manor. Annie, who died in the basement last night during the filming of American Ghost Stories.

  Rebecca stopped, looked to the top of the barn, and threw her arms in the air. Four streams of fire arched upward then dropped into the four corners of the barn. Livestock became restless. Horses and cows looked dangerous as they panicked. Within moments, the enormous building was ablaze with light as smoke filled the air.

  A searing pain consumed Debbie’s being, as if she were one of them. She felt like she was being turned inside out as she left her body and entered a cat. She watched through the wildcat’s eyes as the women collapsed on the dirt floor, eyes wide open.

  Their souls escaped from their mouths and fought for a feline host as they kicked the souls of the host cats out of their respective bodies with a quick but powerful hex. The battle for a host was intense but brief. Some would win and live to breathe another day. The rest would die.

  Debbie snapped back to reality. Bob. He was shaking her. She was breathing heavily. Her head was soaked with sweat.

  “Only thirteen of the original thirty-nine survived that night.”

  Emily. She was sitting on the center cushion of the sofa again. Her voice was calm with a hint of superiority.

  “Twenty-six of my sisters died in the forest between Salem and Boston four hundred years ago. Thirteen of us escaped. Long story short, we were adopted by families over the first six of our nine lives, the most recent being you and Bob. In our third life, our adopted family moved westward across New England, through Pennsylvania into Ohio, and then southern Michigan. And here we now are.”

  Debbie’s evening had been a roller coaster ride of emotions. She felt overwhelmed and on the verge of fainting. But she had to be strong. And Bob, her strength, was beside her. Together they would kill Emily and whoever remained from her four hundred year old coven.

  Emily continued to laugh and mock them. “Murcat Manor is going to burn. Burn, do you hear me? Leveled into a festering heap of smoking ashes. And we’ll frame you and Boring Bob for the murder of your grandparents. Isn’t that right, ladies?”

  Debbie was unable to express any words as she watched the other cats, one by one, file into the living room. They lined up on each side of Emily. Debbie did the math. Six cats in front of her. Four dead that she knew of. That left three missing. Isabella. Madelyn. But the most disturbing absence was Rebecca. Not good.

  “We must be imagining this,” Bob said. “The stress. That has to be it.”

  Emily sighed. Her condescending voice returned.

  “Boring Bob, will you ever be a believer? Maybe this will help. I’ll get right to the point so not to lose your attention. These are our powers. Listen up. Pay attention. This is important. Especially since you’re going to die. Midnight, she can teleport herself.”

  Midnight disappeared from the overturned sofa. Debbie looked left and right, then saw the black cat materialize on the other side of the room. Before Debbie could process the impossible feat, Midnight was gone, only to emerge from behind the sofa. She jumped back up and took her place next to Emily.

  “Okay, okay. That’s enough. Thank you, Midnight. Save some of your energy for later. Moving on, Helen can lock, unlock, and reverse the flow of solids, liquids, and electricity. And for the record, she killed Paul Knudson at the breakfast table by causing him to gag and have a heart attack at the same time. She also cross-switched the Leeds brothers minds.”

  Debbie tried to say something. Anything. But Emily cut her off.

  “Please, don’t interrupt. It’s rude. Next, we have Esther. Let’s just say she can blow things up. And it was Esther, along with Scarlett and Angel, who killed DeShawn Hill. Darrowby thinks it was Bob on the roof and pushed the ladder backward. But it was Esther who caused the energy explosion to thrust the ladder backward and send him to his death.”

  Debbie again attempted to interrupt, but Emily looked her off and continued.

  “Rebecca isn’t here at the moment. She starts fires. But you saw that in our little trip back in time. She’s the loose cannon of the group. And it was Rebecca who torched the Turner place and the Amish farm. She also melted Indian Joe’s brain.”

  Emily had the momentum. Her speech sped up, her ego and bitterness from the past dictating the pace of the conversation.

  Debbie again wanted to interrupt and ask where Isabella and Madelyn were. But she thought better of trying to take the momentum away from Emily. Let her talk. The only option Debbie had was to extract information that would help find their strengths and weaknesses. Then she would have to find a way to exploit them and send the witches to hell where they belonged.

  Talk away, Emily. Your pride will be your downfall.

  Bob started to raise the shotgun.
Debbie placed her hand on his forearm and eased it down. She gave him a sideways glance telling him to let Emily talk.

  “What else, Emily? Now that I think about it, our guests died in diverse ways. But I think you’d consider them cunning and clever.”

  “You’re so pathetically naïve. I mean, come on. You’re only now making the connections? And even then, only after I have to explain them to you, as if you’re a child.”

  Debbie fired back. “Don’t underestimate me. I’m a lot smarter than you take me for.”

  Emily rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Moving on. Next, we have Chloe.”

  The ginger cat to her right raised and waved her paw as if to say hello.

  “Chloe is my cousin in our human lives four hundred years ago. She can levitate things, drop them, or fire them across the room. Like Bob’s fifteen pound bowling ball, which,” she gave Bob a sly wink and a pernicious grin, “we all know is covered with your fingerprints. Yes Debbie, the ball that smashed your grandfather’s head. The shameless pig. Chloe, show Debbie and Boring Bob what you can do.”

  Debbie could only watch as again, there were no words to describe what she was seeing. Midnight and Helen were lifted four feet off the sofa, then reversed positions and lowered back on the cushions.

  With each new revelation, Debbie’s world unraveled just a little more. But she had to accept that her perceived existence, the universe she was indoctrinated in through public schools, college, and a conservative church was failing her. There was more to the reality she lived in, and Emily and the rest had tapped into it, albeit in a dark way.

  “Do you want to see more?” Emily continued. “Oh, I’m not finished. This gets so much better.”

  Debbie heard Emily’s tone and pitch again increase. It oozed with pride and arrogance.

  “Scarlett, she’s truly amazing. Say hello Scarlett.”

  The brown and white striped cat raised her right paw and waved it back and forth.

  “Scarlet says hi. She can toss a bout of madness on a person. This makes it easy to not only plant thoughts like I’m doing now, but to nudge someone to carry out, under our influence, acts they would never commit on their own.”

  Debbie thought back to Sophia Johnson, who impaled her husband with an iron fireplace poker. “Sophia. You got into her mind and made her kill her husband.”

  “That crazy lady from Detroit in the Disco room? You bet. And Scarlett totally messed with Johnny Rocket from American Ghost Stories last night. Poor ol’ Johnny. He’ll never be the same.”

  Debbie remembered Erma’s follow up report earlier in the day on the cast from American Ghost Stories. Johnny Rocket had been committed to a mental hospital. The Leeds Brothers were sure to follow.

  Emily’s voice crackled. “Care for a personal demonstration?”

  “No,” Debbie shouted. “Don’t you dare, you aberration from the Bottomless Pit.”

  Bob gulped in air and gripped the shotgun tight. Debbie averted her attention from Emily to her husband. His knees buckled. He trembled as his knuckles turned white. He fought to keep the shotgun pointed to the floor.

  Debbie didn’t like what was coming next.

  “Honey, the gun. Help me. Make it stop.”

  Debbie snapped her head back. “Emily, stop it now,” she commanded. “Bob, just shoot her.”

  “I can’t. I’m trying to. But, I—I just want to shoot those stupid punk kids upstairs.”

  Two blasts boomed in the living room. Debbie ducked, then looked up at large matching holes in the ceiling. She could see into the Roadhouse Blues. Fortunately, the Goths were on the other end of the upstairs hall.

  “Oh, here’s the real kicker in all of this,” Emily said. “Since I possess each individual power I can team up with Scarlett and better break down Bob’s will, then control his thoughts and actions.”

  The Ramones abruptly stopped. The sound of a door opening upstairs and boots running in a disorderly haste rumbled overhead. The Goths and Vamps ran through the hall and poured down the stairs.

  They screamed and shouted and fought each other as they descended to the first floor. The group ended in a heap of twisted arms and legs at the bottom of the stairs as Bob waved the shotgun at them.

  Some untangled themselves and ran out the front door. Others headed toward the kitchen for the back door. A few remained frozen in fear, unsure of what to do next.

  “I can’t control myself. Debbie, you have to help me.”

  Debbie reached for the gun, but Bob brought it level with her head. Debbie ducked a second before he fired; the heat from the blast singed her scalp.

  Bob swept the gun left toward the front door. Debbie saw his finger squeezing the trigger against his will. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he fought the urge to kill. He jerked the gun upward and destroyed the chandelier in the living room. Glass rained down on the escapees heading for the back door.

  More laughter reverberated in Debbie’s mind. Emily. The hilarity was hysterical. She was intensely entertained by this.

  “You’re both losers,” Emily mocked. “Look at us. We have such amazing abilities you know nothing of. We’ve had four hundred years to perfect our craft. All you have is a stupid shotgun that we can control through Bob. You’re both as good as dead.

  “In this life and the past life, during the nineteen-sixties, Madelyn, who is one of the world’s greatest geniuses, has researched the discoveries and breakthroughs of energy and matter. She studied Albert Einstein and other great scientists of your time using books, magazines, and your laptops.

  “Energy and matter. They’re the same thing. Once we understood that, we discovered we could increase our powers. And here’s one trick I’ve learned during this lifetime. We used this on your grandmother in the basement. And on you in the kitchen. It totally confused both of you.”

  Debbie thought of the times she’d found Madelyn staring at their laptops. She’d thought it was cute. Now she understood the cats were learning how to increase their powers to a degree they never knew possible until now.

  Another invisible burst of heat knocked her on her back. Debbie staggered to her feet and shuffled toward Bob, trying to step into him and take the gun. But Bob again turned and aimed for her head. She hit the floor as Bob fired off a round, then returned his attention to the last Goth. It was one of the girls.

  “Emily, you don’t have to do this. Just leave.”

  Debbie expected Emily to laugh at her. At least say something that would put her down. Instead, there was silence.

  Debbie looked up from the floor. Bob was tiring. The physical and emotional energy he’d spent to fight off the spell was exhausting him.

  “Emily, this is our property. Not yours. I command you to stop this roguishness now.”

  Again, there was silence from Emily.

  Why was she quiet during this crucial moment? Ever since Emily had introduced herself, she couldn’t stop talking.

  Debbie had an epiphany. What if the battle for Bob’s mind was also expending Emily and Scarlett’s energy? It took energy to use energy. If Bob was tiring to the point of exhaustion, then so must be Emily and the rest of the cats.

  That’s why Emily had become strangely silent rather than boasting of their superiority. Emily must be tiring, too.

  This insight jump-started Debbie. Emily wasn’t invincible. She had weaknesses. And it was time to exploit them.

  “You can do this, Bob. Fight the urge. Emily and Scarlett have to be getting weak too. This will come down to whoever quits first. You can do this.”

  Tears streamed down Bob’s face. “I’m trying. But I just can’t help myself.”

  “I’m here for you. Don’t give in. You can do this. We can do this. Together.”

  Bob closed his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

  The final Goth had run for the front door. The young woman who was the only civil one of the bunch—the lead Goth’s girlfriend named Brooke—was the last to leave.

  For all Bob’s might, he couldn’t r
esist Emily and Scarlett’s control. All he could do was shout, “Look out.”

  Sounds of crashing and breaking glass came from the coffee table. Feline screeches, the eeriest she had ever heard, filled the room, then went silent. Bob jerked the gun toward the floor and fired. A hole appeared. Debbie could see into the basement.

  Bob once again had full control of himself. He turned to Debbie, looked down at the coffee table, and grinned.

  “Nice job,” he said between breaths. “Thanks honey,”

  Debbie stood by the table with a large serrated hunting knife in her hand. On the floor, a cat lay in a pool of her own blood, her entrails spilled out through several wide open cuts.

  “I killed Scarlett,” Debbie said, her body shaking and voice cracked. “Emily and Scarlett were so focused on you, as were the others cats, I was able to grab the hunting knife I had strapped to my ankle and gutted the hellion.”

  Debbie pulled up her pant leg and showed Bob the Velcro knife holder around her ankle, then re-strapped the knife. “I wish DeShawn Hill were still alive, if only to thank him for the guns and knife he placed behind the drywall in our bedroom.”

  Bob, still out of breath, found a way to huff out, “Thanks again. I’m back. We’re back.” Bob gave Debbie a quick but deep kiss. “Now let’s kill some time traveling sorceresses.”

  Chapter 58 The Hunt is On

  Debbie took the lead. Not because she didn’t trust Bob or his leadership. She respected him more than any man in the world. But Bob was exhausted after his battle with Emily and Scarlett. His skin was drained of color. His shoulders were hunched and he had trouble standing up straight. His words were spoken in broken phrases. She’d give him a few minutes to recover.

  Debbie scanned the living room. Emily and her disciples had disappeared. Except Midnight. She sat on the fireplace mantle, staring at them.

  “There.” Debbie nudged Bob with her elbow. “Midnight. She’s on the mantle fireplace. She looks tired and disoriented. I think she’s trying catch her breath.”