Dark Winter: Trilogy

by Hennessy, John

  Yes, the crucifix was still there. A present from the priest. The man she had come to see. As Beth made her way up the steep approach, her heart sank a little. She felt bad for bringing the thing along with her, believing that she should have gotten rid of it long before now. But maybe, with this being a holy place, the evil contained within it could be destroyed. As long as she believed, it could be destroyed.

  She knew the drinking was a bad idea, but it was a coping mechanism, a way to de-stress. But Toril soon got tired of being hit on at the bars, and Beth, in turn, was losing confidence due to the fact that boys weren’t hitting on her. At least, that was the case when Toril was there.

  So Beth ended up drinking alone, hiding everything underneath her bed or in her closet. On the darker days, not caring if she hid them or not. She could endure the disapproving looks from her grandparents. In those bleary-eyed moments, she could not care less.

  The rain chilled, and spit bullets of hailstones from the sky. Walking up to the church, Beth's hopes sank. There were no lights on. She turned quickly, only to find a figure in black in front of her.

  “Jesus!” said Beth.

  “I don’t think you can elevate me to that level,” said Fr McArdle. “Beth…it is good to see you. What are you doing out here out such a dark winter’s day?”

  Beth had dropped the package in her fright. As the priest kindly went to grab it, Beth put a firm hand on his arm. He had already grabbed the handles of the bag. “It’s alright Father, silly me. I’d best have that. Girl’s stuff, you know?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” said the priest, “but I know what you’re like for a drink. Care to have one?”

  Jesus God Almighty, thought Beth, feeling her jaw tighten and her face flare a red not unlike her own hair. Does he know about the whole bottle under the bed thing? Does he bloody know?

  “A tea, Bethany.”

  Oh. Don’t look too disappointed.

  “That would be just peachy, thanks Father.”

  The priest prepared tea, biscuits, cake. “Oh, just tea, Father, thank you. Watching the figure, you see.”

  “Okay Bethany.”

  Beth noticed that family and acquaintances called her Bethany at first, then it would progress to Beth. ‘Bethany’ seemed more gentle, more disarming. The priest was good at his job, his vocation. Beth explained how she had just come to collect her thoughts and make sense of them.

  The priest remarked how he hadn’t seen so much of her at church, though her grandparents came all the time.

  “In fact, I haven’t seen much of you or your friends at all.”

  Beth countered that the funerals of Jacinta and my parents had taken it out of her. The priest countered this with a come back of his own. That funerals remind the living, to live. Missing Mass wasn’t an option.

  “Not for you, Bethany. Your friends may believe less, or not at all. But not you. You always came to Mass.”

  Beth went quiet for a while and sipped at her tea. One of the cupboards was ever so slightly ajar, and she could see the outline of a whisky bottle. What she would do for a sip of that right now. Then again, it might loosen her tongue too much.

  They verbally sparred for a while longer. Finally, he came out with it.

  “Beth, what happened in the woods to Jacinta?”

  I can’t lie to a priest, thought Beth, but might just have to.

  “She was killed by an axe.”

  Beth looked down towards her lap, and cradled the hot tea in her hands. At least so far she was telling the truth.

  “That is one way to put it, yes,” said Fr McArdle. “Another way is to say she was killed by an axe thrown by a friend of yours. Another way on top of that is to say that she was killed by an axe thrown by Troy Jackson, and to beat Banagher, who beat the devil as you know…that Jacinta was killed by an axe thrown by Troy Jackson because of you.”

  “What? I mean, sorry, what?”

  “Well. If not you, your other friends, Toril Withers and Romilly Winter. Where is Troy Jackson, Beth? A boy doesn’t simply disappear. Do you know Beth, that the Jacksons come up here, to the graveyard, every day to bless Jacinta’s grave, and that of Romilly’s parents? Did you know that they bless your parent’s graves? And yet they tell me that neither you, Romilly or worst of all – Toril – have had no chats with them since the funerals.”

  “I don’t know what to say, Father. We’re still dealing with stuff.”

  “You mean, you’re still dealing with stuff, Beth. I cannot force you of course, but it’s even longer since your last confession. Maybe you can tell me there, what you can’t tell me here.”

  Beth paused for a moment. What could she tell the priest about that night in the woods? She could not have us all incriminated. She knew we would become victims of circumstance, like Michael Dean. We were all old enough to go to prison. Also, she didn’t want to involve a priest. Beth reasoned it might be okay to tell her side of the story in a confessional situation. Besides, she did have things to confess. She felt she was a terrible friend to me, an annoyance to Toril, a hindrance to Jacinta. The white-haired girl didn’t have to worry about such things anymore.

  As for Troy, who knows what happened to him. Beth sure as hell didn’t know.

  Inside her chest, the pain which remained calm for most of the time, grabbed at her heart angrily again. Her face contorted, and the priest reassured her she would be okay, and would she like an ambulance. Beth said no, because she knew whatever the zombie girl had done to her on that fateful day, could not be remedied by conventional methods.

  It’s fair to say that for the first few years I had known Beth, I wasn’t sure if I trusted her. Back then, it was fair to say that I didn’t trust anyone. I didn’t go out of my way to be unfriendly….it was just a case of thinking that the girls were scheming bitches, and the boys only ever wanted one thing. In Troy’s case, I think I would have done anything he asked. Fanciful stuff that teenagers go through, I suppose.

  On being given the Mirror of Souls on my fourteenth birthday, near enough to that anyway, I started to think I needed an ally of sorts, and Beth certainly fitted that criteria for me. She seemed to mix with others better than I did, and was always pleasant to me.

  I suppose I should have respected and expected her reaction, the night we were at Rosewinter. I mean, what would I have done in her situation? I suppose…not asked to see the markings at all, if I was worried that it might freak me out. I had gotten used to how my arms and hands looked, and these days I was finding I was having to wear long sleeved jumpers to cover up the marks, as the gloves only went so far. The markings were a lot worse on my hands than they had ever been on Nan’s.

  Then again, as far as I know, she never used the Mirror, not once. I had used it twice, and not only had my markings become more pronounced, but the Mirror had gotten larger and considerably heavier to hold.

  Beth and I had gone through things, terrible experiences that no-one should ever have to go through. Because of this, and because she hadn’t told Curie of our whereabouts back then, I no longer believed she was a flake, and given to ratting us out if it benefited her somehow.

  She could be trusted. I’m not sure I would have been entirely comfortable knowing she was about to talk about those dark times with a priest, no less, but dropping us in it? No. I did not believe that. At least, not anymore.

  Beth had been told by the demon ghost of Dana Cullen that ‘everything has a design,’ and that ‘nothing ever just happens’. She had also told Beth to never forget that.

  Beth remembered those words every single day of her life. So there must be a reason why Beth found herself preparing to talk about the terrible events that occurred in Gorswood Forest. Could she accept the words of a demon – that everything has a design? Could she really accept that? Didn’t God have some affect on these terrible events? Could He not stop a repeat of such events in the future? Weren’t these the very things she based her beliefs on? Not the over-the-top beliefs of both her parents, God rest
their souls, or her grand-parents, but her own beliefs?

  It was cold in the main church. Not quite as cold as outside, where the wind howled and the snowflakes hammered like darts against the stained glass windows. The sounds of Beth’s footsteps betrayed her, with images from the Stations of the Cross looking at her accusingly, saying things like ‘We know what is in that bag. We know what evil you have brought here.’

  Still, while that cursed doll remained in the bag, things were safe, and confession was an informal chat with the priest, right? She could tell him whatever she wanted to.

  The priest gestured towards the confessional box, and Beth stepped inside. It was a lot darker than she remembered. The window drew back, shading the priest from view, and so it began.

  “Bless Me Father, for I have Sinned. It is….” Just how long had it been since Beth’s last confession? She could not remember. “It’s been a while since my last Confession, Father.”

  “So tell me, child, what it is that you want to talk about. Specifically, why you came here today.”

  To get some peace, thought Beth. To stop the nightmares. To know that Don Curie and Dana Cullen are rotting in a part of Hell from which they can never escape.

  Beth recounted the story, how Jacinta had summoned the demon ghost of Dana Cullen to fight the Zerythra, the league of zombies that Diab-….sorry, ‘the man’, controlled. How the Mirror of Souls could keep the evil at bay, and how she helped me to do that.

  The priest remained quiet. In the shadows, Beth could make out his jaw-line, which showed his face contorting into a wry smile. It seemed he did not believe her.

  “It’s all true, Father, honestly.”

  “So go on,” said the priest. “There’s a lot you haven’t told me.”

  Beth paused a bit too long.

  “Cat got your tongue?”

  Beth let out a scream as she saw Don Curie’s face on the other side of the confessional. She ran outside of the confessional box and blessed herself.

  “Beth! Beth!” said Father McArdle. “It’s alright, it’s okay, whatever happened you don’t have to tell me, okay?”

  “M-maybe there are some things I am not supposed to talk about,” said Beth, who slumped in the cold wooden church seat, her legs had buckled like on those nights when she had drank a little too much of ‘the good stuff’. “For a second there, I swore you were someone else. I am sorry, Father.”

  “That’s alright. I just don’t want to see anything happen to you Beth.”

  The priest sat down and Beth shoved herself up. She didn’t feel like she was in the church, on the seat. She felt a huge disconnect in everything.

  “Will you pray for me, Father?”

  “Of course. I also pray you will do the right thing, by yourself and for your friends, God rest Jacinta’s soul. Technically, I’m not allowed to do this Beth,” said the priest, “but I don’t want you to go back into the confessional now, not if it’s upsetting you. Whatever it is, I absolve you from it in the Name of our Lord.”

  “Thank you Father, I’m much obliged. Sorry again for the outburst.”

  “Your mind is not at peace, is it Beth?”

  “No. No Father, it isn’t.”

  “Still read the Bible?”

  “A little.”

  “Here’s a little thing to remember then. From the book of Deuteronomy Chapter Thirty-One, Verse Six. Be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be in dread of them, for it is the Lord your God who goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you.”

  “Who are They, Father?”

  “I think you already know. Even if you don’t utter their names, they cannot stand against you and the Lord your God. Remember what I’ve said today Beth, now and always.”

  Beth stood up. “I will, Father, I promise.”

  Beth started to feel more relaxed. Coming to the church had been a good idea after all, and Fr McArdle could always be trusted to put her at ease. He was a clever, articulate man and nothing – you could get nothing past him.

  “Forgetting something, aren’t you Beth?”

  The priest held out the bag. The bag with the horrid, bleeding, pulsing Dana doll.

  “Oh! I’m sorry, Father, forgive me!”

  “Girl’s stuff, I know.” He waved his hand, gently dismissing Beth’s discomfort.

  Leaning in towards her, the priest said something that chilled Beth to her bones.

  “Those girls you know, Beth. Romilly is a good one, you will do well to stick by her, and give her any help she needs to bear her cross. You know what I mean by her cross, don’t you?”

  Beth nodded.

  “As for the other girl, don’t ever fully trust her, and don’t turn your back on her, not even for a second, Bethany. Anyone who meddles in dark craft….no good can come of it. I’m not telling you who to be friends with…..just remember that Judas came to Our Lord with a smile.”

  Beth looked confused.

  “Just take care, okay Beth? Good night now.”

  Beth bade the priest a good night, though there was little good to see on a night where the blizzard not only had refused to subside, but had gotten steadily worse. Beth pulled her hood up to her eye line and tugged her scarf so that no stabs of ice cold could get through.

  She felt glad that her boots could dig into the wintry surface. She also felt good about the visit to the church, and knew what to do next. It wasn’t going to be easy, but what she wanted most of all, was for the nightmares to stop.

  Dana Cullen and Don Curie were able to reach and attack her from beyond the grave. Didn’t the priest always say that in Christ’s resurrection, Death had been defeated?

  So how do you defeat something that is already dead, and not resting in peace?

  Perhaps only one person who knew the answer to that, but Beth was unable to find her.

  “No matter,” thought Beth to herself. “I’ll find the next best thing, she’ll know what to do.”

  No. Not me. I would not be able to help Beth in normal circumstances, much less now I am at the bottom of a pit in Gorswood Forest.

  What Beth needed was someone with real power, unpalatable power. The priest had made it clear that Beth could not exactly trust Toril Withers.

  Fortunately, the house was not that far from the church. Within two slippery blocks, Beth edged herself slowly up the icy steps, and smiled at the mosaic of a black cat on the window.

  Even though she had left her Wiccan ways a long time ago, Tori-Suzanne cast a powerful presence. She was much shorter than Beth, at 5’1” in height but more than made up for it in her gentle manner.

  “Bethany! Whatever are you doing out on a night like this? Come in child, it’s freezing!”

  “Thanks, Mrs Withers,” said Beth gratefully.

  “Oh don’t be silly. It’s Tori, or Suzanne…I don’t mind. But never, ever Mrs Withers, please!”

  Looking around the warm house, Beth smiled under her scarf. Mrs Withers wore a pendant with TSW on it.

  “After all, Tori-Suzanne Withers is a bit of a mouthful dear.” Tori-Suzanne saw that Beth was looking transfixed at her pendant.

  “Try Something Wiccan,” laughed Tori-Suzanne.

  Yes. Beth had come to the very place to stop all the nightmares. The contents in the bag, the contents of her nightmares, or daydreams. Beth knew they would have to stop, if she was to be of any use to me.

  This was the right place. After all, Tori-Suzanne Withers had left the Circle to live a normal life, to give her daughter Toril the chance of a normal life. If Dana Cullen had been right about the design of things, then Beth had done the right thing by getting absolved at church, and seeking some form of retribution elsewhere. Here. For now, her unsettled feelings about the priest’s remarks, those chilling words about Toril Withers, could wait for now. After all, in her own words, Toril was ‘a novice, at best.’

  Not the case here though.

  Beth was standing in the presence of the greatest witch of them all.

  A Bloody Ascen
t

  I don’t remember when I passed out. But I think it happened when I felt I had no way of dealing with Curie anymore. Looking around, it seemed that the old devil was gone, at least for now. Lying at the bottom of the pit, I strained my neck to look up. The holds were few, and any rocks that jutted out from the wall looked far too slippy to stand on.

  Where was Troy? Had I imagined the whole thing? What was I doing just before he turned up? I was sitting under the tree, my head in my knees, my hands clasped around the back of my head, tugging my neck forward. It wasn’t a comfortable position. My thoughts were all messed up, and it was then….it was then that Troy approached me.