The Scent of Heather

by V. J. Banis

  The cloud covered the moon, then drifted away, leaving it to shine ominously down over everything. This was the night the souls carried their lanterns over the earth, seeking a place of rest. It was Sanhain, summer’s end, the hallowed evening for roaming spirits, shimmering ghosts, black cats...the night fairies, witches and elves alike came out to do their evil.

  Rebecca glanced back at the house just before getting into the car. There was a strange, frightening look about her. She hesitated. David said something which Mrs. Johnston did not hear. Rebecca slipped quickly into the seat and in an instant the car roared to life and shot down the driveway and out onto the road.

  Mrs. Johnston breathed a sigh of relief and pushed herself out from behind the protection of the palm tree. She found her hands trembling, her body tense with anticipation. She walked quickly across the garden patio.

  More than once she glanced up at the bedroom window on the second floor. It was dark now. The flickering candles were gone from the window. The only light was that in the tower.

  * * * *

  Maggie lay curled up on her pillow. Her head was filled with the most wonderful dreams, dreams of Rod and the bright flowered patio, the handsome house with its thick pink walls and solid roof that held her and Rod safe and secure inside. She pictured herself cradled in his arms before a roaring fire, listening to the soft music of a Chopin nocturne...their nocturne. The music’s dreamy sentimentality drifted over them, bringing with it a languid melancholy that fused them into one being, one soul. She could hear Rod’s voice as he murmured Shelley’s lovely words, the music fitting perfectly the meter of the poem:

  When I arose and saw the dawn,

  I sighed for thee;

  When light rode high, and the dew was gone,

  And moon lay heavy on flower and tree,

  And the weary day turned to her rest,

  Lingering like an unloved guest,

  I sighed for thee.

  Maggie sighed for want of him and turned comfortably in her sleep. As she turned the deep blue contentment of her dream began to fade. She tried to hold on to it, but bit by bit the dark lushness of her peacefulness was being torn away. Fragments of light colors filtered onto the backs of her eyes, lighting the dream, sending it out into the bright blaze of a scorching sun. The nocturne gradually dwindled to a whisper and then it was gone completely. The ease with which she breathed suddenly became labored. A choking in her throat brought on a spasm of coughing. Icy fingers were tightening around her throat, cutting off her wind.

  Panic opened her eyes. There was a brilliant glare in the room. Smoke hung around her so impenetrable she could barely see. Her eyes watered from the billows of smoke. She bolted up in the bed and heard the crackling and saw the reddish-orange fingers of hot, scorching fire eating their way up the draperies.

  Maggie screamed and leaped out of bed. The fire was confined to the tall barred window nearest her bed. She screamed again, seeing the flames eat faster, more hungrily, at the window’s trappings. She raced madly toward the door. She yanked at the knob, yelling at the top of her lungs. The door was stuck solid. It refused to budge. A spasm of coughing made her double over and almost knocked her to her knees.

  “Help! Help me!” she yelled, but her screams ended in choking coughs. She tried to think of what she should do. The fire would engulf her if she did not do something...anything.

  Staggering across the room, heedless of the heat and the fire, she grabbed hold of the flaming draperies and yanked with all her might. The heavy brocade plunged down, almost enveloping her. First one, then the other panel was yanked from the rod. The hooks that held them were old and rusted with age; they came unhooked from their support without much effort.

  Maggie felt the fire in her hands but she had no time to worry about possible burns. The pile of blazing drapes lay in a heap like a bonfire. She saw the fire begin to eat its way into the carpeting. She swept the heavy coverlet together with its blanket from the bed and threw it over the flames. She cast herself down on top of them and rolled back and forth, beating, pounding the flames into submission, smothering the fire until nothing remained but whispers of smoke that seeped out from under the edges of the coverlet.

  A large, empty vase sat on a console. She seized it and ran into the adjoining bathroom, filling the vase with water. Back into the bedroom she poured the contents down onto the smoldering heap. Again and again until it was nothing more than an unrecognizable sodden pile of rags.

  With the vase dangling from her hand, she staggered toward the window and tried to raise the sash. Like the door, it would not budge. In desperation she lifted her arm and sent the vase crashing through the glass panes, shattering the moldings that held them in their intricate pattern. A rush of cool, clean air flew in at her. She sucked it deep into her lungs, resting her head against the frame, not caring about the jagged shards of jutting glass so near her face.

  She sagged motionless at the window, breathing deeply, feeling the thick ache in her head, the stinging in her eyes. Her heart was pounding in her breast, every nerve of her body was screaming out at her. The smell of burned cloth hung about her.

  When she stepped away from the window, her foot bumped something heavy and solid. She glanced down. The candelabrum lay on its side, its candles charred and almost completely melted. Maggie frowned down at it. She had not put the candelabrum there; she’d left it on the bureau, completely on the other side of the room.

  Her skin still felt scorched. She went into the bathroom and time and again splashed water up over her face and eyes, relishing the cold, clean relief it brought. After what seemed forever, her throat felt less constricted. She let herself slip to the cool, hard-tiled floor where she lay with her head cradled on her arm.

  Suddenly she started to cry. From deep within came uncontrolled tears and sobs and she gave herself up to her fear, crying softly until her exhaustion weighed down her body. She lay, thinking about the burning draperies and the candelabrum that had somehow found its way under the bedroom window. How it had gotten there she did not know, but she knew one thing for sure—she had not put it there herself and it could not have gotten there all by itself. Someone had obviously sneaked into the room and moved the lighted candles to where they could ignite the drapes, setting fire to the room.

  But who? And more importantly, why? How did whoever it was get into the room? The door was stuck. A disturbing little chill ran down her spine. Had the door been locked or bolted from the outside?

  She rolled over onto her back, watching the smoke cling to the ceiling. Gradually it was growing thinner, drifting outside where its poison would be purified by the night air. Suddenly a new fear made her sit up. If someone had tried to burn her alive, whoever it was might still be lurking in the house, waiting to make sure of the results of the heinous act. With the fire out, might they try something else?

  She hurried across the bedroom to the door and again twisted the knob. To her complete surprise the door opened. It swung back, releasing the remaining smoke from the room. Maggie ran out and down the tiled staircase. She flew on bare feet until she reached the front door and ran out into the night. A cold, chilling wind nipped at her.

  She realized belatedly that she was wearing nothing but her slip. Hurrying to her car, she slipped behind the wheel and slammed the door and locked herself in. She sat there, panting until her breathing became normal, thankful for the cleanness of the air and the safety of the well-constructed vehicle.

  She’d no sooner decided to go back to Mrs. Johnston’s when she remembered that the car keys were in her handbag, upstairs in the bedroom. She slumped down in the seat and tried to think. Mrs. Johnston had said the house was evil, but something human had set the candles by the drapers. Someone had tried to kill her.

  The thought was so unnatural, so foreign to her that she had difficulty accepting it. She was just a harmless, almost middle-aged, woman who had no enemies. What threat could she represent to anyone? Besides, to the best of her knowl
edge, no one knew she had come to the house and was sleeping in that room.

  Sophie.

  The name popped into her head. David McCloud had said Sophie was considered a bit eccentric. But surely that harmless little woman would have no reason to injure her. Sophie barely knew her. And, from what Maggie had seen of Sophie, she was sure that she was not capable of doing such a horrible thing as burning someone alive.

  Or was she?

  David McCloud would surely not lease a house that came equipped with a homicidal maniac. Yet Sophie was the only possible person to know she was asleep in that room; she lived here full-time. Certainly she had heard Maggie drive up and had heard her calling, even though she had chosen not to answer. What if she wasn’t asleep in the tower room as Maggie had supposed? Had she heard and seen Maggie and looked upon her as an enemy, a usurper who threatened to take the house away. So she crept down from the tower and locked the bedroom door after moving the candelabrum under the window?

  Ridiculous. That poor soul wouldn’t have any reason to do her harm. It was inconceivable that Sophie would want to kill her. And if she did, she certainly would not want to burn down the house in the process. No, it couldn’t have been poor little Sophie. She would not destroy the roof over her own head.

  But if not Sophie, then who?

  Her head started to spin. She rested it back against the seat and tried to block from her mind the hundreds of questions that seemed to be spinning around inside her.

  After a moment she sighed and straightened up. She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was almost one o’clock. She’d thought it was much later. As she noted the time she caught a glimpse of movement. Something flickered a short distance in front of the car. She reached down and flipped on the headlights, thankful that she had no need of the ignition key for the lights to work.

  Maggie’s hand flew to her mouth, stifling a scream. There, plainly visible in front of the Mercedes was a small, gnarled figure dressed completely in black. The face was sharp and ugly. When the lights hit the figure it threw back its hands in horror. Then the figure relaxed again. If there was such a thing on earth as a witch, Maggie was convinced she was looking at it.

  The old hag stood for a moment as though hypnotized by the light. Then she threw back her head, showing a toothless grin and laughed up at the sky.

  Maggie cowered in the seat, trying to find refuge behind the steering wheel. The figure was coming toward her. The closer it got the more frightening it became. The eyes were like red burning coals. The lips were pulled back, showing the black hole of the mouth. There was a grotesque wart on her chin and long, gray straggling hair cascading down from an outlandish black hat with narrow brim and tall peak.

  The face pressed itself against the window. Maggie was afraid to look at it. A thin, bony finger with black, tapered nail tapped on the glass. The mouth moved, the eyes blazed in at her.

  Maggie forced herself to look to convince herself she wasn’t caught up in some terrible nightmare. Her look became a stare. There was something familiar about the shape of the face despite the red, glowing eyes and the ugly wart.

  “Sophie!” she exclaimed, breathing a sigh of relief. Quickly she rolled down the window.

  “I hope I didn’t scare you too much,” Sophie said in her little girl’s voice. “The church had a Halloween party. I scared all the children.” She laughed a cackling kind of laugh and did a little dance with her broom. “I really scared the lot of them.”

  “Sophie,” Maggie sighed and breathed again, “you really did frighten the dickens out of me.”

  “Good. Good,” Sophie said, again dancing in a circle with her broom. “I scared you, I scared you,” she sang in her childish voice.

  The little sing-song dance broke off abruptly. Sophie’s face threw off its grin. She came close to the window again. “What are you doing out here? You said you’d be back tomorrow to take care of everything.” She glanced at the way Maggie was dressed. “Why are you dressed like that? Were you to a party, too?”

  Maggie thought about the fire, the thick, choking smoke, the locked door, the shattered window. “Have you been at the party all evening, Sophie?” she asked.

  “Yes. Why? Miss Heather said I could go.” She stuck out her lower lip far enough for a bird to perch on it. “You said you’d be here tomorrow. I did my work. I cleaned as much as I could.”

  “No, it’s all right, Sophie. I don’t mind your going to the party. I just wondered if you’d been in town all evening.”

  Sophie tossed back her head. “Now that would be telling, wouldn’t it? I can have secrets if I want to.” She cackled suddenly and again hopped around with her broom. She was gone before Maggie had a chance to call after her.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Maggie clicked off the headlights and sat there in the dark trying to think, but none of her thoughts had direction. One thing was obvious, however. Whether she stayed in the house tonight or went back to Mrs. Johnston’s, she would have to go back inside; she couldn’t stay out here in the car dressed as she was.

  Never one to put off what had to be done, she pushed open the car door and got out. She went quickly across the patio, seeing the splinters of glass that had fallen from the second-story window. There was a distinct smell of burned cloth as she passed under the portico and went inside.

  The moment she closed the door she heard scurrying footsteps. Sophie appeared at the top of the stairs with a candle in her hand. The sight of the flickering flame brought a tinge of fear back into Maggie’s mind.

  “Miss Heather did something bad.”

  Maggie looked up. Sophie had discarded her peaked hat. The wart was gone from her chin and the black removed from her teeth.

  “There’s been a small fire,” Maggie said as she started up the stairs. Halfway up she hesitated. What was she doing? It was quite possible that Sophie had started the fire. She stood where she was, afraid to advance any farther just in case she was walking into some kind of trap.

  “She was bad again. She broke a window and burned things up.”

  “No,” Maggie said softly, tightening her hand on the railing. “I was asleep in that room, Sophie. The drapes caught on fire. I had to pull them down in order to extinguish the flames. I broke the window.”

  It was as if she hadn’t spoken. “Miss Heather is always doing bad things like that. She wanted to go to the party but she couldn’t so she did a bad thing.” The girl’s eyes suddenly opened wide and she stared down at Maggie with sudden terror in her face. “She makes me do bad things sometimes. She’s always making me do bad things.”

  “What are you saying?” Maggie gasped. “Did you set the fire, Sophie?” She found herself trembling.

  “No,” Sophie gasped. “Oh, no. I don’t think I did. But sometimes....”

  “Sophie,” Maggie snapped, “did you move the candles under the window? Did you cause the drapes to catch on fire? Answer me.”

  Sophie looked wildly around, as though searching for somewhere to run, somewhere to hide. “Miss Heather...she sometimes makes me...I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t do anything.” She was beginning to babble. Her lips quivered and unintelligible sounds came out of her mouth. Maggie watched as Sophie’s frail little body started to shake all over, her eyes darting back and forth like those of a terrified animal.

  Forgetting her own qualms, Maggie rushed up the steps. She grabbed Sophie by the shoulders.

  “I didn’t!” Sophie wailed. “I don’t think....”

  “Sophie,” Maggie said sharply, shaking the girl, “control yourself.”

  Sophie sobbed and tried to struggle free of Maggie’s grip but Maggie held her firmly. She pulled Sophie against her and hugged her tightly until she felt Sophie begin to calm down.

  “It’s all right, Sophie. Don’t cry. It’s all right. No harm’s been done.”

  But it wasn’t all right...and harm had been done. She’d come within inches of being burned alive and here she stood holding a girl who might e
asily be responsible for her murder and telling her it was all right.

  It seemed like she had spent her life forgiving others, saying everything was all right when it wasn’t. Just like the time Rebecca had pushed her out of the tree house during a jealous rage. No real harm had been done to Maggie and when Rebecca became almost hysterical with remorse Maggie had hugged her—as she was now hugging Sophie—and had told her it was all right.

  Poor Sophie was beside herself. Whether or not the girl had been responsible for what had happened wasn’t important at the moment. Maggie’s compassion went out and she realized she had to do what she could to calm the hysterical girl. She smoothed her hair and held her tightly. Sophie continued to moan and sob against her breast. Maggie hushed her, as a mother quiets a frightened child...as Maggie had consoled Rebecca after some terrible prank.

  “Come, Sophie. Let’s make us a pot of coffee,” Maggie said softly as she felt the girl calming down a bit. “Let’s not talk about it. It’s all right.”

  Empathy had always been a part of Maggie’s nature. She felt she was stronger than most people, and someone strong had to protect the weaker. As she and Sophie walked slowly downstairs Maggie remembered another night, long, long ago when she’d returned home unexpectedly to find Rebecca and Rod locked in each other’s arms.

  What good would it have done to make a scene, the result of which might well have meant the loss of both her sister and her husband? Whose fault it had been was immaterial. She suspected that it had been Rebecca’s doings, but it did not matter. She loved Rod; she loved Rebecca. She said nothing to them; she merely closed her eyes to what she had seen and forgave them.

  Of course for a while the shame and guilt they suffered after receiving Maggie’s absolution was most worthwhile. She felt she’d been repaid a thousand times over for that simple act of forgiveness. But as the weeks passed she knew Rebecca and Rod had renewed their improper relationship. She could tell by looking at them that they’d been together; guilt showed easily on their faces, especially Rod’s. He was weak, that she’d always known, but she loved him and he, in his way, loved her, so she closed her eyes to what was going on.