by Peter Ponzo
"Kin to the devil," she muttered. "My Willow, my sister, help me." She held out a fragile hand and a thin branch reached out, a tendril twisted and dry, barren of leaves and shaking, yet it spun about her hand.
Bryan scrambled away, staggered to his feet. Cassandra raised her arm. She seemed weak, old, impotent, yet the luminescent figures appeared once more and she seemed to gather strength from their presence.
It was then that Bryan knew exactly what he had to do. Nothing could be clearer.
Cassandra shrieked, but he turned and flung himself into the opening beneath the shivering willow. He clawed his way to the base of the tree and began to dig, feverishly, the fingers of his good hand bleeding, his bad hand pushing the loose dirt aside. Outside, the witch was screaming. The willow began to shake violently, uncertainly, the quivering branches dropping parched and shrivelled leaves. He heard his name, again and again, shouted in a voice filled with alarm. Bill Hendricks. Cail Vinney. But there was no time. Willow began to move, slowly at first, then black and hairy tendrils fell from everywhere, across his back, then twisted branches coiling, spinning, descending.
First a bloody carcass, small, pink. Bryan stopped. A child, unborn? His child! He cried out, "God help me!" and began again to claw the ground, deeper, beyond the shallow grave.
Then he had it, exposed, the whitened bone, a skeletal hand, small and fragile, fossils of unseeming horror. He scooped them to his chest and the tree cried aloud and the wind roared and Cassandra, mistress of Ahriman, witch and concubine of the devil, the ghastly creature stood behind him, wreathed in trembling branches, her eyes flaming.
"My Willow!" she cried, in pain, her face contorted, enveloped in a mask of dark and moving shadows. "My Willow!"
Bryan pushed himself to his feet, the bones held firmly to his chest. Cassandra backed away, out of the sanctum, out to the moonlit yard, screaming ... and Bryan followed.
"Ahriman!" she screeched. "Ahura-Mazda! We do not turn from thee, but beseech thee! Take my sister again to your care!"
Bryan plucked a bone with his free hand.
"For Liz!" he shouted, and held it aloft, then snapped the small bone and it crumbled into many pieces.
Cassandra wailed, a rising howl of agony and despair, and she fell to her knees with withered and twisted limbs collapsing about her, devoid of leaves.
"For Mrs. Perkins!" Bryan shouted and snapped another dry bone.
"For Sam and for Margrit Colby and ... and ..."
Bryan fell to one knee, weeping, his shoulders heaving, and the bones dropped to the grass. Cassandra gasped, lurched forward, her eyes a pale glow, her hand reaching for a frail bone, a distorted twig spinning then curling tenderly about her hand. A shot rang out and the bone disintegrated before her and she moaned and the twig fell away from her hand, shrivelled, withered, atrophied. She crawled again, reaching. Another shot and the bones exploded in a puff of dust and the tree sighed, branches falling in limp cascade about her body.
Cassandra lay motionless.
Bill Hendricks stood over the fallen body of the witch, firing repeatedly into the pile of bones until his gun was empty and the bones were dust.
Bryan pushed himself to his feet, a grim smile on his lips. He couldn't speak. He stared at the body of the witch, at the fragments of bone, at the silent and shrivelled branches of the giant willow. He began to cry.
"Is .. is it over?" he moaned. "Is it really over?"
"Bloody right!" It was Michael Colby. He leaned heavily on the shoulder of Cail Vinney. Together they stood and stared at Cassandra.
Then Bill Hendricks looked up at the dormant willow hanging silent, and shook his head. There was not a single leaf on the old tree.
"The willow," he said. "It's dead, can you see? The tree is dead." He turned to leave.
"Wait," said Bryan. "Wait. I want to see that it's done, that it's over."
He knelt by the fallen figure which lay face down in the dirt. Carefully he reached out and put his hand on Cassandra's shoulder, and pulled. The body rolled over quickly, an arm swinging up, grabbing his hand and Bryan gasped and drew back - and the arm fell lifelessly to the ground.
He gazed into Cassandra's face, opened his mouth, held his breath. Her eyes were open, red and fiery in black sockets - but her face - it was cracked and bony, shrivelled, a dry parched skull.
"Oh my God!" he sobbed. "Liz … Liz, it's over."
"Not quite," said Colby. "One last thing." He turned to Cail. "Did you bring it?"
Cail Vinney hoisted the tank of gasoline to his shoulder. They all watched as he poured the liquid about the base of the tree and over the limp branches.
"It's all yours, Kooky," Cail said, pulling Cassandra's frail body away from the tree.
Michael Colby pulled the lighter from his pocket, lit it and threw it flaming to the ground. In a great whoosh, a ball of flame leaped to cover the withered tree and they backed away as the flames rose in a bright fury, lighting up the sky, and they watched in silence as the conflagration enveloped the house, a cloud of dark smoke rising in a slow, heavy spiral and beneath the smoke, a wall of flame.
"Okay ... okay, let's go," said Colby, his voice shaking. They all turned, slowly, and walked to the road, then turned once more to see the house collapse in a shower of sparks.
"It's over, Liz," Bryan whimpered, his bleeding stump held to his chest. "It really is over."
EPILOGUE
It was one week after the destruction of the old Brubacher house. Michael Colby had extended the dinner invitation to Cail Vinney, Bill Hendricks, Sam Jaffre, Bryan Laker and his wife Elizabeth. Margrit Colby had overseen the preparation of dinner and was pleased that all had eaten heartily. After dinner, Michael suggested that they retire to the living room for a glass of drambuie, before the glowing fire. He poured himself a large, straight whiskey.
"Liz," said Marg, "we're so glad that you've recovered sufficently to join us."
"I understand," said Colby, "that you came out of your trance soon after we put an end to the Brubacher house."
"Yes," said Liz. "That's what Bryan tells me." She looked at her husband warmly, holding out her hand to Bryan. "And Sam, dear Sam, he came out of his - his -"
"Spell I guess you'd could call it," said Sam Jaffre. "When Bryan told me what had happened ... the last few months ... I could hardly believe I was that involved. Actually, I can't remember much since ... well, it seems like years ago."
Sam looked at Michael Colby. "That's a mean punch you throw, Mr. Colby," Sam said, rubbing his hands over his face which still had a large strip of gauze across his nose and a strip around his head.
"Call me Michael," said Colby with a wide grin. "Not bad for a sixty year old man, eh?"
"Sixty-one, dear," said Marg.
"Yeah, well, I guess we fixed her wagon - that old witch," grunted Colby.
"That's really strange," said Hendricks. "They brought her body to General Hospital. She had a bullet wound in her thigh."
"That was you, your shot, Bill," said Cail enthusiastically. "Nice shooting."
"Well, not so nice," Hendricks said. "I was actually aiming at those … those weird shapes."
"Well, I'm just glad you showed up," said Bryan. "How did you know we were there, Mr. Colby ... uh, Michael, and me?"
"Mikey phoned us," said Cail. "He was furious that the army wouldn't go along with his scheme."
"What?" cried Colby. "Furious? Not so. I was just - just -"
"Furious," suggested Margrit Colby, blowing a kiss in his direction.
"Anyway," continued Cail, "Bill and I didn't know exactly what Mikey had in mind, but he asked us to be there at 2 a.m. and for gasoline so we figured he had worked out some kind of plan. But I tell you, when we saw Mikey lying by the side of the road we figured his plan, whatever it was, hadn't gone that well and -"
"We got the witch, didn't we?" said Colby.
"But the curious thing is, she didn't die from t
he bullet wound," said Bill Hendricks. "It clearly weakened her, but couldn't have killed her."
"That's right," said Cail. "I called a friend of mine at General and asked about Cassandra Brubacher. He said the death certificate will say: died of old age. Her skin was cracked and dry, dehydrated, her eyes black and hollow. Quite remarkable. A skeleton ... a withered old body. It seems she was at least ninety years old, maybe more."
"She was born in 1895," said Bryan. "That would make her ... uh, about ..."
"Go ahead, dear," whispered Liz. "Demonstrate that mathematical genius."
Bryan groaned. "Well, about ninety, maybe more."
"I think the willow tree kept her young," said Liz. "She grew old as soon as the willow died. She had been holding back old age for so long - it just came all at once - coinciding with the death of the willow."
"Or the soul of the willow," said Sam Jaffre.
"Or the bones," whispered Bryan.
"Did you see those weird shapes?" said Hendricks. "I don't know what to make of them, do you?" He was looking at Bryan.
"They almost got me," Colby groaned. "One minute I was there, shooting at that old broad, the next minute they was all over me." He shook his head. "Don't know what happened ... guess I just ... just ..."
"Getting old, dear," suggested Margrit Colby, planting a kiss on her husband's bald head.
"Well," said Bryan, "I suspect that Cassandra not only had people helping her - Friends of Willow - she also had some help from the Prince of Darkness, Ahrimash - or whatever her name was."
"Whatever her name was?" said Liz, scowling at Bryan.
"Oh, I forgot to tell you Liz," said Bryan, smirking. "I read a book on that. It's not my analysis, of course. The book said that the Prince of Darkness, the God of Evil, the ruler of the Kingdom of the Devil - well, she's female." He raised his glass, to make the point. "You see, that makes sense. If the God of Good is male then you'd expect that the God of Evil -"
"Bryan Laker," said Liz in a low and menacing voice. "The Prince of Darkness is female?"
Bryan put up his hands in self defence, his drink held precariously in his good hand.
"I agree," said Sam Jaffre. "There's no reason to believe that the two top gods are both male. I mean, everybody knows that witches are in league with the devil and witches are female and that implies that the devil is also -"
Liz swung at Sam and he drew back, smiling. Bryan thought the swing was for him and jerked his hand, throwing his drink into his face.
Liz leaned back with a smug look and the others laughed.
"Atta girl, Liz," said Marg.
Bryan wiped his face and straightened in his chair. "Well," he said cautiously, grinning, "all the females on Dune Road got it. Cassandra, Willow and the weird shapes."
"Well, all I know is, this time, my people didn't have no problem," said Colby. "No problem, not like a certain Willow Towers." He winked at Bryan. "They've already cleared the site, dug the foundation and poured the footings for the Sports Center. The Saunders Sports Center - almost triple S, wouldn't you say?"
They all laughed.
"And the article in the paper, did you read it?" asked Cail. "The Chief of Police said his people have finally solved the babies mystery ... all those disappearances. He said they knew it was some cult, knew all along that Cassandra Brubacher was the leader." The others began to laugh. "That's right," continued Cail, chuckling. "He said they had been working on it ever since Sam's grandfather was Inspector, and it had taken years, but they knew they were on the right track and finally honed in on the house in Dune. They even dug up the old files, buried in the basement of the station. They had stored them there, some time ago, for safe keeping."
"And Mayor Saunders publically congratulated the Chief for a job well done," said Liz.
Everyone laughed again and Marg went around and filled the glasses.
"Another interesting thing," said Hendricks. "Brubacher owned Willow Towers - it isn't called that anymore, of course - but anyway, some of the guys from the station went there to look around, search for her belongings, that sort of thing. They found a room full of boxes. Guess what was inside the boxes?"
"Wicker baskets!" cried Bryan.
"Yes, how'd you know?" asked Hendricks. "Baskets ... well, almost. Just touch them and they turn to dust. That's what the guys said: they just turn to dust. Guess that's the end of the willow tree."
"And all its pieces," said Sam with a sigh.
"It's going to be strange to go back to teaching math," said Bryan. "I mean, after all this. Liz and I, we've been living this thing for some time. Liz lost a baby - I lost a finger. We won't be able to think of anything else for awhile, I don't think."
"Not the kind of adventure you'd expect of a math professor," said Sam. "And now, it's all over. Sort of an aftermath."
"Very funny," groaned Liz. "Anyway, Bryan is now determined to finish the infamous History of New Bamberg. It's been hanging over his head as it was for his father."
"The Short History," added Bryan. "I'm almost looking forward to writing the last chapter."
"And I'd like to thank you, Mr. Colby -" began Sam.
"Michael. Please call me Michael."
"Okay, Michael, I'd like to thank you for putting in a good word on my behalf, to the Chief of Police - and you too, Bill. I thought I'd be taken out and shot for attempting to ... well, Mrs. Colby ?" He looked sheepishly at Margrit Colby.
"We understand," she said. "It wasn't really you, was it?"
"Just one thing I don't understand," said Michael Colby. "Old lady Brubacher was there, outside the house, even before Laker and me arrived. She was ready for us. She and her - whatever they were - those ghosts or whatever - like she was tipped off, somehow."
Margrit Colby coughed softly and they all looked at her. "Didn't you say she had magic powers? Well, that proves it, doesn't it?" she said. Then she raised her glass. "Enough about the willow and the witch. I think we need to toast the renaming of the clinic," she said. "Lady and gentlemen ... to the Cail Vinney Clinic."
And they all drank to that.
