by A. W. Jantha
“Seconded,” says Travis. “Not that I’m not totally supportive of witch hunt two-point-oh. It just feels...weird.”
He’s right. It does feel weird to be back in the cemetery, so close to where this whole thing started. Next to me, Isabella’s quiet, but I sense that she’s anxious.
“I’m sure she’s fine,” I whisper, taking Isabella’s hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “She’s here somewhere.”
Isabella nods, squeezing my hand in return, but says nothing. She looks nervous, and there’s lingering exhaustion written on her face. I know how she feels. We’re all still recovering from our flirtations with death and an eternity spent filling in for some malevolent witches in Hell.
“I can’t believe that you all came here with a spirit board after Allison warned you about the blood moon,” says Aunt Dani, hands in the pockets of her jeans. “It’s like you heard ‘increased magical activity’ and thought, ‘I know, I think we’ll summon the dead, maybe commit a misdemeanor or eight, and see where the night takes us.’”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.” I shrug.
I hear Isabella laugh lightly next to me. “I think it worked out,” she whispers, bumping my shoulder gently with hers.
“Me too,” I say with a chuckle, happy to hear her laugh. She’s spent most of the day worried about Elizabeth. Ghosts disappear with the dawn, but the last time we saw her, she was being scattered with the wind all over Winter Island.
A moment later, Isabella’s smile falters and disappears.
“We should go,” she says. “It’s getting cold and there’s no sign of her. Maybe she’s just—”
“Apologies, dear,” says a voice from behind us. “Taking this form is exhausting, and after the evening we had, I’m afraid I’ve been resting most of the day.”
Isabella turns around slowly, like she isn’t quite ready to let herself believe what she’s hearing.
But when I look back over my shoulder, there she is. Elizabeth is standing among the headstones near the chapel, hands clasped in front of her.
“Whoa,” Aunt Dani breathes. I know what she means. Though I just saw a ghost for the first time last night, it’s difficult to fully appreciate or remember just how strange they are in the...well, not flesh, I guess. I can’t imagine what it’s like to finally see a ghost again after all these years. She’s described Binx plenty of times, but at a certain point, words just fall flat.
“Elizabeth,” Isabella says as she strides over to stand in front of Elizabeth’s translucent, shimmering form. “How did you... ?”
“I can only move from here temporarily. I am, for better or for worse, tied to this place forever. Wherever I go, I am always here.”
“Not confusing at all,” Katie mutters. I shoot her a look.
“Are you okay?” Isabella asks.
“Aside from discovering that my mother used me as a pawn and that she makes my sisters look positively benevolent by comparison?” she asks, smiling wearily. “Fine. Like you, I suspect, just a bit tired.”
Isabella nods. “Thank you,” she says, “for helping us. For helping me. I never would’ve been able to—”
“Of course you would’ve, Isabella,” says Elizabeth, moving closer to Isabella. “You may not know much about your powers yet, but you are an extraordinary witch and you’re meant for extraordinary things.”
Isabella shoots her a shy smile and, for a moment, falls speechless. “Did you get what you hoped to?” Isabella asks. “Out of helping us?”
“All of that and more,” says Elizabeth, reaching forward to touch Isabella’s cheek. “I am so very proud of you. Of all of you. You showed great courage. Without you, this would’ve been a dark day followed by many more to come.”
“That’s something of an understatement, I think,” says a new voice.
Binx materializes next to Elizabeth, followed by Emily, who stands beside him.
“Binx!” Aunt Dani rushes forward, stopping just in front of him and grinning.
“It’s good to see you this side of the veil,” Binx laughs. “Is everything all right now?”
“Well, we’re not in Hell anymore, so can’t complain. Also, you were capable of appearing this whole time and you didn’t once think of dropping by to say hi?” She crosses her arms petulantly. “So much for ‘I shall always be with you,’ jerk face.”
“Well, you didn’t exactly pop by the cemetery for a quick chat,” Binx shoots back. “And ghosts making house calls is typically frowned upon. Terrible for real estate prices.”
She frowns for a moment longer, then breaks into laughter. “Touché.”
Emily looks toward me, then, and steps forward, pulling her hand from behind her back to reveal my camera.
“No way,” I say, taking it gently and inspecting it. Save for a few scuff marks, it’s intact. “You found it.”
“I figured you might want it back,” she says with a shrug. “I’m still not sure what it does, but it seemed ever so important.”
“Thank you,” I say, popping the cover off the lens. “Do you all mind if I try something?” I ask the three ghosts.
They shake their heads, but are clearly confused.
I put my eye to the viewfinder, make a few adjustments, then snap a photo.
“For posterity,” I say.
“You live in a very strange world, Poppy Dennison,” Binx muses. “But I hope that one way or another, you always find what it is you’re looking for.” He puts a hand on Emily’s shoulder and smiles, then they both fade gradually, leaving only Elizabeth.
“Pardon me for speaking quickly, dear,” Elizabeth says, turning back to Isabella. “My energy is waning. There’s so much I’d like to tell you now, but it will have to wait for another day. Until then, it is essential that you understand one terribly important thing.”
“This doesn’t sound good,” Travis says under his breath.
“You can never really kill a witch,” Elizabeth continues. “My sisters are gone, but so long as there is wickedness in this world, there will always be a place where evil finds a home.”
“What are you saying?” asks Isabella, her tone quiet but nervous.
“I’m saying that Salem needs to be protected,” says Elizabeth, “and that you’ve proven yourselves more than capable.” She looks at each of us. “Remain vigilant. Weed out hate and ignorance and persecution whenever and wherever you can. And hold tight to one another.” She smiles sadly. “If I’d had the support of friends like yours, I imagine that things may have ended differently for me.”
Elizabeth begins to fade.
“Wait,” Isabella says, “there’s more I want to...I need to...I have so many questions.”
“You’ll always be able to find me here, Isabella,” Elizabeth says. “But I think you’ll discover you already have the answers.”
And, with a knowing smile, she disappears.
Silence falls over our small group, all of us stunned into remaining quiet. At least for a moment.
“Wow,” Travis says, running a hand over his hair. “That’s...a lot.”
“Yeah,” Isabella says quietly. “It is.”
“So it isn’t over? Is that what I’m getting here?” asks Katie. “Because I have to be honest, I’m really looking forward to sleeping for about twenty-four hours and taking a nice long break from thinking about witches and ghosts and Hell.”
“Sounds like we might not have that luxury,” I say.
“Fighting evil is going to have to wait, though,” says Aunt Dani, putting a hand on my shoulder. “We promised your parents we’d have you home in an hour.”
Isabella nods, walking back toward me as we all turn and make our way out of the cemetery. She links an arm through mine.
“Thanks for coming back with me,” she says. “I’m just so glad she’s okay.”
“Of course,” I say. We walk in silence for a moment. “So, how are you doing?” I ask. “Ghostly ancestors and a new set of magical powers is a lot for one night.�
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She considers that for a moment. “Honestly? I feel a little relieved,” she says. “I always felt like there was this part of me that was...missing. And finding Elizabeth, finding out about all of this and who I really am...it’s a relief. It feels right. Even if it’s terrifying.” Isabella bumps her shoulder with mine once more. “I’m feeling like I’m ready to take on whatever comes next,” she says, smiling gently.
“Well, I’m feeling like I’m ready for pizza,” says Travis. “And bed. And a twelve-hour nap.”
We all laugh in agreement and head toward the car.
Isabella’s right—it is a relief to know that there’s more to Salem than made-up stories and a disturbing preoccupation with a particularly dark period of history. But I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something we’re missing. Something we forgot.
And then, all at once, the realization hits me like a freight train.
Winifred’s spell book is missing. Again.
Posters of a missing teenage girl plaster telephone poles, mailboxes, and the Salem post office.
They were put up over a year ago, but someone keeps pinning up fresh printouts over the old, weathered ones. On a bustling residential street filled with trick-or-treaters, there’s a lamppost with one of the posters attached to it. Illuminated by the moonlight, it shows the pretty girl, beaming as if she just won the lottery. Under her photo, the sign reads:
MISSING
SHAY WOMACK
Last seen in Salem Common, Salem, MA
Date Missing: October 31, 2018
Age: 17
Height: 5’ 3”
Hair: Long, Brown
Last seen wearing white T-shirt and jeans.
Please call the Salem County Sheriff’s Office.
A teenage boy regards it. “Thanks again for switching places with me,” he smirks. “Not that you had much of a choice in the matter.” He tears down the missing poster, laughing, and slinks across the sidewalk.
“Nice costume, mister!” shouts a little trick-or-treater dressed as a princess.
The teenage boy dips his chin, obscuring his face with the wide brim of his pointed black hat, and keeps walking, his long emerald-green cloak swirling fiercely in his wake.
He turns up a red-brick walk—moving half like a shadow and half like a snake—and stops in front of a colonial-style two-story house with white clapboard siding and dark shutters. Party music and bright light flood from its open windows.
He crumples the poster in his fist and tosses it over his shoulder, then regards the house for a moment longer. He takes a step closer to it.
When the front door opens, a warm glow from within spilling onto the walk, he sidesteps into the shadows, avoiding the light.
Under the cover of darkness, he turns and leaves the property, dashing across the suburban streets amidst a flurry of eager trick-or-treaters. He passes happy homes and streets full of laughter, barely staying out of sight, but deftly blending into the crowd and the night. It’s only when he reaches the edge of the town’s quiet cemetery that he slows to a stroll.
As he makes his way past ornate tombstones, simple grave markers, enormous stone crosses, and grand mausoleums, his eyes scan the grounds, looking for something in particular. When at last he finds it, he stoops, squinting as he inspects it. The headstone’s once-detailed surface is blurred by the forces of time and nature. Still, he can make out the simple skull and crossbones atop the inscription.
He stands and pulls Winifred’s spell book from the folds of his cloak, smirking at the confused swivel of the book’s single cloudy green eye.
He gazes back down at it, his remaining eye glowing a matching shade of green. “There, there,” he says gently, stroking the puckered lid and the delicate silver filigree that surround the eye. His other hand rises subconsciously to his face, touching the empty socket. He still misses it. The eye in the book blinks once or twice, each blink slower than the last, until it seems to fall asleep.
The boy licks his thumb and pages through the book, almost lazily. “Yes,” he says, as one might say to quiet a sleeping child. Then he parrots the ghost who had stood in this exact spot one year ago: “You can never really kill a witch. Especially,” he chuckles, “if you don’t know he’s there.” He finds the page in the spell book he’s been seeking and reads aloud: “‘Unfaithful brother long since dead, deep asleep in thy wormy bed. Wiggle thy toes, open thine eyes, twist thy fingers toward the sky. Life is sweet, be not shy. On thy feet, so sayeth I.’”
Before the last syllable even leaves his lips, the ground begins to violently shake and quake. Nearby, the other tombstones lay still, but the one in front of him sinks into the ground.
An old wooden coffin slowly rises from the dirt as the boy looks on triumphantly.
The ground goes as still and as quiet as the night.
The top of the coffin creaks open, shudders, and slides off as a figure slowly sits up.
The teen witch grins. “Welcome back, Billy. Great things await us.”
This book exists because the Sanderson sisters and the actresses who portrayed them gave the world unforgettable magic, mayhem, and joy.
It also exists thanks to several unsung heroes. I’m grateful to my fabulous editor, Eric Geron, for his help in spinning the tale; to incredible artist Matt Griffin for illuminating it; to Amy and Logan for always lighting candles when I find myself in the dark; and to so many more who infused these pages with heart, sweat, and other witch-worthy ingredients.
I’m also grateful to you, reader, for keeping the Hocus Pocus spirit alive and well. May your cauldron overflow with something sweet, and may your broomstick never be purloined.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Part One: Then
Map of Salem Village
Wild Things
Another Glorious Morning. Makes Me Sick!
Let’s Brew Another Batch
This Is Terribly Uncomfortable
Yabos
It’s Just a Bunch of Hocus-Pocus
Burning Rain of Death
Otherwise, It’s Curtains!
Old Salem Crypt
Amok! Amok! Amok!
I Put a Spell On You
Dead Man’s Toes!
Come! We Fly!
Come, Little Children, I’ll Take Thee Away
Maggoty Malfeasance
Hallowed Ground
Love You, Jerk Face
Part Two: Now
Map of Beverly, Salem Woods, Salem Harbor
Witch, Please
Brick Coven
Serious Shade
Broom Service
Basic Witch
Calling All Spirits
The Witch is Back
Whiffle-Whaffle
Squad Ghouls
Cell-Binding
Don’t Let My Resting Witch Face Fool You
Come, Little Children, On Down to the Bay
#SpellOnYou
Eternal Life Potion 2.0
Electric-or-Treat
A Touch Stringy When Stewed
Afoot! Afoot! Afoot!
Druscilla the Dreadful
Moonstone’s Last Light
A Bit Like Magic
Material Ghost
Eye for an Eye
Acknowledgments
