Summerwind Magick: Making Witches of Salem

by Rick Bettencourt

  Derek perched with an eerie stillness, gestures slow and heavy, settled on the edge of the deck like some handsome bird of prey about to attack.

  “Should we go after her?” Michael asked.

  “No.” Derek’s eyes were trained on the horizon, pine trees downhill and a view of the Atlantic beyond. “She’ll be back. She’s probably smoking cigarettes.” His glare confronted Michael. “Do you smoke cigarettes, Michael?”

  Michael grabbed the porch’s rail. Where’s Terrence or Viola when you need them? “Um, no.” The man unnerved him. “I’ve never taken up the habit.”

  “Good. I’m glad you’ve never smoked, Michael. It’s not good for you.” Derek’s eyes never strayed from him. “How have you been?” The man’s head tilted. “Can you hear me?”

  Michael swallowed audibly.

  Derek’s face scrunched. “Shit.” He fell to his knees.

  “Derek? Derek, are you…?”

  Derek held a hand up to keep him back. Then, he shot up, knees still on the porch. He grabbed his chest.

  “Oh my God. Help!” Michael yelled. “Someone call 9-1-1!” He knelt beside him.

  Derek convulsed and fell onto his back. His heavy boots rattled the floorboards, and his eyes rolled in the back of his head, whites gleaming back at Michael.

  “It’s me,” Derek said. “It’s me. Seth.” Derek blinked and brown eyes replaced bloodshot whites.

  “Wh-what?” No fucking way.

  “I’m sorry.” Derek’s voice reminded Michael of Seth’s, scratchy and pubescent. The man got up on his elbows. “I’m not going to hurt you.” A tear slid from his cheek. “You made it out of Peabody.” A grin lit his face. “You’ve made quite a man of yourself.”

  Michael crab-walked backward. “This isn’t happening.”

  “Please.” Seth—Derek—rose to his knees. “It’s okay.”

  “This can’t be…” Michael shook so hard spit dribbled out the corner of his mouth. “You said you’d come back to haunt—”

  Seth shook his head and stood. “I was a dumb fucking kid.”

  “Th-that’s okay.” Michael didn’t know what to say. His back hit up against one of the Adirondack chairs.

  “Please, I know it’s hard to believe.” Derek/Seth stopped, keeping several feet away. “I didn’t want to scare you. But…” He held up his—Derek’s arms—and they flopped back down, smacking jean-clad thighs. “I knew no other way. I’ve been trying for years.”

  Michael thought he saw the glimmer of a tear form. “Wh-what do you want? We’ve made peace with you. Carolyn and me.”

  “I was wrong.”

  “Yes! Yes, you were.” Michael put a hand on the chair, never taking his eyes off the man—the thing—before him.

  Seth/Derek remained in place. “I liked you. I really”—he blushed and toed a floorboard—“I sort of had a thing for you.”

  I knew. “Oh my God.”

  “I just had a funny way of showing it. I couldn’t let myself recognize it, let alone tell you.” Wings shot out from behind him.

  “Michael?” Terrence stood at the foot of the stairs. “What’s going—”

  Seth/Derek collapsed, like a discarded shirt to a laundry bin.

  Blood in the Water

  Rudy’s greenish complexion turned red as he strained to bring in the fish. The rod clicked as he reeled hard.

  Carolyn’s blood stained a white sock. “God help us.” She unhooked an embroidered towel—presumably for lounging on the deck after a dip in the sea—from a fastener by the helm and wiped her oozing leg.

  “Oh, that’s not for…” Jack hopped onto the leather seat, dropping whatever he was going to say to Carolyn.

  A wave crested the boat and washed everyone down.

  Jack fell from the chair and landed on his butt next to her.

  “Carolyn!” Rudy dropped the pole, fell onto his chest, and extended an arm toward Carolyn. “Give me your hand.” He crawled.

  The tips of her fingers slipped through his wet grasp, but on a second attempt, he pulled himself onto his knees and sheltered her with his bulk.

  Another wave pounded the boat, and Jack banged up next to them in several inches of cool water.

  “Jesus Christ!” Jack attempted to get up and slipped.

  Rudy kissed Carolyn’s head. “I’m sorry.” He hugged her close. Then, his salty lips kissed hers. “Forgive me.”

  “Rudy, help me!” Jack yelled. His frail arm looked about to snap as it held the boat’s wheel above him and he attempted to lift himself to his knees.

  Rudy sneered, inhaling like a bull about to charge, and rose.

  In another wave, Jay floated by, and his head smashed against the wainscoted panel by Carolyn.

  Carolyn yanked him up by his hair.

  “Did we lose the fish?” he asked.

  “Fuck the fish!” Carolyn said.

  Calm overcame the Kingly. Bloodied water funneled into drain holes. Rudy had cut his leg and blood leaked into his shoe.

  On all fours, Jack crawled. “Fucking hell.”

  Jay shook a dazed look from his scraped face.

  The billed fish leapt above the boat.

  “Rudy!” Carolyn shouted, but before she could reach him, the fish’s bill plowed into her manager’s chest. “Rudy!”

  He slammed to the deck beside her.

  The fish writhed.

  Rudy’s screams mixed with those from the others.

  Cracking sounds like breaking bones ensued.

  “Oh my God!” Jay grabbed the tail, but the strength of the fish careened him to the side.

  Blood poured onto the deck, and Rudy’s white polo shirt turned burgundy.

  Descending Upon

  A sudden boom like several worlds colliding found the witches onboard the Kingly. Rebecca hovered at the stern, and Berniece landed on the bow.

  “Carolyn?” Rebecca wanted to know if the actress could see them, but Carolyn was too busy frantically attending to the lifeless man at her knees. Blood streamed its way from his body, and several feet away, a giant fish flopped and gasped for air.

  Another boom, and the grim reaper screeched its way, legs first, down from the sky.

  “Good Lord!” Berniece yelled, appearing—like magick—at Rebecca’s side. “Get him out of here.”

  “Wait.” Rebecca held Berniece back with a touch to her shoulder, her hand moving through the woman, but restraining her nonetheless.

  “Wait?” Berniece faced Rebecca. Blood stained her lip and dripped from her nose.

  “Bernie, what’s wro—”

  The grim reaper grabbed Rebecca’s arm. “Come with me.”

  “Rebecca, don’t go!” Berniece pleaded. “Don’t leave me.”

  When Rebecca turned to tell Berniece all would be okay—she sensed it—Berniece had left. “Bernie?” The bat-like figure dragged Rebecca near the bloodbath on deck.

  The man in Carolyn’s arms opened his eyes. The grim reaper stood beside him.

  “Rudy?” Carolyn cried. She brushed back bloody hair caked to his face. “Don’t leave me, Rud.”

  Rebecca had never met her manager. “That’s Rudy.” Rebecca looked to the grim reaper.

  “It’s his time,” the bat man said. His wings sprang out, surprising Rebecca, for she hadn’t realized they’d gone down. She jumped back.

  Rudy struggled to pull himself up. “I-I have”—Rudy coughed—“I have to tell you some…thing.” He gripped Carolyn’s shirt.

  Rebecca glanced at the grim reaper then back at Carolyn.

  “Rudy, shh.” Carolyn’s voice caught. “It’s all right.” She sniffled. “You don’t have to.”

  “Mayday! Mayday!” Jack Cantor said into a receiver while Jay sped the boat over waves.

  Rudy’s lips quivered. “He’s sorry.” His throat gurgled. “Seth is sorry.”

  Carolyn’s mouth dropped.

  The grim reaper smiled and placed a hand on Rudy’s shoulder.

  “Seth Stevenson,” Rudy said
, “is sorry for what he’s done to you and to Michael.”

  Carolyn blinked, followed by a slow, disbelieving head shake. “Rudy, how…? I never told you about him.”

  Rudy stared up at the grim reaper and nodded, and Carolyn’s eyes glided cautiously over the area on which her manager focused.

  Pain gripped Rudy’s face. He coughed, gasped for air, and a loud bubbling sound followed.

  Carolyn grabbed his bloodied shirt, as he fell from her hold. “No! No!”

  An intense eruption of blood gushed from Rudy’s mouth. A torrent of death.

  “Jesus Christ!” Jack Cantor yelled, stepping aside.

  “No!” Carolyn yelled, her hands sliding in Rudy’s unrelenting blood vomit.

  Rebecca reached for Carolyn. “It’s going to be—”

  A boom, and Rebecca’s surroundings crystallized. That suspended feeling again.

  “Bernie?”

  Part IV

  Beyond the Grim Repear

  Felix

  The sky darkened and wind rustled trees on Salem Common. Buds stood out tender and new against gray clouds. Loni Hodge entered the circle. Rebecca stood by her side. Derek, Carolyn, Michael, Terrence, Josefina, Viola, Dave, and Melanie helped complete the circle alongside Loni’s clan of followers.

  It had been months since Carolyn laid to rest her manager and lover Rudy Galante, alongside his family in a cemetery in New Jersey. Now, in spring’s awakening, as Berniece requested, her ashes were to be buried on the Common. It was hard for Carolyn to understand that death brought life, as the reverend had claimed only moments ago. Too much sadness.

  Rebecca sniffled as she collected the red-and-white jar—the closest they could find of something to represent the woman’s prized shop Red Vanilla—from the center of the circle. The vase contained her best friend’s remains.

  Loni Hodge blew her nose in a handkerchief. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us today in a celebration of life.” Her voice bit back emotion. A forced smile grew on her face, and she wiped her eyes with the edge of her robe. “Tonight, we’re celebrating the life of one fine, strong woman. A wonderful human being. And, I’m proud to say, a genuine Salem witch and friend: Berniece Hortense Fagar.” Tears streamed down Loni’s cheeks, carrying bits of black makeup in its wake.

  The gathering broke into applause.

  Rebecca sobbed, the jar rattled, and Carolyn broke from the circle to hug her.

  Love. Carolyn knew that that’s what mattered most. She loved her friends more than anything.

  Cameras flashed from the paparazzi cordoned off at the wrought-iron gate. She didn’t want to bring attention to the event, but Rebecca had insisted she attend: “Bernie would want you there.”

  The theatrical worldwide premiere to Witches of Salem never happened. Jack Cantor’s heart attack after the boating accident and Jonathan Dodger’s stint in a psychiatric ward claiming he’d seen a bat-winged figure that day—like the one Retake and Editing kept finding and cutting from his work—stalled the project. Witches’ released straight-to-video and received good buzz from teenagers, especially for Carolyn.

  A policeman ripped the camera from a man by the Common’s entrance. “Show some respect.”

  Carolyn remembered back nearly a year ago, standing in the wings of the stage at Barry Manilow’s concert, frightened about going out.

  Berniece appeared—out of nowhere. The flicker of light from the stage manager’s desk beautified the woman’s face, smiling and glowing, sending comfort—a tableau moment Carolyn would never forget. “Your father’s here,” Berniece whispered, holding her chest and closing her eyes. Music decorated the air. “I sense his presence.” The witch’s honesty struck Carolyn like a bolt of lightning. “He wants you to sing.” Berniece continued, eyes remaining shut, “For you.”

  The burst of energy Carolyn felt had been like no other and, to this day, had never left. And when she got out onto that stage, with Berniece in the wings looking back and Michael in the audience, while she was grateful for their presence, she’d known she didn’t need them or even her father’s spirit to go on. What she’d needed was to give out her talent and sing from the love she felt inside.

  “Carolyn?”

  She looked Rebecca in the eye and took the jar. The ashes felt grittier than she’d imagined. Crushed bones. As she sprinkled ashes into the hole in the ground and passed the jar to Michael, she couldn’t help but think of Rudy. Crushed bones. “His ribcage torn apart. The marlin’s bill severed his spine,” the coroner had said. Carolyn brought her hands, dusty with Berniece’s remains, to her face and wiped tears.

  Rebecca bit her trembling lip. The poor thing had been through so much. She insisted she’d talked to Berniece on the phone the day Rudy died, but, unfortunately, the woman had suffered an aneurysm days before and lay covered in her own blood in bed back at her apartment.

  The arborist placed the maple in the hole with Berniece’s ashes. Carolyn paid a small fortune to allow the city to bend the rules. “It’s illegal to dispose of the dead on public property.” A ten-thousand-dollar donation changed all that.

  As the Summerwind crew walked across the way to the Hawthorne Hotel, where Carolyn had rented the entire top floor for her friends, a litany of reporters, cameras, and fans converged.

  “Carolyn, how do you feel about your friend’s death?”

  “Ms. Sohier, are you planning to do the sequel to Witches of Salem?”

  “When’s the next album coming out?”

  “Are you ever going to perform live again?”

  “Can I get your—”

  With help from Salem’s police officers, they wedged through the throngs of people.

  “Get de fuck away from her!” Josefina yelled. “Back!”

  Inside the hotel, a security guard led them to the elevators, where they exchanged emotional hugs as the lift carried them to their floor.

  Hours later, well after the group’s commemorative game of Monopoly, Carolyn, Michael, and Rebecca snuck out through the Hawthorne’s kitchen. Before leaving, Carolyn signed an autograph for the waiter, Alan, whom she remembered from their stay while filming there. A black SUV waited out back to jettison them to Red Vanilla.

  Berniece’s shop closed upon her death. Her belongings, from the apartment on Essex Street she once shared with Rebecca, had been transferred there. Rebecca inherited most of Berniece’s belongings. The deceased witch, not having had the wherewithal to pay rent, left little money, and what little she did have her family in Alabama took.

  “Luckily,” Rebecca said, turning on the lights, “the shop’s landlord can’t find a new tenant, so he allowed me to store her stuff here.”

  Michael undid a toggle on his coat. “What are you going to do with it all?”

  The store was packed with boxes, books, and occult material that presumably Berniece hadn’t sold.

  Rebecca shrugged. “Not sure. Sell it, I guess. If I can. Donate some.” She picked up a Felix-the-Cat figurine off the computer station. “Some I’ll keep. She loved this.” She held up the toy, spun its head backward, and the cat’s tail made it look like it had a gigantic penis. “Bernie got a kick out of leaving it like this on the register to see if anyone would notice.” When Rebecca tossed it her way, Carolyn caught it.

  “She always had a good sense of humor.” Carolyn pushed the bottom of the toy, and the cat danced haphazardly.

  Michael chuckled. Carolyn gave it to him. He righted the figurine’s head and placed it on the store’s center console. “Funny. So, what else did you want to show us, besides a cartoon character’s endowment staring me in the face?”

  Rebecca toed a cardboard box out of the way and led them down a cluttered path toward the area in back. “I just thought it would be nice for the three of us to talk, without everyone from Summerwind and the paparazzi.”

  It’d had been some time since Carolyn had seen the girl. With Rebecca’s prompting, she took a seat at the cardboard table, as she had with Michael almost two
years ago when they’d first gone to Red Vanilla.

  “So much has changed.” Carolyn recognized a stack of the autographed headshots that she’d shipped to Berniece last year lying next to a deck of tarot cards.

  Michael picked up a photo of her. “You signed these for her?”

  Carolyn nodded.

  “She gave them to your fans,” Rebecca said. “They were constantly coming in here to get a glimpse of where you’d been.”

  Carolyn turned toward the store’s picture window.

  “Don’t worry,” Rebecca said, “we covered the window with paper.”

  “How long is the driver going to wait?” Michael asked.

  “As long as I want him to.” Carolyn removed her Red Sox cap and let her hair fall down.

  Rebecca dug at one of her fingernails, studying it pensively. “Um, I know it might be hard to talk about, but…”

  Months back, Rebecca mentioned to Carolyn how she materialized on the boat when Rudy died, the witch’s details too vivid to dispute but too soon to discuss further. “You want to talk about Seth?” Carolyn asked. She felt Michael’s stare, surprising him in bringing up the boy.

  Rebecca nodded. “Look, we don’t have to, if you don’t want.”

  “No.” Michael’s hand met Carolyn’s. “We should.”

  The right side of Rebecca’s mouth lifted. “I’m glad. It’s…healing.” She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath—seizing Carolyn’s attention and humming with a sort of divine madness, authentic in its purity. “He…um…Seth is here.” Rebecca’s eyes shot open, and she rushed into saying, “Don’t be scared. He means no harm.”

  Carolyn shook her head. “He doesn’t scare me anymore.”

  “Good,” Michael and Rebecca said. They exchanged a grin.

  “For some time,” Rebecca said, “he was hanging around Derek, as you know. He took a couple of forms, namely that of the grim reaper.”

  “Why?” Carolyn had heard all this before, from both Michael and Rebecca. “I know he liked the Beyond the Grim Reaper and Grim Reaper Returns”—she flung her hand out—“all those shitty movies from the seventies and eighties. It sort of makes sense he’d come back as that.”