Bones of a Witch

by Dana Donovan

  “Well, I don’t remember exactly.”

  “I don’t either, but I’m sure it didn’t say we were actually at Gallows Hill. It only mentioned Gallows Hill. And earlier, didn’t you have trouble getting us there? Why was that?”

  Dominic scratched his head lightly. “Don’t know, really. It’s Google Earth. It didn’t exactly provide GPS coordinates for Gallows Hill; it merely referenced it with a not so well-placed icon.”

  “Then fire it up again, or try different search criteria. Let’s find the real Gallows Hill—and quickly. I know we’re running out of time.”

  I said, “Why don’t we just ask someone?”

  They both looked at me with astonishment; as though I hadn’t a better idea in my life. We spotted a blue-collar gentleman leaving a local bar and approached him. I flashed my badge and then asked about the marker we saw earlier.

  “That’s a pseudo marker,” he said, explaining that no one really knows the location of the real Gallows Hill. “It’s just a pretty site and a nice place for tourists to take pictures.”

  “So it’s not where the hangings took place?” I asked.

  “He shrugged. “Could have been, but then again maybe not. The old-timers believe the hill was more north of here; say the prevailing summer winds would have blown the evil spirits away from the town center. But historians think it was the mound immediately south of the marker. It’s closer to the site of the old courthouse and not nearly as steep; would have made it easier to cart off the condemned, seeing that the spring rains wouldn’t have made it too muddy to traverse.”

  Tony asked, “Are there still trees on them hilltops?”

  The guy made a face like we had just asked him if flowers bloom in spring. “Of course there are trees on them.” But then he qualified that by adding, “Well, on two of them anyway. The hill by the church has but one tree standing right up on top: an oldie, too. Some think it could be the hanging tree used in 1692. Others disagree.”

  I thanked the guy. “You’ve been a big help,” I said, and I let him go about his business. “Well, what do we do now? We can’t effectively stake out all three locations together.”

  Tony’s gaze drifted off in cold solitude. He looked more scared than I had ever seen him before. “You’re right,” he said. “We don’t have time to investigate all three hills. Maybe we should spilt up, take one each.”

  “Why don’t you scry?” said Dominic.

  “He’s not gonna cry,” I said. “He just worried.”

  “No,” he pulled on Tony’s coat sleeve, “I mean use your witchcraft. Maybe scrying can help you determine her whereabouts so we don’t have to split up.”

  He shook his head. “No, I couldn’t. I don’t think I know how to—”

  “Sure you do. You said yourself you’ve been practicing when Lilith’s not around.”

  “Oh, sure I’ve lit a few candles and tried my hand at a couple of spells, but….”

  “But nothing. You have to at least try. I know you can do this. Carlos, tell him.”

  “He’s right, Tony. You had success with the whisper box that one time, didn’t you?”

  “Twice,” he said, and smiled boyishly. “No, wait, three times. I forgot about that time with the tequila.”

  “No,” I assured him. “I saw Lilith that night. That was the tequila.”

  Dominic added, “What about the Grossman Jewelry heist? We were going to have to let that scumbag walk for lack of evidence until you figured out the guy hid the jewels in a rented lock box at Jefferson station. Now don’t tell me you didn’t somehow get into his head and read his mind. You even knew what locker number to look in.”

  “All right, fine,” said Tony. He checked his watch and began searching for businesses along the street that might still be open. “I’m going to need some rice or beans.”

  I looked at him strangely. “You hungry?”

  He palmed my chest and shoved me back a step. “Dry beans or rice, you idiot, for scrying.”

  Dominic held up his finger. “Wait here a sec. I’ve got an idea.” He turned and ran into the bar that ol` blue collar had left just moments earlier. Moments later he came back out with several bags of salted peanuts. “Will these work?”

  Tony considered the offering with a suspicious grin. “Peanuts, Dominic?”

  “Yeah. I got them from the snack machine. They should work, yes?”

  He took the bags. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

  “I can get more if you need `em.”

  “No, let’s try this.”

  “Let him get more,” I said. “You don’t want to have to come all the way back here.”

  Now that suspicious grin fell on me. “Why, Carlos, do you want some peanuts?”

  “No. Well, you know it wouldn’t hurt to have extra just in case.”

  “We have enough.”

  Dominic waited till Tony looked away before tapping me on the arm. “Hey, don’t worry,” he said in a hush. “I didn’t forget about you.” He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a Snickers candy bar. “Here you go.”

  I took it with a buried smile. Tony gave another look around and said, “We’ll have to get away from here. There’s too much dolomite around to do any real scrying. What do you say we head back to the parking lot by the old marker?”

  “Let’s do it,” I said. And so we rolled.

  Dominic Spinelli:

  From the moment we arrived in Salem I got the feeling that Tony wasn’t himself. We had gone to a location just west of downtown that we thought was Gallows Hill, only to learn later that it wasn’t the actual Gallows Hill you read about in all the history books. While there, however, we stopped to ask some kids if they had seen Lilith, alone or otherwise. When they didn’t give the answer Tony wanted, he picked one of the boys up by the throat and nearly decked him. If Carlos hadn’t stepped in when he did I think it might have gotten really ugly. Afterwards, when things calmed down we were sitting on the bench and Tony started reading Carlos’ thoughts. I mean for real. The witch is in him, man. The witch is in him.

  Later we got into town and learned a couple of things: first that the entire town is lousy with dolomite, a sedimentary rock that apparently prevents witches from working their magic; and secondly that no one really knows where the real Gallows Hill is, on account of it never was an official name for the maps. After learning this, I got the idea of having Tony try his hand at scrying to maybe learn of Lilith’s whereabouts. That’s when I found out how much Tony had been secretly practicing witchcraft behind our backs. I think it’s because he doesn’t want anyone to see when he fails, and so he keeps his victories to himself. Carlos thinks it’s something I mentioned earlier about the town soaking in witchcraft residue. Whatever the case, Tony obviously has the power.

  We arrived back at the parking lot of what we first thought was Gallows Hill. There we felt reasonably sure Tony would not feel the effects of all the dolomite around town. A lone streetlamp glowed atop a pole at the foot of a dirt path leading to the bench and granite marker erroneously declaring our presence at Salem’s historic hill. Tony cleared a patch of dirt below the light, using his foot to form a near-perfect circle about the size of a manhole cover. He got down on one knee, keeping just outside the circle, but crowding it enough that his body partially blocked the light from the lamp above. Carlos and I assumed a similar position, only not quite as close to the rim.

  “I’ve never done this without Lilith,” he said. “I’ll have no way knowing if I’m right until we get where we’re going.”

  “You’ll be right,” I said. “I just know it.”

  He looked at me with a hooked brow, as if to say, we’ll see. Then he tore open the first package of peanuts and spilled them into a neat pile in the center of the circle. After tearing open the second bag of peanuts and adding them to the first, he paused to study the collection, appearing to give the sum careful consideration. I was just about to ask him if he thought there was a problem, when he reached i
nto the pile and removed a single peanut. Carlos and I both thought it queer, but we held our tongues. Finally, Tony tore open the third package and spilled a single peanut from the bag, replacing the rogue peanut he had discarded. When it appeared he was satisfied with the final collection, he set the open bag aside. Carlos (as if I didn’t see it coming) pointed to it and asked, “You gonna need those?”

  Tony gave him a look of disbelief before handing him the bag. To see Carlos’ smile you’d have thought he had just discovered the prize at the bottom of a Crack-A-Jack box. I smiled as well, but only because I saw it coming. As Tony prepared himself mentally for the scrying, I readied myself too, settling in on both knees and rocking back on my heels with hands folded neatly on my lap. Somewhere out beyond the reach of the streetlamp, the wind flirted through the trees, their autumn leaves rustling softly like rippling water. In their whispers, I heard echoes of distance voices, and imagined the spirits of ancient witches gathering around us to help Tony in his charmed endeavor. A sense of otherness filled me. I looked to Tony and saw that it had consumed him. He seemed at peace, his eyes closed in meditation; his breathing synchronized with the pulse of the wind. I knew then that the scrying would work. I only hoped we would not be too late when our questions were finally answered.

  After what seemed like exaggerated minutes, Tony opened his eyes and gazed down on the peanuts with resolute faith in their utility. I held my breath and swallowed, watching as he bent over and scooped them up in cupped hands. He then raised his hands high above the circle’s center and in one quick motion allowed his hands to drop away. The peanuts fell to the ground in a cluster, scattering upon impact in an asymmetrical pattern like random hail. I saw Carlos looking at Tony, his eyes wide with expectation. I know he wanted to say something, but his better judgment kept the words from parting his lips. I, too, bated my enthusiasm, realizing that Tony first needed to study the results of the drop before reaching any firm conclusions. His verdict came after much agony, considering a wrong interpretation would likely cost Lilith her life. After wiping the dirt from his hands on his pant leg, he looked up at us and declared, “We need to go now.”

  Lilith Adams:

  You know I would have thought the courthouse might empty out like an Argentine soccer stadium: mayhem controlled by devised disorder and restrained havoc. I truly expected a mob scene complete with burning torches and thrusting pitchforks stampeding through the streets on their way to Gallows Hill with me riding the rail at the head of the heard. Instead, the place emptied out like a Sunday congregation on a summer’s eve; men and women exiting arm-in-arm in a sauntering stroll, peeling off left and right alternately and disappearing into the breezy night. Only Putnam and Hilton stayed with me, each flanking one side and pinching the back of my arms above the elbows to keep me from running. My hands were still tied behind my back, but I had managed to loosen them some by stretching the ropes while seated on the witness stand. Still, with the witch’s stone around my neck, it left me in no position to effect an escape.

  “In you go,” said Hilton, pointing to the limo door that Putnam had just opened.

  “To the gallows in style,” I said. “You do know how to make a witch feel special.”

  He smiled. “We try,” and he shut the door upon entering behind me. As the limo pulled away from the barn, he said, “You know, Miss Adams, I hope you don’t take any of this personally. It’s just that we have a delicate balance to protect here.”

  “We? You speak for the entire town?”

  “Better; I speak for the Almighty.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t believe in God the way you do, but if I did I should think you have a twisted understanding of how He works.”

  He laughed faintly. “No, you don’t understand. I don’t work for Him. I minister for Lucifer. I provide the balance that the church seeks to disrupt. You see, in the old days we had everyone convinced that witches like you were evil, but the reality, as you know, is that they are the enemies of Satan because they do not worship God, and only followers of God wage war. That has always been the compromise between God and Satan. In death, God get the souls of innocent soldiers and conscientious objectives, while Satan gets the war mongers, dictators and murderers.”

  “Sounds like a tidy arrangement,” I said. “So why kill witches?”

  “Why?” His brows rose, crowding the lines on his forehead, making him look older by several decades. “Because witches threaten to change the face of world religion back to total pagan dominance.”

  “No we don’t. We’re not out to change the world. And we certainly don’t go around trying to convert anyone. The witch’s creed states, if thee harm none, then do as thou wilt.”

  “Yes, but it just takes one or two individuals to change that. Christianity began with Jesus; Islam has Muhammad and Judaism has Abraham and Moses. Just one or two Individuals, you see, that’s all it takes. The pagan religion of Wicca, and by extension witchcraft, is among the fastest growing religions in the world. What do you suppose would happen if they found a martyr? If paganism realizes the worldwide success of Christianity, Judaism and Islam then soon we will have no more souls in which to fight over. Wars will cease to exist. Hatred for others will yield to tolerance and understanding.”

  “You have got to be kidding me. First of all, you’re putting a lot of stock into something that most people find ridiculous, and secondly—that’s…that’s ridiculous in itself.”

  “Is it? Tell that to Christ, Muhammad and Moses.”

  “So what are you saying: that Satan’s survival depends upon others believing in him? If they stop believing he will cease to exist?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Then by your definition, he and Santa Clause share the same misfortune: in that they never really existed at all.”

  “Silence,” he barked, and I watched his face flush red with fury. “You’re twisting my words. The Devil is real and so is the God that shall forsake your soul for the blasphemy you spew here tonight.”

  “And what about you? Do you believe that your pact with the devil will save your soul from his eternal fires?”

  Hilton leaned forward in his seat and the dome light above cast a shadow on his face that only Lucifer himself could find pleasing. “The Devil needs His mercenaries like God needs His angels. We are agents in a surrogate war and our places in the afterworld have been secured.”

  “Then I hope you’re right, Pastor Hilton, because the devil you know is the devil within. And you know in your heart where that devil belongs.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that you make your own bed; be it stone or straw, you shall lie in it one day and forever.”

  Hilton eased back in his seat, glaring at me as if I had just predicted his eminent demise. I smiled at him as though I had. We maintained that posture for the duration of the short ride to Gallows Hill. When the limo stopped, he hopped out and waited for Putnam to come around before instructing me to exit, too.

  “End of the road,” said Putnam, his demeanor more jovial than that of Hilton’s. But I figured I still had enough time to work on that one too.

  The place they took me looked nothing like I imagined it would. Barely a slope on the horizon with a lone tree standing in the middle of nowhere. I saw no buildings nearby, save for an old brick church in the distance, its steeple silhouetted against a low one-quarter moon—maybe the same church Ursula Bishop saw as they lowered the noose around her neck. Just then, a breeze kicked up, dryer and more brisk in the open, I thought, than back at the barn, and the chill that ran through my bones from it ushered in a sense of urgency that I had neglected to realize before. It made me wonder where Tony was; why Spinelli hadn’t pulled some sort of GPS locater out of his ass and trained it on mine yet, and if Carlos hadn’t made them stop for Twinkies and cupcakes a half dozen times on their way out to Salem.

  After shutting the car door, Hilton spun me around and pointed me in the direction of the slope. “Mov
e,” he said, and gave me a nudge. I stood my ground like a mule, but when Putnam shoved me even harder, I gave in and started that way. We marched up the slope toward the tree: me, Putnam and Hilton; beside us, three dim moon shadows stretched grotesquely long and barely visible. Still I could see from the shapes of them that Putnam had his pistol pointed at the small of my back. I kept thinking if I could somehow get my hands around front and pull the witch’s stone from my neck, then I could make something happen, maybe pull some jujitsu on Putnam and wrestle the gun from his hand. But no such opportunity presented itself, and soon we were at the tree, which incidentally, seemed much bigger up close than it did down by the limo. And coincidentally or not, the lowest, thickest branch came with a heavy rope and hangman’s noose around it already. On the ground sat a wooden pail, upside-down and situated directly below the noose: a perfect jumping off point to be sure.

  “Nice,” I said of the set-up, giving an approving nod, “and convenient, too.”

  Hilton seemed none too amused. He pointed to the bucket. “Come on then. Let’s get this over with. Get up on the bucket.”

  “What, don’t I get a last smoke?”

  “You smoke?”

  “No, but I’m thinking of starting.”

  “Get up there.”

  He motioned for Putnam to help me up, which he did, and then he lowered the noose around my neck and pulled the slack from the line.

  “Easy,” I said. “Don’t mess the hair.”

  But he did. The two men stepped back some four to five feet, adopting a rigid posture as if about to salute me. But then Hilton broke out what I thought was a bible, only the words he read from it were like none I had ever heard from any church-goer before. At first I thought he was reading Latin or reciting Macaronic verses from a long-forgotten text. But soon the words found translation in modern vernacular and I knew then that these two were as loopy as they come.

  “Whence ye cometh matters not,” he began, “thy blood doeth feed this sacred tree. Darkness born of shallow hearts split but thrice yet not for thee. Curse this body as thy will; devour all and save the least; let evil lie in patient wait within the belly of the beast.”