Suicides.
The word seemed to hang in the air, drifting like a dark specter through the hush in the hall, brushing everyone with its chilling touch as it went.
“It’s no secret that something strange has been going on here in Tahawus,” Colvin continued. “You’ve all felt it, I know. Too many people have died for no reason. Too many good people.” He paused, thinking of all the bodies he had buried in the past couple of months. Without thinking, his eyes fell on Sally Gill again and he quickly looked away. “It’s also no secret that myself and Emmons have been working with Ms. Jacobs here to see if we can’t get to the bottom of what’s been going on. By now, you’ve all heard the rumors about our journey to North Camp. I figure it’s time you all knew the truth about what we found there.”
Colvin’s next sentence seemed to catch in his throat and a moment passed before he was finally able to get it out. “Everyone at North Camp is dead.”
A shocked uproar simmered up from the crowd like a pot boiling over. Colvin’s gaze went to the back of the hall and saw Heath glowering back at him. His face was dark, his arms folded over his barrel chest. For the moment, the big man seemed content to remain silent.
What’s he waiting for? Colvin wondered uneasily. What’s his game?
“What happened to ‘em, Colvin?” a voice shouted. “How’d they die? Indians?”
Colvin wrenched his gaze away from Heath and brought his attention back to the audience. He swallowed. His mouth had suddenly gone dry and he wished he had poured himself a glass of water. “They killed themselves,” he replied evenly. “Every one of them. Barricaded themselves in the bunkhouse and hanged themselves.”
There was a great, collective intake of air from the crowd that almost made the lamps flicker. Several of the women were weeping now, their quiet sobs rising and falling beneath the swelling tide of outrage.
“Why? Why’d they do it?” another voice cried.
“Some thing made them do it,” Colvin asserted. “The same thing that drove the others to take their own lives over these past few months. I know we’re all thinking it, so I might as well come out and say it... something evil is at work here in Tahawus, something old and terrible and bent on our destruction. I’m not entirely certain what it is, but there’s one thing I am certain of: we’re no longer safe here.” He paused, giving his words a moment to sink in. “That’s why I’m proposing that we evacuate the village as soon as possible.”
There were gasps and exclamations as the significance of what Colvin was suggesting took hold. He held a hand in the air, calling for order.
“The way I see it, we’ve no other choice,” he stated flatly, once the commotion had settled. “Whatever this evil is, I don’t believe it will stop. I’ve seen what it can do with my own eyes at North Camp. The same fate could be our own if we don’t leave.”
“And go where?” Heath’s deep voice finally rang out as he unfolded his arms and strode to the aisle between the rows of tables. “We’ve nowhere else to go!”
“He’s right,” Delaney agreed, joining Heath at the center of the room. Young and hearty with a granite chin and thick, auburn hair, Delaney was a fitting complement to Heath’s harsh and grizzled demeanor. “I’ve a wife to care for. If we abandon the town, the company will fire us all! And good luck finding work someplace else, what with a war being waged all around us. We’ll all be left homeless and penniless!”
“At least you’ll have your lives,” Colvin argued.
“I’ve a better solution,” Heath countered. He sneered at Colvin before sweeping around to the crowd. “Tahawus is our home. Why should we all be the ones to leave it when it’s clear that she’s the only one who must go!” His finger shot through the air at Abigail.
Abigail stared back at him defiantly, her blue eyes never wavering, just gleaming intensely in the lamplight.
Colvin heard a few murmurs of agreement rise from the audience. He didn’t like where this was going, but it was already too late; Heath was already warming to the moment.
“’Tis true what Colvin says,” the big man went on. “Evil does walk among us. But ‘tis her! She’s the one who’s brought the Lord’s wrath down upon this town! He has sent His vengeful angel to punish the sinful with blood and fire. By our own hands we will die as long as we permit this witch of the black arts to remain among us! There are none here that are safe. None!”
From the corner of his eye, Colvin saw Josiah step from the shadows, his black eyes fixed on Heath. Colvin shot him a look and shook his head. The last thing he wanted was a fight. There had to be a way of settling this peacefully and maintaining lawfulness.
A woman’s voice rose from somewhere near the side of the room. It was shrill and quaking. “What do you suggest we do, MacIntyre?”
Heath turned, his tone going low and somber. “Atonement.”
“How?”
“Show the Lord you repent of your wickedness.” A frightful look came over Heath’s face, icy and cruel and dangerous. “Offer Him a sacrifice.”
“That’s enough, MacIntyre!” Father Carnes boomed. His chair skittered across the floor behind him as he shot to his feet. “We’ll have none of that sort of talk here!”
But Heath wouldn’t be stopped. “The Lord commands that we will not suffer a witch to live, and yet even now this hellion sits before you! Welcomed by Father Carnes himself! She tells us we must leave our homes to face death in the wilderness! I say ‘tis her that must die! Not us!”
The crowd erupted into another uproar, opposing voices clamoring to be heard over each other.
Colvin had finally heard enough. He started down the aisle but another man stepped in his way. It was Ned Fitch, the wiry physician.
Fitch rose from his bench, fist balled, and swung it at Heath, catching him squarely to the side of his scruffy goatee. “You shut up that talk, MacIntyre!” Fitch cried, his voice quivering. “You shut it up right now! No one here’s killin’ anyone! So you just shut the hell up!”
Fitch’s punch did little more than split Heath’s lip. Heath spit a gob of blood on the floor and wheeled on the physician, his eyes smoldering with anger. One blow from his massive fist sent the smaller man sprawling across the floor.
Fitch rolled to his knees. Blood poured from his nose in a stream, pooling on the floorboards. He let out a shuddering groan, then went flat on his stomach in a pitiful heap, groggy and clinging to consciousness.
A woman screamed. Chaos descended on the hall.
Heath’s followers rushed from where they stood as a handful of outraged men bolted to their feet and came to Fitch’s defense. There were shouts, shoves, fists.
In a heartbeat, Colvin saw his worst fears realized: his village was degenerating into hysteria. He and Josiah both dove into the scuffle, yanking men from both sides apart. Something hard caught Colvin on the bone below his eye and he staggered around, momentarily dazed.
Heath was there. Tossing a man aside as if he were a child, the big man dragged himself free of the fray and spun around, fists up, daring someone to challenge him.
“Which of ye’ will be the next to strike me? Who will it be?” he roared. His hair was wild and his face was an ugly shade of red. Blood dribbled through his goatee. His booming voice echoing through the hall brought an instant end to the tumult. “You go ahead and wait!” he bellowed, whirling on the crowd. “Wait until it’s yer turn! Wait until ye’ wake in the night and slip a rope around your neck! Wait until ye’ take a blade and run yerself through, just like my poor Evelyn! The angel of vengeance will come for ye’ soon enough! Perhaps even tonight! The Lord demands expiation for our sins and He will have it, be it her blood or yours!”
Heath’s eyes blazed as he cast one last, baleful look around at his audience. Chest heaving, he stormed from the hall, slamming the door behind him and leaving a nervous quiet in his wake.
With the echoes of the skirmish still lingering in the hall, Colvin called for order and eventually managed to bring the meeting bac
k to the subject of the evacuation.
Owen Delaney remained behind to observe the proceedings, along with a couple more of Heath’s men. As the arguments for and against abandoning the town went on, Colvin wondered how many of those assembled had been swayed by Heath’s dire warnings. How long would it be before someone came for Abigail? Would it be in the morning? Sooner? In the dead of night?
Half an hour later, a vote was taken. Delaney insisted on joining Colvin in counting the raised hands of those assembled. The matter was settled.
The villagers chose to leave.
Those who wanted to stay were free to do so, but as Colvin watched the men and women file from the hall, he knew most would ultimately decide to abandon the village. With what had happened to the men at North Camp, they had experienced enough death to remain any longer.
Father Carnes was already on his way toward the door when Colvin turned to Abigail and Duncan at their table. The priest and Colvin exchanged sober glances from across the room before he slipped out into the windy night.
“When can we expect the evacuation to begin?” Abigail asked.
“If all goes well, we could be on our way by tomorrow afternoon,” Colvin replied. “We’ll need some time to pack and prepare the wagons. We’ve only a few horses up here, so the men will have to hike out on foot.”
“You do realize we now have yet another problem to contend with,” Duncan interjected.
“What would that be?” Colvin asked wearily.
“The war,” Duncan replied. “By sending these people down into the valley, we’re delivering them right into the middle of it.”
“Out of the fire and into the frying pan,” Colvin murmured.
“Tell them to head for North Hudson,” Abigail instructed. “It remains a safe haven. My coachman awaits me there. When you arrive, kindly tell him to delay his return for me by five days.”
Duncan’s eyes snapped toward her. “When we arrive? What are you talking about?”
“I intend to remain here to fight Samael.”
“What?” Colvin exclaimed. “But you said evacuation was our only recourse! You said the demon was too powerful, that you couldn’t—”
“Mr. Colvin, I never walk away from a fight and I never leave a monster unvanquished,” Abigail said coolly. “I told you what you needed to hear in order to convince your people to get themselves to safety. Make no mistake, ‘tis true that the danger here is great. I may be willing to risk my own life, but I have no desire to watch more innocents die in the process.”
“I’m staying with you,” Duncan insisted.
“No,” said Abigail. “You will return home to your family.”
“And then what?” Duncan argued. “What if you die up here, Abby? Would you have me live with the knowledge that I should have been here to help you? Would you curse me with the same guilt you’ve been living with these past twenty years?”
Abigail glared at him. “Very well,” she said at last, her voice as icy as a winter river. “If your wish is to join me on this path, I’ll no longer stand in your way. But be aware that you may only be exchanging one curse for another. For once you have stared into the Abyss, you will forever feel it staring back at you.”
Chapter 33
Hannah Gill lay curled in her bed and wondered when her mother would return from the town meeting. The hour was growing late and Hannah had to use the outhouse. But the young girl didn’t dare venture outside alone. It was cold and dark outside.
And the witch might get her.
Hannah shuddered at the thought and pulled the wool blanket up under chin. Five days had passed since that awful Jacobs woman had bedeviled her with her sorcery. Nothing good can come from witchcraft, Hannah’s mother had admonished. At first, Hannah had been confused when she was brought to the chapel to seek absolution from Father Carnes. Hadn’t Ms. Jacobs saved her life? And besides, Hannah herself hadn’t done anything wrong. Why should she be blamed for anything? Why should she be forced to go to confession?
But in the days that followed, Hannah had slowly come to understand. She’s cursed you, Hannah, her playmates had taunted. She’s put a mark on you so the devil can find you and drag you down to hell....
Shrinking from the image, Hannah rolled over in her bed and forced her thoughts back to her mother. What was taking her so long? If she didn’t return soon, Hannah feared she would wet the bed.
Minutes crawled by. The only sounds in the cabin were the dwindling crackles of the dying fire and the whine of the wind as it clawed and beat at the window. To Hannah, it sounded as if it was trying desperately to get in at her. As the time wore on, another terrible thought crept up on her, unbidden. What if her mother never came home? What if she died, just like Hannah’s father? Who would care for her then?
She’d be alone. An orphan.
No! Hannah reprimanded herself. Her mother would come home. Whatever they were discussing at the meeting was terribly important. Hannah had caught murmurs throughout the village all afternoon. She wondered what could possibly have the adults looking so distressed. Even as a child, Hannah had her suspicions.
It was the witch.
Hannah wrapped herself tighter beneath her blanket and drew her knees up into her small chest. Her mother had left her bedroom door open to let the heat in from the woodstove. But the fire was burning low now and it was growing cold in Hannah’s tiny room. Hannah had been warned against stoking the fire when no one else was around. That was when her father had been around to take care of it; before she had been left with no one but her mother; before she had been forced to spend hours alone in the cold, dark cabin.
All of a sudden, Hannah froze.
Was that a sound?
Hannah went very still in her bed and listened intently. Had her mother finally returned? She waited for the sound of the latch at the front door; the familiar rustle of her mother’s cloak as she hung it on its peg; the squeak of her mother’s tread across the floorboards as she came to see if Hannah was asleep...
Nothing. Only the eerie howl of the wind.
Hannah opened her mouth to call out but a sudden, fearful thought stole her voice away.
What if it wasn’t her mother?
The idea sent a chill through Hannah’s bones. Alone in her bed, an unwanted image took shape in her mind. She imagined the Jacobs woman riding the howling winds, withering all she looked upon, stopping at nothing until she had snatched Hannah from her bed and spirited her away into her realm of unending night...
Hannah fought to keep from trembling as she waited, listening for the sound to come again. Her heartbeat throbbed in her ears and a cold sweat covered her skin, soaking her cotton nightgown. If only her mother were here; if only she had never left!
And then it came again.
It was a sound so clear and jarring in the silence, it sent a jolt through the whole of Hannah’s little body.
Her bedroom door was moving.
Hannah’s eyes snapped shut, but still that dreadful sound persisted: the creak and groan of rusty hinges as her door slowly, slowly swung shut.
The flickering rectangle of light from the stove in the next room grew more and more narrow, reducing to nothing more than an orange sliver until, finally, the glow was gone and there was only darkness.
Hannah trembled uncontrollably and tried to convince herself it had been the wind. Yes! The wind had somehow found its way through a crack in the window! Her mother would be home soon to open the door and let the light in again. Hannah would tell her about the window and one of the men would come to fix it. Perhaps that nice Mr. Delaney? Yes! Mr. Delaney would make sure her door never swung shut by itself ever again.
Hannah’s breath suddenly caught in her throat and she went cold all over.
Something was in the room with her.
It made no sound. No footfalls. No breaths. But Hannah could sense its presence lurking there in the darkness. Somehow, she could feel the weight of its eyes on her from across the room.
It was waiting there, watching her...
And then—with a sickening rush of horror—it was creeping toward her as she lay trembling and helpless in her bed.
Paralyzed with fright, Hannah remained there, her woolen blanket cinched over her head and her eyes squeezed tight. The sound of her heart pounding in her ears was deafening and she wished she could somehow silence it.
But it didn’t matter. There was no way she could hide from the silent horror stealing toward her. It knew she was there, trapped and defenseless in her bed. She could feel its sinister presence beside her now, looming over her in the darkness. Its malevolent heat radiated against her back and she knew the horror was real. This was no dream; no nightmare she could wake from. An overwhelming wave of panic washed over her and she could no longer hold her bladder. A warm, wet sensation spread out under her as she held her breath and tried to remain motionless, praying that this unseen apparition would go away, that it would spare her.
Don’t be afraid, Hannah...
That voice! That kind, familiar voice! Hannah recognized it at once. She heard it every night in her dreams, chasing away the nightmares. It was one of the first voices she had ever heard...
Her father. Her dead father.
Hannah...
No! It couldn’t be! It had to be a trick. It was the work of the witch! The witch had done something to Hannah when she had healed the bee sting. It was all true; everything they said about the Jacobs woman was true. Father Carnes had made a terrible, terrible mistake. He had been wrong to say the woman meant well. The village boys had all been right: she was black-hearted and evil. The witch had done something awful to Hannah that day when she had lain helpless in the street. The witch had cursed her and put her black mark upon her.
And now the witch had sent an abomination to claim her.
Look at me, Hannah. Let me see your dear, dear face...
Hannah didn’t dare roll over, didn’t dare open her eyes, didn’t dare face the unholy terror at her bedside.
The Suicide Lake (Book of Shadows 2) Page 18
