“Burn her at the stake, like every witch before her!” She recognized that as the voice of old Kelly Emersen, whose tea she remembered drinking probably hours earlier.
“Yeah, tie her up and get the wood!” Someone else cried.
Russ Geritt stepped forward. “You lying whoremonger!” he snarled.
“What are you talking about?” Matilda fought the grogginess, but to little avail.
“You and your lover come into this town and take us all for a bunch of fools. You sit in our church, shop at our stores, and befriend us only for us to find out we were wickedly deceived.”
She was trapped between possibilities in her mind as to what he could be referring to. Could they have discovered her and Stephen’s reason for leaving Mizpah or was he referring to the fact that they were not related? “Where’s Stephen?” she asked.
“Ooh, you mean your cousin Stephen?” Russ responded with a smirk.
“Where is he?” she insisted.
“He went to meet His Maker – just as you’re going to meet yours tonight!”
Matilda was suddenly struck by fear. She could feel her heart racing as the reality of what those words implied crept into her soul. “You mean… Stephen’s… dead?”
No one bothered to answer her.
She noticed Reverend Ike in front of the crowd. He was quiet, but apparently in full support of what he was witnessing.
“Reverend...” Matilda started, “...aren’t you going to stop this?”
He didn’t respond. An air of austerity encapsulated him.
“See...” Russ gestured with his hand. “There’s no one here to save you. We’re only here for one purpose and that is to rid this town and this world of an evil whoremonger and witch.”
“Why do you call me such things?” Matilda was hurt.
“She’s playing with us!” A woman among them shouted. “She has intercourse with her relative and thinks we’re stupid. Everything hidden is revealed, harlot!”
“Oh! So that’s what this is about. You don’t understand!” Matilda replied. “Okay, Stephen and I lied. We are not related. We love each other and have for many years. We planned to wed someday.” She started to sob. “We kept our relationship a secret because we didn’t know how you people would react to us living together as lovers when we were unwed. That’s the only reason we lied – to protect ourselves from your judgments!” She felt herself growing angrier by the thought of what they might have done to Stephen. “And why call me a witch? I am no such thing!”
“The boy said you are.” Russ said, evenly, which immediately reminded her of Stephen’s words at the table about entrusting Buster with her secret. “We know the whole story – how you killed George. He might’ve been guilty of what he did, but you had no right using your satanic powers to snuff the life out of him and take him from his wife where there might’ve been reconciliation. Marriage is a sacred thing. What God joined together, no man and no harlot should put asunder.”
“Yeah! Yeah!” went the shouting.
“Now’s the time,” Russ continued. “This town, once pure, as the good reverend preached on, will no longer be defiled. You and your lover – whoever and whatever he is to you – can rot in Hell together.”
That’s when Matilda gathered the biggest ball of spit in her mouth and shot him with it in the eye. Russ wasn’t taking it lying down. He belted her one right in the face and she stumbled to the ground. Then they all heard the rustling of leaves surrounding them in the dark, dense forest where they’d dragged her out to. She soon spotted Ann standing amid the crowd, watching her as she wiped the drop of blood that had sailed down the corner of her lower lip. Matilda could barely come to grips with her own emotions, although she’d clearly been betrayed by the only one among them she trusted. For now, she knew she had to get up and either face them again or this time, try to escape somehow. Considering she chose the latter, she wasn’t so sure how far her legs would take her, but she was prepared to try.
“Do you hear that?” Ann advanced forward and looked around at the towering trees - the branches of which seemed to gently sway in the wind. Then the rustling intensified. “I told y’all she’s a witch!” she blurted, as Matilda attempted to rise to her feet. “She’s a doggone, bloody harlot and magician. She’s gonna get all of us killed if we don’t get rid of her first!”
“You’re wrong!” Matilda spoke up through her weakened voice. She was finally standing again and this time kept her distance from Russ.
Mutters in the crowd alerted her that Ann had long succeeded in convincing them. “You’re all wrong!” Matilda cried.
“Shut up, witch!” Alan Strever, a lanky old-timer shouted.
“Please, listen to me. I’m not what I’m being accused of. I never did anything to hurt anyone. You must let me go!”
“You’re a damn liar.” Russ stepped closer and glared down into those dark brown eyes of hers. “You pretty much maimed Harry Jenkins who used to work at the Mill. Now, he can barely get by to feed his family.”
“I had nothing to do with that! I don’t even know who this Harry Jenkins is!”
Russ belted her in the mouth this time. Although the blow knocked her back a foot or two, she continued standing.
“Lies! All lies!” he snarled.
“Enough of this useless chit-chat,” Hank Brown hollered from the back of the crowd. “Let’s string her up on one of these trees out here and leave her for the vultures to feed on.”
Matilda backed up. “Please… please, don’t do this. I’ve never done anything to any of you.” She looked at Ann. “How could you? We’ve been friends for years, Ann. I’ve watched your children; shared whatever I had with you and your family. We’ve helped each other; haven’t we? Tell them I’m not what they think I am. You know the truth! You know it better than anyone out here. Please…” Her eyes begged for vindication.
It seemed like years had passed before Ann uttered a single word in response: “Matilda Stephanie Curry, you are a witch of the worst kind. I’ve heard the chants in your house wee hours of the morning. You were conjuring spirits and worshipping the devil. I watched you move things with your mind and tell people things about their own lives you shouldn’t have known. You lit fires in your backyard without lifting a finger. We laughed at it, remember? You worked magic, summoned dark forces into your home and into this community. You deserve to suffer, Matilda. I am not and never have been a friend of a witch!” She then stepped away as the noisy crowd moved in toward the accused a second time.
“Throw the rope!” Russ said to the teenage boy holding it.
Matilda backed up and now, with a slightly clearer head and strength she hadn’t been able to muster up just minutes earlier, she took off down the rough path.
“Get her!” She heard a raspy voice behind her.
Her screams permeated the air and the pine, maple and birch trees surrounding them, as her feet eagerly took her down the unfriendly terrain. Tears streamed down her face; her heart ached and their angry voices gained momentum with every step she took. Torches burned brightly and she even thought she heard the sporadic clinking of swords. She knew if they ever got their hands on her, she was dead. No measure of pleading would dissuade them from snuffing the life right out of her.
Struggling to focus her mind since she realized it was the only thing that could help her, she ran ahead, twirling her right hand at the side and imagining all the bushes and tree branches swaying in tropical force-like breeze. She could hear the wind whistling and the cracking of branches, and now envisioned them breaking off from their stems at lightning speed and driving themselves into the bodies of those that relentlessly chased her. She dared not look behind as it would decrease her speed, much to her detriment. She had no idea if what she mentally attempted was working as she had never attempted anything telekinetic with a weakened mind. Her grandmother’s necklace bounced on her neck as she ran ahead into the depths of the woods. Little did she know, the first flying branch had pierced t
he abdomen of her closest friend – the mother of three – who had turned on her and incited the others. She fell to the ground. One by one, others were hit in various places about the body. One man got a piercing straight to his head, worse than what Stephen suffered at the hand of his boss. Matilda kept running, nearly tripping several times, but was seemingly upheld by some supernatural force – perhaps, the same force from which her unusual ability was derived.
Soon, behind her, the woods were pegged with bodies of those intent on revenge and what they thought was godly justice. She could hear feet still behind her and shouts, although there were fewer now. Russ was still behind her and luckily enough, had dodged every flying wooden dagger. With unrelenting determination, he started swinging the rope as he was closing in on her and in spite of a few misses, finally, he hit his target and pulled her back, dragging her across the rugged ground.
Only five men remained – everyone was taken down by Matilda’s otherworldly attack. Russ punched her harder than he had before and knocked her out, then he slipped the rope up above her waist to her neck, and tightened it. With the help of the others, he selected the perfect tree and threw the other end of the rope over it and together, the men pulled that end, hoisting Matilda far up into the air. After one of the men tied the end of the rope around the trunk of a tree, they all watched as she hung there. Suddenly awake now, wiggling and struggling to breathe, Matilda tried to slacken the rope around her neck, fighting with everything inside to preserve her life. With a supernatural will that went against what the men knew to be humanly possible, she somehow managed to speak as the rope choked the very air out of her: “You think you’ve killed me, but you cannot destroy my legacy. I curse you all and this God-forsaken town.”
* * *
Reverend Ike had quickly taken a detour from the crowd and ran away after he saw the flying branches. He returned home and locked himself in his prayer room – the basement – for the next six days. It was on the seventh day that a parishioner discovered his decomposing body in a pool of blood, and smeared on the floor nearby were the letters: M A T I L D A.
12
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“Wake up, sleepy head,” Mira said to her daughter Rosie, who had just rolled over in bed. “Time to get ready for school.”
Rosie slowly sat up moments later, rubbing her eyes.
“Morning, honey.” Mira gave her a peck on the cheek and started to leave, then she suddenly turned around. “You must’ve really had some dream. I’m pretty sure I heard you talking in your sleep last night.”
“I wasn’t dreaming, Mom,” Rosie replied, tiredly.
Mira giggled. “Many times we dream and just don’t remember, honey. I’m positive I heard you.”
“It was no dream. This very nice lady named Matilda was here. Do you remember Cara?”
“Yes.” Mira nodded, apprehensively.
“Well, her Aunt Matilda was here and she told me so many things about what happened before there were TVs, telephones, the internet...”
Mira walked over and sat down next to Rosie. “Really? She was actually here in the room with you?”
“Yes, she was. She’s a very pretty lady and when she was alive she had a special gift, but it was different from ours.”
Mira could not forget the little girl she and Rosie had met years earlier — the one that killed the people she once loved.
“Her gift was like Cara’s,” Rosie said.
“Right.”
Rosie started to get up. “They killed her, you know, but she didn’t deserve it. In the end she got even though.”
“Even? How?”
“She cursed the entire town and she said if we ever researched its history, we’d find out some very interesting things. She was sad then, but she’s not anymore.”
“I wonder why she came to you.” Mira said. “I never imagined you or I would ever see her again after she came for Cara.”
“She came because something’s going to happen, but she didn’t say what it was. Instead, she said to pay attention to the signs when they appear. That’s all I know.”
Mira had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as Rosie walked out of the room.
~ The End ~
The Disappearing House
Cornelius Saga Series - Book 10
1
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“Every town has its secrets and this one is no different,” Mira told her mother.
Sara took one gulp of her soft drink, then rested the can down on the table again. Their lunch date at Phil’s had been planned a week in advance and finally, they were sitting there, just the two of them, in the corner of the large room near a window.
Phil’s was never busy between 11:00 a.m. and 12:00 noon; the influx of customers usually came in between the hours of 12:00 and 3:00 p.m. Since Mira had returned to work again, although with a slight limp she’d suffered since the tragedy a couple of years earlier, it had been difficult for her and Sara to plan any outings. And as Sara was getting older, Mira realized even more than ever how important it was to continue to make good memories and spend as much time as possible with her mom.
Sara’s eyes met Mira’s again. “I’ve lived in this town all of my life. If there was some dreadful secret people were keeping, I’d know about it.”
“Really, Mom? What about Cornelius’ secret? Karlen’s demise and how his granddaughter had kept hush about it for years? You knew nothing about that until it all was uncovered, remember? So, you can’t possibly know everything that went on in this town decades or centuries before you were born that have been swept under the rug!” Mira sighed. “Something around here has an awful stench and I’m gonna find out what it is, one way or the other.”
“Why are you insisting on this? Look, you’ve just recently returned to work; you’re still in recovery mode whether you believe it or not.”
“What’re you saying?”
“I’m saying that your focus needs to be in the right place, Mira. You can’t help them all! And you certainly can’t save the world. What matters most is Rosie’s needs. She’s now a teenager and needs you more than ever.”
“What does this have to do with Rosie? I’m always there for her— just as you are!”
Sara quickly nodded to appease her daughter’s temperament.
“I know…and I’m not implying that you’re not. All I’m saying is it’s best you leave the past in the past and not dig up anything that might cause you any trouble or unnecessary stress. You don’t need that, Sweet Pea; you’ve been through so much already.”
Mira looked Sara dead in the eyes. “Seven months ago, Matilda told Rosie that something was going to happen and to pay attention to the signs. I’ve seen the signs ever since she appeared to her — and so have you.”
Sara lowered her head. Mira could tell that she wanted to avoid the subject. Her face suddenly looked pale and the wrinkles across her forehead seemed to appear more prominent as she frowned.
“Why are you avoiding this, Mom?” Mira studied her. “All of my life, ever since my first unusual experience, you’ve supported me in every situation, just as you have Rosie. You’ve never once tried to deter me from doing what I could to help those that needed my help. Any intuition I had, you encouraged me to follow, but this time, you just seem so resistant to what I’m telling you and I don’t understand why. You know, firsthand, that this part of my life never ever affected my taking care of Rosie or my job performance in any way, shape or form, so what you’re saying to me just doesn’t make sense. What about the fact that you’ve been seeing things as of late — strange things that you don’t normally see? What about the nightmares you’ve been having for literally months now? And the manhole we saw the other day brimming over with what appeared to be bubbling acid, and although you didn’t see the young man inside screaming his lungs out, I did. These are just some of the signs that tell me something isn’t right.”
“I agree the acid thing was strange, but as for the appar
ition, you always see them. And as far as my having nightmares is concerned; everyone has nightmares, Mira.”
“Not for the length of time you’ve been having them.” She reached across the table for Sara’s hand. “That’s why I want you to see someone about it.”
Sara scowled. “Someone…like who?”
Mira paused for a few moments as she considered how to put it. “Someone who can help.”
“You mean, like a therapist?”
Mira nodded.
“Please! You’ve gotta be kidding! What in the world would I need to see a therapist for— just because I’m having bad dreams?”
“Mainly because you won’t talk about it. You won’t share what wakes you up screaming almost every other night and you shut down when I ask you about it, Mom. The constant, sleepless nights are obviously taking a toll on you. You seem to be aging quickly and your concentration isn’t there like it used to be. If you won’t talk to me, you must talk to someone. I can’t sit back and watch you go on like this, for God knows how much longer!”
For a while, no one spoke, then Sara gently pushed her plate aside which still had another half of a turkey sandwich on it. “As usual, Mira, you’ve managed to switch the conversation from you to me. We were talking about how you ought to leave this new stuff you’ve started digging into alone, when all of a sudden the focus switched to me and my nightmares! This is ridiculous. I’m going to say this once. I don’t have a problem that I can’t deal with, so I’m not going to see a therapist or anyone else for that matter. If somehow I awake you in the middle of the night, it’s just a dream; ignore me and go back to sleep. I’m fine. I may look older because I am older — there’s nothing odd about that. I want you to concentrate on yourself and Rosie and what’s best for you both. I’ll be all right.” She put the strap of her purse on her arm. “If you don’t mind, I’ll be leaving now. I need to make a few stops before heading home. See you later at the house, okay?”
The Cornelius Saga Series (All 15 Books): The Ultimate Adventure-packed Supernatural Thriller Collection Page 58
