The Witch (5 page)

“So, have I been given notice, or what?”

“I’ll pick up Stephen tomorrow.”

“And the next day?”

“I’ll continue babysitting, Mr. Zaira.” She brushed a few strands of hair off the boy’s forehead before heading to the front door.

“Hey, Molly, I’ll be raising your salary, since you’ve lost one of the benefits of the job.” Jacob laughed.

The basement was full of whispers. Full of condemnations. Voices audible only in the darkness. Voices with soft, melodic tones. Voices icy and determined. Voices grating and willful. Voices of spirits gathered to mourn. Gathered to complain. Peevish voices wanting revenge. And they all seemed to be centered around a long wooden table. A table with wax thick on the grain, wax in colors representing every emotion, every day that Cathy celebrated her rite.

A wooden box basked in the glow of the moon as the others in the house slept. The carved beasts quivered in the shine of the moon, in the magic of the moon. Writhing, almost escaping the confinement of the box, the beasts roared their frustration in silence. Their mouths open wide, their eyes bulging, their nasal cavities flaring, and the chords in their necks taut, they attempted to become flesh. To become something that could touch the angry world around them. To avenge the mistress existing now only in spirit. She hovered near but could not manipulate, could not sing her song of death for the world to hear.

The whispers spoke of her, spoke of her release. Still not satisfied, she longed for more than freedom. The hot voices worried the old wax, melting it into puddles of rainbows. Colors meshing together, forming new waves of color to harden on the table, and all the while the beasts remained trapped.

A slow, monotonous drip from a water pipe gave melody to the voices. Set the beat. Brought dampness to the basement. Paint swelled and flaked, leaving barren spots on the walls. Vermin climbed the walls seeking prey, seeking a mate, seeking a place to grow old and die, crawling unevenly over paint stains, ruptures in the wall, skeletons of families left to rot.

The floor covered with stains and dirt. Particles sticking to the baseboards. Every updraft swirled the specks into clouds that settled on tin cans, old furniture, and forgotten clothes.

The darkness couldn’t hide the scene because the moon spotlighted the rage embedded in the utensils Cathy once used. The dagger, the oil, the sea salt, the incense, the bell, the pentacle, always aware of their purpose, always aware of the failures and the conceits which flowed through them.

A rat sniffed at the window and pawed the glass. The lock on the inside of the window remained stuck, preventing the potential intruder from ruining Cathy’s utensils. Protecting the spells from being broken, holding the curses in place until the little one found his way back. Shortly after his mother’s death the child had slipped quietly into the basement, cautiously taking the steps one by one, directing his gaze to the box. Mommy’s very special box where she kept her goddess guarded by fiends. The chubby goddess he took but left the fearsome box to await his return. But the forces of Mommy’s power knew he’d come back, and when he did the simmering rage would explode into an unquenchable revenge.

The witch stumbled down the flight of stairs. Her oversized shoes didn’t seem to fit properly on the narrow steps. Consequently she woke Brandy who had been snoozing inside a cage. The cage stood tall enough for him to stand and broad enough for him to take extremely short walks. He had fidgeted for hours with the padlock but never achieved anything more than a few splintered fingernails
.

When he opened his eyes he saw a short young woman running up the steps of the basement until she reached the door. She pulled and banged on the door, but it didn’t budge
.

“Oh, rotten toadstools,” yelled out the witch sitting upright on her fanny
.

“Help. Help,” screamed the young woman
.

“Useless,” he called up to her
.

The woman either didn’t hear him or ignored him, because she continued her frantic screams and banging
.

“Serves me right,” muttered the witch. “I should have never taken your shoes,” she said, staring at Brandy. “Big feet. Enormous feet, that’s what you got.” She kicked off the shoes and rolled over onto her tummy, laid her hands flat on the floor, and walked her feet toward the front of her body to push herself up to a standing position. The sight of her bum covered with a flared skirt made Brandy cover his eyes
.

The witch stooped, picked up the shoes, and threw them at Brandy’s cage, forcing him to take a step or two backward
.

“Oh, such a shrill voice,” said the witch, covering her ears. “Young lady, please be still or at least quiet down.”

Strangely the woman did quiet down a bit. She peered over her shoulder and saw the cage with the bare-chested man looking back at her. Glancing beyond him, she saw the witch twitching her fingers in invitation
.

“No. I’ll not allow you to take me prisoner.” The woman’s shoulders courageously stiffened. “Someone will hear my plea and save me.” She glanced over at the male in the cage
.

“Certainly I won’t, miss,” he said. “I haven’t been able to rescue myself, and I can fully assure you that I’ve not been waiting here to see to your rescue.”

“Don’t make me use my magic, deary,” said the witch
.

“Performing magical stunts gives her headaches,” explained Brandy. “Terrible migraines that put her into foul moods.”

“I should care about that evil woman’s health?” said the young lady
.

“Her grousing and moaning can be awfully irritating. Once she spent so long down here complaining about her headaches that I ended up with a terrible migraine myself.”

“Part of her magic, no doubt,” said the woman
.

“No, just part of her overbearing personality.”

“Sweetie, if you come down I’ll give you a gift,” the witch said
.

“The only gift I want is my freedom,” said the woman
.

The witch jumped up and down on her stubby legs, taking on a terrible tantrum
.

“Like I do sometimes, Daddy, when I can’t stay up late?” asked Stephen.

“Now that you mention it, yes, very much like your tantrums.”

“Only she doesn’t have you to threaten to tan her hide.”

“You’re so lucky to have me, Stephen.”

“Calming herself, the witch closed her eyes and pronounced, ‘Hocus-pocus, mucus …’
“

Stephen giggled. His father hushed him with a serious frown.

“Hocus-pocus, mucus, clueless, stewless, …”

Stephen stifled his laughter.

“Seize the woman, make her pencil thin, and slip her between the bars.”

A flattened out young lady stood next to Brandy, her amazed expression frozen onto her face
.

“Oh, yes, blow her up into normal weight.”

And the woman suddenly puffed up into her normal shape
.

“You can’t put her in here with me,” complained Brandy. “I have hardly any room as it is.”

“You must share,” said the witch
.

“No, I refuse,” he said
.

The witch put her hands on her hips and walked over to the cage
.

“I have nowhere else to put her. My other cage is in use. I have several large cats that I’m keeping for the circus.”

“You’ll have to tell the circus to come and pick up the cats.”

“Can’t. I need the money they pay for the storage.”

“Why, you selfish witch. What about my comfort? You’ve already stolen my shoes and shirt,”

The witch picked the shoes up and pushed them between the bars
.

“I don’t want them back now. You ruined them. They were perfectly waxed and soled when I came. Now look at them.”

“A little spit will do the trick,” said the witch. “And as for the soles, they were almost worn down when you got here.”

Brandy grabbed the arm of the woman and pushed her toward the bars
.

“I want her out.”

The witch shrugged
.

“I have no place else to put her; either it’s here or the furnace.”

The woman glanced over toward the furnace and saw that it was red hot. She took several steps away from the bars and batted at Brandy’s hand when he tried to stop her
.

“Okay, okay,” he said
.

“Wasn’t that nice of Brandy, Stephen?”

Stephen shrugged.

“Sometimes we have to make room for others, Stephen, and it means sometimes we must change our plans.”

“We’re not going to the shore this weekend, are we, Daddy?”

“Aunt Rosemary is visiting this weekend.”

“On Mom’s birthday. Doesn’t she know this is a special weekend?”

“Aunt Rosemary doesn’t get much time off from her job, and this is the only weekend she can get away. She wants to visit her favorite nephew.”

“I’m her only nephew.”

“That makes you her favorite.”

“Is Robin coming too?”

“No, Aunt Rosemary wants to have some special time with you and is afraid Robin would be a distraction.”

“But I like Robin better than Aunt Rosemary.”

“It’s better not to mention that, Stephen.”

“I want to find out how it felt when the witch took out Robin’s juice to make putty.”

“Shush! That’s a secret. Robin can’t talk about that. Never ask her that question.”

“Did you lie about making the putty out of nerves?”

“Maybe.”

Stephen pulled his covers up to his chin.

“I still want to visit Mommy at the shore. Aunt Rosemary can come if she wants.”

“I’m sure she will join us. Your mother and Aunt Rosemary were sisters, after all.”

“Aunt Rosemary made Mom sad.”

“What makes you think that?”

Stephen pushed the blankets away from his body. He felt a warm flush rapidly drive through his flesh making his skin prickle from the heat.

“When Aunt Rosemary visited, Mom hardly ever smiled, and when Aunt Rosemary left Mom would quietly sniffle like she was holding back tears.”

“Could be your mom felt sorry for her sister. Here Mom had you, a healthy, active little boy, and Aunt Rosemary has Robin.”

Stephen’s held tilted to the side.

“You think Mom felt sorry for Aunt Rosemary?”

“Sometimes adults feel guilty when their own lives seem to be going so well and a close friend or relative is suffering a loss.”

“If things were going so well, why did Mom go away? “

“Sometimes we don’t get to choose when we leave.”

“But I heard Grandma tell you that Mom was selfish to leave me now.”

“I don’t know when you heard that, Stephen, but Mom did not purposefully leave you.”

“Then why isn’t she here now?”

Jacob pulled his son close and kissed his mussed hair.

“She must have been in a lot of pain. When you’re older you’ll understand.”

“I hate it when you say that.” Stephen’s muffled voice made Jacob smile.

Mom wanted to pry Jacob’s arms from around her son. Stephen didn’t try to break free from his father, instead he crumpled up into the embrace like the child he was. She sensed the warmth of the cuddle and writhed in the pain it caused her
.

In these kinds of moments she couldn’t touch her son. Couldn’t call him back to her. His name on her lips meant nothing. The coldness of her fingers merely made Stephen shiver. Her breath stagnated in the air, having no way to reach inside the world of the living. Jacob blocked her spirit and strengthened the hold the tangible world had on her son
.

When father and son broke apart, Stephen slid down on the sheet and allowed his father to throw the blanket over him. His mother moved closer to Stephen’s pillow so that she could whisper in her son’s ear
.

“Mommy is still here with you. I would never leave my little boy. I’m here to rescue you from the evil persons surrounding you. I will give you the strength to defeat those with evil purpose toward you, for they have destroyed me.”

The boy appeared to flinch from her silent words
.

“It’s only Mom. Don’t be afraid, Stephen. We can’t hug yet the way you and Daddy do, but I promise we will be joined together again. I will fight for our union, Stephen. And you will learn how to take revenge for the both of us. Jacob, Grandma, and Molly drove me away from you, leaving you without my protection. Soon though we’ll find our way back to each other. The spirits are waiting to help you in the basement. Listen to them call to you. Every spirit I have brought into your world, Stephen, awaits your orders. Such tiny lips as yours can command the devil’s comrades. Your small hands can crush those who have hurt us.”

The lights went out in Stephens’ bedroom, but his mother still saw her son clearly. His fisted fingers grabbed the blanket up over his chin, and his teeth bit into the woven wool. He gave a half-hearted sigh and pulled the blanket out of his mouth to say his prayers
.

Mom bowed her head, but she couldn’t remember the words to the prayers he recited. His long list of blessings tried her patience. She wanted to speak to him again. She wanted his full attention
.

The last blessing called for peace for Mom’s soul
.

“Yes, yes, Stephen, you can bring me peace. But only when you meet with those waiting in the basement. They know of you. They call to you each night, but their voices never reach your ears. Open up to the world beyond your own, Stephen. Allow us to come into your heart and mind
.

“Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to …”

She faltered over the last word. The Lord didn’t have her soul, and He wouldn’t have her son’s
.

The basement furnace exploded into action. For the next ninety minutes it would take the chill from the air of the house, then shut down until needed again the next day.