Spirit (11 page)

S
omething was hunting Tobias. The tremors he'd felt in the past had never been quite this persistent. Many spirits seemed at first unremarkable, he had learned; they had only the same tenacious need to hold on to an old reality. It took time to figure them out, to glean their stories, which was what they wanted, but this was different. It felt like something hungering for him.

Now about two miles from the wreckage and well into the afternoon, he and the other men marched northward to Blackthorne. Nobody spoke, until Tobias turned, alarmed at a new touch upon his psyche back in the forest.

Sattler asked, “What is it?”

“I don't know,” Tobias admitted. “I had a sudden feeling we should go back.”

“We can't go back,” Michael said. “The day is passing fast. If night falls before rescue, think of the trouble we'll have. It's out of the question.”

“No, I know that, of course. It's just…” Tobias let the thought fall away.

Sattler pressed him. “What exactly did you feel?”

“I'm still feeling it. Under everything else, not on the surface. Something hiding from me.”

Baffled, Sattler kept going. Tobias swallowed his worry and followed, for the first time unsure of himself. He hated being unclear in his head; it was, for him, the worst of feelings. Nervous, he hummed an old baroque tune to himself.

The trees behind them rattled in the wind, and everyone turned, startled.

Nothing was staring at them.

Nothing was there.

 

Tess sat with the other women in the dining car, fear for Tobias echoing in her, the cello phrases resounding in her mind now. She wondered if he could be hearing the same melody. She noticed the frost on the windows was slowly melting away.

“Is it letting up…?” Elaine asked.

The storm did seem to be lessening in strength. As the snowfall eased, it was as if a veil was lifted…and they could see the burned-out skeleton of the old house in the forest. Ahead of the tall, imposing structure was a smaller home, partly restored and less derelict than the first. The physician had occupied the smaller building, and Tess shivered to remember the cold, deserted feeling there when she'd sought the telephone.

She looked at the others. “What…was that place, before the doctor took it?”

“It's the Mordecai settlement,” Lucinda answered.

“It's where the so-called witches sought refuge,” Elaine explained. “A doctor has just moved in there. He's a strange man,
wants his peace and quiet, but he can't be cut off from people who might need him. He has plans to make the house more modern.”

Tess's memory flashed back to the doctor's shaking body, his unnatural death-rattle. She wondered what could have brought this man to such a remote place. Had he somehow been called there, too? Long ago?

“Big place.” Lucinda sighed. “A long time ago, the owner's daughter was going to make it a school for the blind. It ended up being built in Salem. But Blackthorne was always, you know, a haven for outcasts of one kind or another. When you put that many malcontents together you're going to have fire. And they did.”

“Well, it's surely safe to say this town has seen a lot of very strange things,” Tess said.

“That's putting it mildly. But I have hopes it could be a beautiful place one day. What can you say, every town has it secrets. And I'm starting to think of it as home already.” Lucinda laughed. “We're not as famous as Salem. We just took the worst of their evils.”

Again mist passed before the window like a veil.

“What do you know about the…witches?” asked Tess.

“They were running from the trials in Salem,” said Elaine. “I think at first Blackthorne sympathized with them, didn't ask questions. But then after a few weeks came some suspicious deaths. Ritual deaths. No one was sure how they came about, but the bodies had been found in the fields, surrounded by a circle of blood. The same sorts of things that happened in Salem at the beginning. There were reports of a robed figure in the Salem woods, someone never captured, whom they called the First
Accused. They found bloody animals eviscerated and arranged with rocks alongside human hair and teeth, and once they found the jaw and entire flesh torn from the mouth of some poor girl, who'd been freshly dug up from a grave. For days the people heard the girl's voice, warning them to stay clear of the woods. And then this kind of chaos started up in Blackthorne.”

Tess readily ate up their knowledge. “Do you know how that young couple figures into this?”

Lucinda broke in, leaning forward earnestly. “Well…when a young man named Wilhelm found his mother and father killed, blame fell to a woman the family had been fighting with over property lines; a lady called Widow Malgore. A bitter soul from the start. But her young daughter was very charming, they said. Very much so.”

Tess settled herself back against the cold train window, and folded her arms in the chill, listening intently. “Tell me about the daughter.”

“Well, all I know is, it starts back in Salem…” Lucinda smiled. “You see, this boy, Wilhelm, was from a German family. They were never quite welcome in town, and he fell in love with Abigail, the Malgore girl. Old lady Malgore always thought of him as a troublemaker, and when she became a widow, she got even more protective of her daughter. The boy even taught the girl to speak German, so her mother couldn't eavesdrop on them. But whatever problems the three of them had were interrupted by the Salem witch trials.”

“My husband's a historian; we might as well make use of this.” Elaine pulled out a book from a carrying bag. “But there's very
little record of this. We know that Abigail's father died, and some said Wilhelm had a hand in that. Then later, it was Wilhelm's parents who ended up murdered, maybe by Missus Malgore, no one knows. Before long, the Malgore woman and her daughter Abigail were feared by all, and they ran from town to escape being killed.

“Got a picture here of the couple.” She opened the book to a sketch: a young man and woman from an age long past. “Wilhelm and Abigail.”

“She's beautiful,” said Tess.

Elaine nodded. “They were beautiful together, so they say. As days rolled on, they had less interest in society and more and more in each other. But it's all hearsay really. Some old town letters said Wilhelm had a good mind, a love of books.”

“He could read? Wasn't that unusual then?”

“Abigail helped him to read English, mostly using her father's beloved Bible, which he insisted his daughter learn, front to back. And then the real tensions came.”

Elaine continued, “After her husband died, the widow Malgore came to truly hate the boy—and those she hated had a tendency to wind up with their guts cut out of them. She didn't get much opportunity, though. The Malgore women were to be locked up on the charge of witchcraft so they fled up here. But before they left, Abigail told Wilhelm where they were headed. Naturally the boy came after them and—well, he led the inquisitors right to them.”

Elaine clucked her tongue. “He'd shown the witch-hunters the path as clearly as if he'd littered it with bread crumbs. The mob caught them by surprise, dragged the accused women screaming out into the street. It was said that one man pulled the young girl
so hard by her hair, he pulled chunks of it out, and her head was bleeding at the roots…” She paused. “In the end, the boy was hanged here, too. For consorting with witches.”

Tess pondered her words. “Was it the girl who left the curse on this place? Or the mother?” Tess asked.

“Nobody knows,” said Elaine. “Some say it was the mother, some say the girl, but no one ever got much peace here. When a plague came to Blackthorne, they stacked the bodies like cord wood, and burned them as they left. The smell of burning flesh must have been just terrible, like a medieval village during the black death. Anyone who could walk got out, made a new life for themselves, and died peacefully beyond the woods, but there weren't many who lived. The town of Blackthorne was left empty as an old skull by the early 1700s. And it was pretty much forgotten.”

Tess looked again at the sketch. The couple stared back blankly. “Was there anything they left unfinished? Something they wanted to do?” she wondered.

“They were young,” said Lucinda. “Lot of living left to do. Some said they got married, but it's all come down to us by word of mouth.”

“Well, we'd better get back,” said Elaine, and as the ladies passed her, Tess lingered, transfixed by the sketch of the two young Puritans. “What are you trying to tell me…?” she whispered. “What
is
it?”

But the mist, if it carried any souls within it, had departed.

And her feelings, reaching out, brought back only deadness and quiet.

T
obias stayed ahead of the two college men. Wilder was like a giant walking shadow behind them.

“La strega, la strega.
Witch. Strange word. Do you know what a true witch is?” Wilder was saying. “It is a person who has grown so skilled in the black arts that she has captured a demon to do her bidding. It is human evil gone beyond the bounds of humanity, generous with its cruelties.”

Wilder claimed to have seen “every form of evil” in his travels as a hired gun, and he accepted all talk of myth as fact and folk wisdom. He regretted leaving behind the witch-hunter's journal in the doctor's house, but claimed to remember every relevant bit of it.

“What are you talking about?” Tobias muttered.

“She was deformed by demonism, by drinking a devil's blood,” Wilder went on. “Josiah Jurey said the Widow Malgore is a part of this place, able to move through it like the wind. She crosses the land in an instant; she can lift what lies before her without raising a finger; she is strong, but always needing new strength, and foul as a corpse. Black magic changed her into something no longer human.”

“Of course she's no longer human. She's spirit,” argued Tobias. “They're defined by want, spirits are. This creature, this witch, wants something. Maybe she just wants vengeance, or maybe she wants her husband back.”

“I think not,” Wilder rebuked him. “I think she was using magic against his wishes, long before the trials…roaming these woods, engaged in ritual so her crops would thrive where others failed, and to cause misfortune. She has been at this a long time.”

Tobias scoffed. “Now you're just guessing aren't you? Unless your people know some voodoo that grants you insight. Exactly what nationality are you, anyway, Wilder?”

“I have the blood of many within me.”

Tobias smiled. “Even you don't know.”

“If I told you,” said Wilder, “that I was born in Italy, lived for a time in Spain, and came to California to sell guns, which my father fashioned himself while teaching me Plato and Socrates at his knee, would you cease with your questions? Does it bring you satisfaction to know my brothers and I killed certain human targets for money, until I fell in love with one of my marks? Maybe I should tell you my grandmother made a spiced lamb that was as good as fine wine. Are you happy and pleased with this now as an answer?”

“I'm more confused than ever,” Tobias said. “But never mind, Wilder, I don't need your history. I suppose it doesn't matter where you came from; we've all gotten what we came
for,
didn't we? Everyone headed to this ridiculous winter carnival is engaged in morbid curiosity. We're too comfortable in the modern world. There's no more wilderness, no more wolves, gentlemen.”

Suddenly there was indeed the sound of a wolf, or perhaps some other animal, a heavy growling that seemed to come from everywhere, invisible, moving….

Everyone stopped.

Even Tobias felt his pulse quicken.

But the growling slipped away as quickly as it had come.

Still, Tobias sensed something watching.

“What was it?” said Sattler.

“Who knows?” asked Michael. “It was just some animal.”

“Oh, I'm certain it was,” said Wilder, and his tone was most unbecoming.

Tobias clenched his jaw. “I don't like the progress we're making. Can we pick up the pace…?”

They began moving faster. Tobias's eyes were stinging, he knew they were being followed.
Don't speak of it, don't acknowledge it.
It felt big, powerful, and he knew, right in his gut, that this was far stronger than he was.

He felt small and cold with an emotion he hadn't known since he was a child, and a bully three years older had battered his face, pushed him into the earth. And Tobias swung and swung but his punches were useless, like a bird's fragile beating wings in a man's hand. What he felt now was all of that and something else. The presence wanted something he couldn't quite figure out.

He was being stalked.

 

Behind him, deeper in the forest, hidden by a thicket of branches, a set of eyes watched him, cold, hunting, ready to strike.

And then the witch turned, and sniffed, alerted to the presence of
two pale blue shapes, made of mist and frost, the spirits of Wilhelm and Abigail, high in the air, elusive forms that flew into the forest, fleeing her.

Malgore pursued.

How the hunt thrilled her.

F
rom inside the train, Tess could see Annette outside, giving water to a man who'd been trapped, his legs pinned beneath an overturned car,. Tess could feel pulses of pain coming from him, a numb tingling in her own legs, but it was nothing compared to the man's fear. He was afraid of death, and knew it was near, and his sense of regret brought the taste of bile to her mouth. She was glad she was no closer to him.

As she watched the small crowds at the bonfires from the window, for an instant she thought she saw the train car behind them change, the air rippling and shuddering as if in a mirage. But she could not see clearly, for the windowpanes were somewhat warped. Annette had no reaction, so Tess thought it best to ignore what she might've seen. No sense in panicking everyone unnecessarily.

She turned to several blind boys huddled together for warmth near the piano. None were older than eleven years. Their eyes were dull, but they had that uncanny ability of those used to coping with other senses. As she stepped nearer to them they all turned at once, their gaze fell upon hers perfectly, and she felt her own sense of smell and touch—and especially hearing—pitch upward
in intensity. Her vision stayed clear, but dimmed, like candlelight shuddering in a dark room.

“Have you ever had coffee?” she asked.

The smallest boy scowled. “Two times in the last hour.”

His expression got a smile out of Tess. “We're just trying to keep you warm,” she said, and noticed his discomfort. “I think you need to relieve yourself, am I correct? I'll tell you what. I have to give Miss Annette a break, so I'll go with you. You won't be alone.”

The boy shook his head.

“Don't worry,” scolded Tess. The boys' two female chaperones were clearly exhausted, and one had a knee injury.

But the little boy was not giving in. “I'm scared.”

“Well, that's a very unique experience. Enjoy it. This is why they write ghost stories. Don't you just love that chill up your spine?” She grinned and took his hand. “It'll just take a second. I don't think you'd like being trapped in here in wet clothes.”

He didn't smile. But he accepted her hand.

“If he don't want it, I could use some of that coffee m-m-myself.” Carl hailed her with slurring speech. “If you please, ma'am.” Tess handed him the cup, and he took it sadly. “People need me, and I can hardly keep myself w-walking straight. Plenty of good I do anybody. God hates the weak, don't He?”

The man was obviously drunk, and she wasn't sure what to say, so she led the blind boy onward.

Outside the parlor car, Tess opened the door and reached for his hand to help him down. “You're perfectly safe here.”

He let go of her, still resistant. He seemed to recognize the
unknown danger in the woods, leaving Tess to consider if he had a supernatural awareness. The boy shivered. Despite this, he came out of the train car, stepped to the ground.

Tess was fighting her own urge to hide inside, but if he was strong enough to face the fear, so could she. As she moved to take his arm,
she was sucked back into the train.
The door slammed.

She was in shock. She couldn't see the boy outside; he must have fallen.

The door was jammed.

Through the window, Tess saw Annette approaching the boy and behind her, the air rippling again. Tess was sure she saw it this time, but then something else caught her eye, a white motion in the wilderness.

It was a skeletal figure, a woman, hunching down beside a tree. The woman, or whatever it truly was, reached into its own chest, and pulled loose a white pulse of light from its innards.

It opened its hand, and the light flashed, and vanished; the train car shook and rattled from its energy, as Tess realized what the woman was.

The witch—the Beast—had come for them.

A mist outside the car had spread quickly to swallow everything in sight, and Tess saw the witch dart away into the forest.

All of this happened with great speed, and Tess became aware that the other train cars were being rocked and pummeled, as the witch's power spread malevolently through the clearing.

Inside the parlor car, Tess tried to get free to help the blind boy, but the door was unmovable. She yelled, but her voice was drowned out.

Tess fell against the door and could see from the window that the blind boy was crawling about in terror on the snowbank. He suddenly reversed, and dived under the train, but—astonished—Tess could see him yanked out again in a thrashing of snow. Something was dragging him.

He screamed, and his face was lit up for a fraction of a second by vivid lightning. Annette rushed toward him, but was thrown back onto the ground.

The boy clutched his head, and suddenly he seized up, shaking horribly. It was as if ghostly, skinless hands had burst
from his head
and were clutched over his mouth.

Tess could see dimly the hands of the witch in the forest, mimicking this action, controlling it. The boy grabbed for his face—a sight so dreamlike and shocking Tess had to look away.

She could see Annette on the ground, trying to get to the child. But something was pulling her deeper into the snow, half burying her, as she screamed in terror.

White light was crackling around Annette. Coils of electricity flashed and vanished as the witch's magic gripped her, tugging her downward.

The power of the wretch was everywhere at once.

There were forty or fifty people on the snow, and many of them started forward to help the boy, who was being dragged away as if by invisible chains. Tess instinctively knew it was a trap, but was powerless to stop them from rushing to him.

Malgore moved in.

Charging in a white blur, the witch-creature slashed down survivors, wielding a long crescent-shaped knife.

The beastlike wretch was only glimpsed by Tess as the travelers shrieked, trying to make their way back into the train cars. They could not get the doors open. Tess screamed. They were being raked down, stabbed, pulled back into the snow. Someone would go down, then someone else—and a white skeletal hand would flash out of the mist and snow, reaching from behind the crowd to kill, to pull down, to slash at will.

Tess couldn't breathe. She still struggled with the door but it was locked hopelessly.

Outside, Annette was pulled back farther, into the woods.

The man trapped under the train could not see behind him but Tess heard his screams of horror. The train was still shaking brutally. More screams tore the air from survivors inside.

Tess was yelling with them, to Annette, to anyone, just wanting to scream the Thing away, to fight, and it was all she had, her voice, as the sizzling flashes of light that surrounded Annette tossed her aside. Tess's stomach dropped. The wretch was moving on. She had attracted it.

It was coming for her, now.

Inside the parlor car, a bluish mist began oozing from the ceiling.

Everyone screamed. The blind boys cried out and buried their heads. The mist was slipping in through cracks in the windows and under the doors, relentlessly.

Strangely, as it moved over them, Tess had a clear feeling that the mist was a
solace.
The haze was a spirit, and it was running from the witch, terrorized. Distinct from the crackling white power emanating from the wretch, the mist was of a blue twilight
hue. It filled Tess with a state of wonder.

But Malgore had located this new spirit. The wretch sent its hand forward, shocking the car with pulses of pale light.

Tess turned. All around her people's faces were lit up briefly—she saw skulls partially revealed and filled with light, faces halved into skeleton and flesh, bones visible as if burned from inside.

Tess saw one blind boy screaming, hysterical, saying, “I want to see—I want to see—”

And another screeching, “No—no—no—”

The power of the witch was searching inside the car; Tess knew it was searching for the spirit. There was nowhere to run. She turned and saw the indigo mist forming into a human shape beside her.

It was a Puritan girl—sixteen years old, maybe less—kneeling beside her, staring ahead at the bright pulses of light, as terrified of the witch's power as anyone. The spectre looked into Tess with eyes of sorrow and desperate need, but she could not speak: She shouted, but no voice came forth.

Tess watched as the girl broke into a sea-colored mist that flooded toward Tess, who screamed, joining her shrieking with the others'.