Supernatural: One Year Gone (27 page)

“Why Reverend, why are you so scared? It is I, innocent little Prudence. Perhaps my station takes you as a bit of surprise. But you didn’t really think all those innocent people were really witches did you? Well I suppose you did. But it had to be done. You would surely have paid much too much attention to the dead bodies popping up around Salem Village if we hadn’t created another antagonist for you to concentrate your foolish beliefs. You sir, and I say this having known my fair share of men of God, are a pitiful, greedy human being. The kind of man who doesn’t deserve the respect of anyone.”

Reverend Parris cried out like an infant.

“Why have you brought me here? I am not one of your evil clan.”

Prudence smiled. “But you are, Reverend. You blindly followed a group of hysterical children, and you used them to do your bidding. One by one you eradicated your enemies.”

“I don’t know what you speak of,” the Reverend moaned.

“Tsk, tsk, Reverend. Of course you do. Don’t you remember the nights you spent with your sweet little niece by the fire? Where you would placidly recount who you thought might be practicing witchcraft? What impressionable young woman wouldn’t want to please you. Especially one so easily swayed. That is how you made sure everyone in the village with whom you had a disagreement was jailed or hanged.”

“That’s not true! I’m not what you say,” the Reverend cried.

“Don’t try to deny it, Reverend. Make your peace with God, this will be your last night on Earth. You’ll be meeting Him soon enough.”

With that she flicked her hand and the Reverend flew up in the air. He landed on the ground some distance away with his leg at a most unnatural angle. He cried out in pain. But Prudence ignored him, turning her attention instead to our mother. Mother was silent, but I knew she was afraid.

My father turned to Caleb and I.

“Boys, we will surely be outnumbered. We are but three against a hundred powerful wtiches. You must go ask for King Philip’s help. We need more men. Unfortunately we didn’t part on good terms last we spoke but try to convince him of our need. If we don’t stop the witches, our world as well as Philip’s tribe and way of life will be endangered. The
Necronomicon
could destroy the entire world. Please get him and his men. They
must
come.”

Caleb and I nodded. We knew the Wampanoag Indians were fierce warriors, they had killed many colonists from Boston to the territories north. Caleb and I had never traveled east to their land; moreover, we had never gone such a distance alone. King Philip had fostered a friendship with Father and he had always come to our house. The thought of a long, hurried journey on horseback through the night was daunting but the moonlight would light our way.

We said goodbye to Father, slid back down the hill and silently slipped away. We led the horse for a mile over the meadow so our retreat wouldn’t be heard by the witches. Riding tandem, we escaped east.

We rode hard, crossing dark fields and still darker woodlands. We crossed over a series of streams and soon came to a cliff that led down to a river. Beyond the water lay the woods that bordered King Philip’s territory.

We crossed the river at a shallow point, keeping our legs raised clear of the rushing water. By necessity we made a disturbance, and as soon as we got to the other side we knew that one of Philip’s scouts had seen us. Within a mile, we came to a clearing and found ourselves surrounded by Wampanoag Indians. These men were fierce, proud people and when they moved you could see their power and skill. We dismounted and waited, soothing our agitated horse and soon King Philip came forward.

I approached him respectfully.

“Please accept our humble apologies for arriving without invitation. But my father, your friend, Nathaniel Campbell, urgently needs your help and that of your men.”

King Philip was a most handsome man, tall, powerful. He ran his nation deftly and had the skills of any colonist negotiator. I didn’t know whether I would be able to convince him to help. Any fifteen-year-old would have been nervous, and I was shaking in my boots.

“Why should I put my men at risk? Your father is a most kind and learned man, but I cannot lead my men into a battle which doesn’t concern them,” he said.

I thought for a moment. I wasn’t sure what my response should be. He was right, of course—why should he put his men in danger? I knew I had to be cunning without being defensive or impolite.

“Gracious King, there are witches in Salem who are conspiring to open up the gates to Hell—they are trying to summon the devil. If they succeed, the evil will spread past the boundaries of our colony to you and your people. Your men would be drawn into a fight with the creatures of Hell. The witches will not heed the river which is a barrier between your nation and our colony.”

“Your Christian gods do not frighten us, we have our own protector spirits,” King Philip replied.

“I’m very respectful of them,” I said, “as is my father. However, the evil that will unfurl over this land will be too great for even your most powerful protectors. I understand caution. My father speaks of it often. But in this is not the time for prudence, this is a time for action. I beg of you to lend us some of your men.”

“You do not require my presence?” King Philip asked.

“We would like nothing more, for you are a powerful warrior, but my father wouldn’t think of asking you to put yourself at risk. You have a great nation to run.”

King Philip thought for a moment.

“I always appreciate a courteous word from a colonist, but I must refuse your plea. My nation and its safety is the most important thing and I cannot lead them into peril.”

I nodded respectfully. What else could I do? Caleb opened his mouth to protest, but I shot him a look to silence him. We bowed and received a gift of fresh water in a skin from King Philip’s wife, and then we left. Once we were out of earshot, Caleb began to weep.

“Stop that,” I said. “We will find a way to defeat the witches. But not if you have such soft resolve.”

Caleb wiped away his tears and we dug our heels into the horse’s sides to push it forward and back into the river. That’s when we heard the pounding of hooves from behind us. King Philip had allowed his men to fight. They came in full warrior regalia. Caleb and I were filled with hope and we gave them our thanks. They followed us back across the river.

It was another hour at full gallop to reach the village and then ten minutes to get to the edge of Constance’s lands. We dismounted a mile away and led the horses closer. The Indian horses were well trained and didn’t make a sound as we approached.

My father saw us coming and came to meet us. He greeted the men’s leader, who was King Philip’s brother, and together through gestures—for the brother did not speak English—they made plans. The Indians would circle the witches while my father created a diversion, and with guns drawn Caleb and I would free our mother.

The Indians moved off silently to take their places.

When I peeked back over the knoll a most unsettling sight lay before me. My mother had been led down to the ring of fire, and the witches encircled her, their voices louder than ever. Constance led the crescendo of chanting, calling upon the four Princes of Hell to rise.

The first she called forth was Belial.

Seeing the dire situation before us, my father started the
attack
with swift signal to King Philip’s men.

Moments later, the Indians emerged from the woods. The orange firelight illuminated their painted brown-skinned bodies and they looked like other-worldly warriors. In an explosion of action, they attacked the witches, their large sticks and spears impaling and beheading the enemy in turn. Muskets were drawn and bullets flew.

Seizing our moment, in the midst of the chaos, Caleb and I ran down the hill, stumbling and tripping toward the fire. It seemed the resurrected witches were easily brought down with a musket shot to the head or a quick stab through the heart.

However, Prudence and Constance proved to be much harder to defeat.

When Caleb and I reached the bottom of the hill, Prudence attacked us from the left. Caleb pulled back his musket to shoot, but she grabbed it and flung it into the fire. It landed on the rocks with a clatter. She flew at Caleb and caught him by the neck. He was thrown down with such force that his body made a mark in the earth.

Grasping a burning log from the fire, I swung it at Prudence’s head from behind. She flipped over to face me, somehow unhurt, and flinging the log from my hands, she encircled my neck with her fingers. I fought to breathe, realizing as I choked that my adversary must be weaker than she had been, since she was using physical force for her attack rather than spells or the black arts. It seemed most of her energy had been sucked away by the resurrection still taking place a few feet from our fight.

From the corner of my eye I could see my mother struggling against Constance’s powerful grip as she held her over a large brass bowl. The fire glinted off a large knife that the tall witch brandished in her other hand. Just as she raised her arm to strike, my father attacked Constance from behind. Constance let go of Mother and she fell into the edge of the fire. She rolled away but was unable to get up, as her hands and feet were tied. I struggled harder against Prudence, desperate to warn my mother of the approaching danger, but the witch was still too strong and I watched in horror as another old woman caught my mother by the nape of the neck.

This new woman seemed more powerful than the other resurrected witches. She slung my mother over her shoulder with ease. She took Mother back to the brass bowl, and again held her over it.

With a wrench I momentarily freed myself from Prudence and managed a croaked scream, but Prudence gained footing and hit me on the side of the head, my vision blurred for a few seconds and she caught hold of me again.

Still battling Constance, my father reached out to my mother, but it was too late. The strong old witch picked up a knife. The
Necronomicon
lay open at her side. She started to chant. I desperately fought Prudence but her grip only intensified. Caleb was surrounded by three witches and was unable to get off a shot. Another witch bore down on him and knocked him off balance. He swerved, catching his foot in one of the stones near the fire.

The old witch continued to chant from the book then she held the knife across my poor mother’s neck and slit the life out of her. My mother’s blood drained into the brass bowl and at that moment a deep rumbling echoed through the woods.

My father threw Constance off him and kneeled at my mother’s side. Her head slid to one side and my father pressed his face to her breast, the life drained from her dear, pure heart. My father grabbed the book from the old woman with one hand, with the other he drew his pistol and shot her between the eyes.

Constance was embroiled in a fight with one of the fierce Indian warriors, so with the
Necronomicon
in hand, Father moved away into the shadows. I knew that the
Necronomicon
held powerful spells, but it also held their reversals.

Suddenly the stones in the center of the ring of fire started to drop as if a deep hole had opened up beneath them. The rumbling grew louder, and the earth beneath our feet became warm. A blast of heat, far surpassing the sun on the hottest of any June day, emanated from the hole. The fire ring almost doused itself; the heat coming forth from the hole seemed hotter than fire.

I tried to roll away from Prudence but she held me fast.

King Philip’s Indian warriors, men of great resolve, stopped their fighting and stared at the hole. It hurt to look in the direction of the fiery pit, but no one could draw their eyes away from the figure that was slowly rising up from the earth.

Constance shook off her adversary.

“Belial, I call you forth,” she shouted. “I have raised you, I am your Queen, I am your bind to this earth.” She repeated the chant over and over, her voice louder and louder. While the creature, with great horns, gradually dissolved into the shape of a man.

Constance caught one of her young farm hands by the arm, pulled him close, and, grabbing the knife, started to chant once again. I realized she was trying to raise the second Prince of Hell, whose name I knew to be Leviathan.

My father reappeared from the shadows. He was holding the
Necronomicon
and had his own buck knife in his other hand.

“Evil, vile creature,” he cried out to Constance. His voice steady and true. “You will not succeed in creating Hell on Earth.”

Then he started to chant from the
Necronomicon.

“Oh god of dark and god of light. You are summoned no more. Hide your evilness in the cage from which you came, you are not wanted on this mortal plain. I forbade
vos of atrum pergo huic regnum. Vos es inconcessus ut ingredior inter lux lucis. Vos es inconcessus ut futurus in is terra. Vado tergum qua vos venit. Vado tergum ut vestri cage. Vos es non volo. Per vox of lux lucis quod filiolus of Olympus quod bonus verto tergum ut atrum.”

And with that my dear father took the knife and sliced his own neck. He fell into a heap, his blood mixed with my mother’s in the bowl.

An inhuman scream echoed forth from the creature in the middle of the fire. Frigid air pushed forth from all corners of the wood, extinguishing the fire, and the figure disappeared back into the hellish fire at its feet. The earth closed up and rocks tumbled back into their place, imprisoning the Prince of Hell back in his fiery domain.

With the beast’s disappearance the resurrected witches started to visibly lose energy, making them a lot easier to kill. Caleb extracted himself and beheaded a slew of the old bags of bones. I wrestled from Prudence’s now much weaker grasp and swung around ready to attack Constance, but she and Prudence retreated swiftly into the woods, disappearing from view. Two of the Indian warriors went after them, but they came back minutes later. The women had evaporated.

We rapidly executed the rest of the witches, and threw their bodies into the middle of the ring. We piled wood on top of them and re-set the fire. Leaving the bodies for others to find would serve no purpose except to frighten them. We had what we needed to end the frenzy within the village.