The Darkening Dream (26 page)

Twenty-Seven:

The Bracelet

Salem, Massachusetts, Sunday afternoon, November 9, 1913

S
ARAH HEARD THE
W
ILLIAMSES’
front door open and saw Emily pass by. A blur of pale blue church dress. She didn’t stop or even look their way but went straight for the stairs.

Each riser creaked beneath her tread.

“Emily?” Anne called out. “How was church?”

There was a long pause before Emily’s voice drifted down to them.

“I’m exhausted. Going to lie down.”

The creaks resumed their upward plod.

“This is a first,” Anne said. “She wants to nap?”

“At least she’s home,” Sam said. “Let’s go up and get the real story.”

Two windows looked out over the backyard in the sisters’ room. Sarah hadn’t been here since meeting Charles a lifetime ago, and it felt like greeting a friend who, once close, she hadn’t seen in years. Emily lay on her bed in a cloud of blue satin, still wearing her boots and hat. Anne stroked her arm.

“Em, you sure you’re okay?”

She didn’t open her eyes. “I just want to sleep.”

“You were helping Pastor Parris?” Anne said.

“Yeah.”

“That’s it?”

Emily nodded.

Sarah could smell Alex standing right behind her. She placed her boot heel on the toe of his shoe and put a bit of weight on it.

“Ouch! Why’d you do that?” Alex whispered.

“How could you, of all people, want to quit?” she whispered in Greek.

“This morning,” Sam told Emily, “we went to the house over on Webb without you.”

“Nice.”

“I didn’t quit,” Alex whispered. “I thought you’d be mad at me for not telling about the vampire.”

“I’m mad about both.” Sarah pressed down with her heel again.

“Stop that!” Alex said. “I’m just being realistic, and you’re using English diphthongs in Greek. It sounds ridiculous.”

“The vampire wasn’t there,” Sam said, “but two big guards were. They’re magic men filled with bugs instead of flesh. They tried to kill us, but we killed them.”

“It was really repulsive,” Anne said.

Emily nodded.

Anne bit her lower lip with her front teeth — an expression Sarah had for years privately named the blonde-bunny. She tried to pull her sister into a sitting position, but Emily lay like dead weight.

“Sam, help me get her up.”

The two of them pulled her upright — with no help or resistance from her. She looked like a porcelain doll, not a live human girl. Anne slapped her hard, and Emily’s head jerked sideways.

“Emily Elisabeth Williams, look at me.”

Sarah said, “Take it easy, will you?”

“Leave me alone,” Emily said, her tone so flat it gave Sarah goosebumps. “I’m tired.”

“What happened with Pastor Parris?”

“I don’t know… nothing. I can’t remember.” Sarah could see a red hand imprint on Emily’s pale cheek.

“It was two hours ago,” Sarah said.

“Seriously, I don’t remember.”

“Emily,” Sarah said. “After Charles’ funeral? You couldn’t remember that, either.”

Both times had been at church.

Emily shivered. “It’s all hazy.”

“I hate to state the obvious,” Alex said from the door, “but this doesn’t sound like a coincidence.”

It was odd how his voice grated on Sarah now. She crouched down so her face was only inches from Emily’s.

“Today, what was the sermon about?”

Emily sighed. “Sin? It’s always about sin.”

“What kind of sin?”

“Carnal sin,” Emily said, “and how it soils the soul for the more holy relationship with God.”

“What about after services. What happened then?”

Emily played with her skirts. “Everyone thanked the pastor.”

“And after that?” Sarah said.

The girl reached down to her right leg, then jerked her hands back to her lap.

“He asked me if I could stay and help tidy up.”

“Did anyone else stay?” Sarah asked.

“Matthew Lewis, but he left early.”

Emily pulled up her legs and struggled to wrap her arms around her bulky skirts.

“What did you and the pastor do after Matthew left?” Sarah said.

Emily squeezed her arms at the elbows, her eyes darting back and forth.

“I can’t remember,” she whispered.

Her hand crept down to her ankle again and again. Every time, she pulled it back to her knee. Finally Sam reached under the skirts and grabbed her ankle. Emily had been slouching forward but now she arched back, threw her arms above her head, and pressed her palms against the wall.

Sam squeezed her ankle. She arched her back further — it looked to Sarah like she was rigid as a plank. She licked her lips, and a tiny moan escaped them.

“Emily?” Anne said.

It seemed a struggle for her to turn her eyes toward her sister. She was taking quick shallow breaths. Sam released her ankle. She went slack.

“Em, are you okay?” Sam asked. “Did that hurt?”

She took a moment to answer. “No. It didn’t hurt.”

“Something is seriously wrong here.” Anne flipped up the bottom of Emily’s skirts and started unlacing her right boot—

“NO!” she screamed. “Leave me alone!”

She squirmed and thrashed, managing to kick Anne and break free of her brother. She hopped up on the bed and retreated to its left edge, where she squatted like a cornered animal.

“Leave me ALONE!”

Emily’s green eyes were wide and wild, her hat knocked free, amber hair going every which way. Clearly no longer sleepy but not in the least bit normal, she looked… feral.

“Is something wrong with your leg?” Sam asked. “Let Anne take off your shoe.”

Emily shook her head. “No, I can’t! Not allowed!”

Bizarreness upon bizarreness had been mounting since that afternoon when Sarah had met Charles, not twenty feet below where she sat now.

“Who won’t allow it?” Sarah asked.

There was no answer. Emily huddled in the corner of the bed, a blue satin mouse in a pink floral wallpaper forest.

Alex came away from the door. “Sam, Anne. I don’t think this is some kind of childish snit. I hope I’m wrong, but I think you’re going to need to force the issue.”

“Why should we listen to you?” Anne said.

But Sam turned back to Emily. “Let Anne take off your shoe, or I’m going to make you.”

“Don’t come near me!” She looked pitiful, and Sarah wished there was a better option. But they weren’t exactly threatening to chop her arm off.

Sam lunged. He grabbed one of her legs and yanked her forward, then pinned her under his bulk. Still, she fought: limbs flailing, hands scratching, feet kicking.

“Sarah, help hold her down,” Sam said. “Anne, you get the shoe. Alex, grab her if she gets away.”

Sarah moved in. Emily was biting Sam’s shoulder, but he held her head to the bed with one arm. One of her hands scratched at his ear, so Sarah grabbed it. Anne sat on Emily’s right leg and resumed unlacing her shoe. Emily struggled and bucked, but there wasn’t much she could do with her two-hundred-pound brother holding her down.

There were a lot of laces and an uncooperative subject, but Anne got the boot off. Through Emily’s powder-blue stocking, the leg looked normal. Anne ran her hand down it, starting at the knee. As she touched the ankle, Emily convulsed.

“There’s something on her ankle,” Anne said. “I can’t tell what.”

“Then take off her stocking and look,” Sam said.

There ensued a new and violent round of kicking, but Anne managed to reach up under Emily’s skirts and find the stocking top. Alex turned away from the proceedings. Anne rolled the stocking off, and Emily went limp.

“Em, you playing possum?” Sam asked.

“Just get off of me,” she said.

Her brother stayed where he was.

Emily had ceased trying to rip his ear off, so Sarah released her hand in order to get a better look. What she saw was a fourteen-year-old girl’s leg, the usual five toes — and a peculiar circlet wrapped about the ankle. Bending closer, she saw that the thing appeared to be made of hair. It wasn’t thick, just a couple dozen strands. The hairs — some amber, the others dark brown — had been braided and the ends knotted together.

“Who gave you the anklet?” Sarah said. “Has anyone seen anything like this before?”

“I’ve never seen one,” Alex said, “but in Europe witches are said to construct bracelets or necklaces from human hair. There are probably countless uses for that kind of magic.”

Sarah reached down and stroked the strand of greasy braided hair. Emily arched and tensed and moaned. Sarah pulled back her hand, and Emily’s movements and moaning immediately subsided. But her face was flushed and sweaty, and she was panting.

“Emily,” Sarah said. “What happened? Did I hurt you?”

“No.” She gasped. “Do it again.”

“Enough of this,” Anne said. “Let’s rip the damn thing off.” She reached down, grabbed the bracelet, and pulled.

Emily screamed so loud Sam grabbed a small pillow and held it over her mouth. She writhed and twisted on the bed, and Anne struggled to hold onto the bracelet. Sarah saw bright scarlet welts like crimson ivy race up Emily’s leg. They pulsed in time with her muffled screams.

Sarah grabbed Anne’s wrist. “Stop it! Can’t you see how much that hurts her?”

Anne let go of the bracelet, and her sister went limp. Within a few seconds, the welts faded to pale pink marks. Emily spit the pillow from her mouth.

“Don’t do that again,” she said. “It felt like you were sawing off my leg.”

“Good idea, let’s cut the thing off,” Sam said.

“Bad idea,” Sarah said. “If just pulling on it hurt, that might kill her.”

“Emily, I’m sorry,” Anne said. “Who put it on you? What’s it for?”

“I’m scared, Anne.” Emily looked terrified. “What’s happening?”

“We don’t know,” Sarah said, “but we’ll find out and fix it. Right?”

“Of course we’ll fix it,” Anne said, sniffing her fingers. “The anklet smells like licorice and something else. Sweet, like a medicine.”

“Pardon me, but may I smell?” Alex said.

Anne offered her hand.

“You’re right about the licorice,” he said. “The other I think is calamus. Not surprising, but not good, either.”

“What’s calamus?” Anne asked.

Alex released her hand and Sarah smelled it, too.

“An herb. From India originally, I think. Used for thousands of years in countless tonics — named after Kalamos, a son of the river-god Maeander, it’s used for spells of lust and control.”

“And you know this how?” Anne said.

“There are too many unanswered questions here,” Sam said. “Let’s stay focused. We need to know what we’re dealing with.”

Emily’s hysterical behavior reminded Sarah of her Freud readings. “In some way,” she said, “either through subconscious defenses or magical intervention, Emily’s memory has been blocked. We need to unblock it if we want to find out what happened.”

“How do we do that?” Alex asked.

“I have a couple ideas,” Sarah said. “I’m going to run home and get some things. I’ll be back later. In the meantime, I want you to relax Emily. Dress her in some comfortable clothes, close the curtains. Maybe even give her some whiskey.”

Twenty-Eight:

Clash of Faiths

Salem, Massachusetts, Sunday afternoon, November 9, 1913

“
S
ARAH’S SPENDING A GREAT DEAL
of time with her friends of late,” Rebecca said as she and Joseph stepped onto the front porch.

Joseph patted pockets, looking for his keys. He could never remember which one he’d dropped them in — it was the first pocket, but which was the first?

“That, I think, is a good thing. As much as I enjoy teaching her, she needs variety. You know, socialization.”

He found the keys — scratching against his favorite pipe!

“Socialization had better not include any improper fraternization,” his wife said.

He brushed her
tuchus,
opened the door, and tapped two fingers to the silver
mezuzah
.

A spark of energy burned his hand. He smelt something akin to sulfur.

“Rebecca. Go to the Kleins — stay there until I call.”