Tales Of The Macabre

 In The Time of the Witches

Part 1

 

TL Hesse

 

1

My name is Louis and what I am about to relate is true.  I was there and I saw it all come to pass.  But first let me give you a history of the events preceding this happening.  I am the town grave digger in the small village of Hopkins Falls Massachusetts. This area was once plagued with witches, no one knew exactly why, the history is very vague, but there were so many it was almost a task to find a woman not a witch. But the most feared and powerful was Abigail who ruled over them all.  She caused many deaths and illnesses, poisoned wells and wilted crops in the fields and was simply evil beyond imagination. 

I don’t know how exactly, some say it was with the help of a white witch or a rival witch or just plain luck, but the good people of the village managed to trap her in a tomb right here in this very cemetery almost two hundred years ago.  A few years later, so they say, after it was apparent she was truly removed from Hopkins Falls, even after some unsuccessful nocturnal attempts to free her, the other witches eventually left the area, perhaps to find a new queen.

Everything was peaceful after that for so long, for almost two hundred years now, the witches were eventually forgotten about or turned into local urban legends to scare small children at night.  But one fateful night, about three years ago disaster struck our village in the form of a massive earthquake during the night. Many houses and buildings were destroyed and unfortunately some people died as well. As usual, I was drinking alone in the cemetery at the time and saw what happened before my very eyes.

As bad as that all was perhaps the worse was the tomb of Abigail was split open by the quake leaving a gaping hole across the middle.  I saw for myself with my own eyes that awful night when a hand, fingers twisted like a mandrake root or branches of a hawthorn tree, snaked its way out of the tomb followed by a form so hideous to the eye it defies description.  The wraith stood on top the ancient tomb and cackled in the stormy night, lightening flashing.  Suddenly she transformed and became the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, sexy and svelte, with piercing emerald eyes.  Then with the next lightening flash, she was gone, just disappeared into the night. 

Now I admit I’d been drinking that night, trying to stave off my constant insomnia, but I know what I saw was real.  And although everyone scoffed at my story when I told it the next day, no one could explain why the tomb was empty, just the fragments of what must have been a long rotted wooden coffin remained, but no bones, hair or teeth, not a scrap of cloth or metal, nothing.

Some claimed her body was probably stolen years ago for some kind of ritual or that the tomb was always empty, the story of the witch queen was all just a hoax, perhaps to lure tourists to this little town, which I will admit, doesn’t have much going for it to bring visitors to it.  But I know what I saw and no one can convince me otherwise.

2

Some months later most of the damage had been repaired, funerals long over, my busy time digging the graves at an end, things seemed to be back to normal in Hopkins Falls.  But one day the town was abuzz over the newcomer who had moved into an old house just outside the town.  No one could remember the last time someone actually moved into Hopkins Falls, in fact usually it was just the opposite; people were always moving out of the town.

I had heard she was young and very beautiful, but what stopped me in my tracks was that she had green emerald eyes, just like the wraith I saw climb out of the witches’ tomb those months before.  Although my heart was racing, I knew I had to see for myself this woman, if she was indeed the apparition from the tomb. 

I soon found myself on my bicycle wheeling towards the house at the edge of town.  I didn’t know what I was going to do when I arrived there, knock on the door or peak in the window or maybe just keep on biking down the road? But that was all decided for me when I reached the crest of the hill right before the house and saw her standing on the porch looking directly at me with those green eyes.

Unnerved, I almost dumped my bike but I regained enough composure to meekly nod my head at the lady dressed in black on the porch and continue on down the road.  Arms crossed, she maintained her stare as I passed her house without moving or acknowledging my nod.  My heart felt about to burst as I quickly plodded a route back that would not have me pass her way again.  I was sure it was she, the one from the tomb.  And it almost seemed that she had recognized me even though I thought I hadn’t been observed that night in the cemetery.

I felt a cold chill envelop my whole being.  Am I now in danger for what I had seen?  What could I do to protect myself from evil?  I had no idea what to do and I had no one to ask.  I knew I would just be laughed at or told I drink too much or spend too much time alone in the cemetery.  Both of which I do.

My insomnia throttled up after that trip on my bicycle, I almost never slept except for scattered cat naps during the day, but even those were quickly ended by any sudden noise or commotion.  But I took some small comfort in that so far I had not been visited by what I now believed was the ancient witch queen in disguise. 

Although drunk that night, I could still vividly remember what I saw after the transformation from beast to beauty. She had long legs, ones that started with slender shapely thighs below a plump rear that can only be described as an upside down heart.  Those thighs narrowed to sexy calves ending in thin ankles with small dainty feet.  The top side of that inverted heart shaped butt were curved hips and tiny waist gently rising up a subtle broadening back leading to a slender neck. Her jet black hair cascaded down her back in a long raven flow.  Her face was very beautiful, oval shaped with pouty full lips and liquid eyes of green. Her fingers were long and delicate, her voluptuous breasts full and inviting.  Exactly like the newcomer in the old house.

Many of the local men, both married and single, were enthralled by her beauty and daydreamed of a romantic encounter with her, but none were bold enough to approach her. It was said her name was Monica but no one knew her last name or any more about her. She was the mystery girl of many a man’s dream in Hopkins Falls and the subject of many a catty remark by the women.

Strangely she was never seen in town, even to buy supplies.  There was much speculation on how she fed herself.  Some thought she had a perhaps married lover that brought her necessities during his late night illicit encounters, one that may have even purchased the house for her.  Naturally this brought yet another round of rumors as to who that lover might be.

And that was another thing, she seemed to never need any repairs to her old house, no handyman or plumber was ever summoned. She quickly became the talk of the town, almost an obsession, especially for the jealous women who felt threatened by her beauty. And those birds, those grackles that flocked in her yard day and night.  Why was that happening?  They were disgusting birds, much like crows, black but with an iridescent purple blue sheen to their head and neck.

All in all, it was very strange and soon some of the talk turned to what I said I saw that night of the earthquake in the graveyard. Could she be Abigail returning to the town that imprisoned her hundreds of years ago?  Did she plan on revenge? All those who harmed her were also in the cemetery she came from, there was no one living that caused her suffering, so why would she take revenge on innocent people?  They played no part in what their ancestors did.

This churned and boiled for several weeks until finally it exploded like a pressure cooker left on the stove for too long. Some wanted to confront Monica, others wanted to hide and beg for mercy if she came for them.  Suddenly I, Louis the drunken gravedigger, became the authority on the subject.  People sought me out, even brought me bottles of rum, to ask me my opinion or to once again relate my tale of that dreadful night.

I must admit I somewhat enjoyed the attention and newfound respect, but the truth of the matter was I didn’t know any more about it than anyone else, other than what I had witnessed.  I could only say that if she was indeed Abigail now in a pretty wrapper as Monica, those who lusted after her would be repulsed if they saw the vile worm infested rotting meat I saw climb from the tomb that dwelled inside that lovely wrapper. I would laugh and wisely repeat the old adage my grandmother often said, ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’.

3

The road in front of Monica’s house became well traveled.  Many were scouting her out, observing any activity so as to have a new piece of gossip to share. It was well reported that Monica had three black cats that never left her porch, as if guarding the house.  Black cats!  Aren’t they the thing of witches?  And she herself when rarely spotted was always dressed in black as well. 

Rumors flew, it was said she had a large cauldron in the back yard that was always brewing something with a never ending fire under it and there was always an old broom on the front porch. Wasn’t all this the things of witches? Lord help us, Abigail has returned to kill us all!

The more sensible tried to calm things down, these were just unfounded rumors, no one actually saw a cauldron, and a broom on a porch was just a broom, used for sweeping the porch and that is all.  Many people had cats, because she liked black ones meant nothing, it was just her preference.  Some people liked calico cats, did that mean something sinister?  This was the twenty first century, not the 1800’s, so get a grip on yourself and your wild imagination.

But still the madness prevailed and there was actually talk of gathering a mob and burning her house down.  It was at this point the sheriff stepped in and declared he would pay a visit to Monica as sort of a well fare check and to welcome her to the community.  Everyone needed to let him do his job and he would handle it and let them know what he found if they just remain calm.

The sheriff drove out to the old house. Before he left his car he noticed nothing unusual but as he approached the porch the cats stirred and the hair on their backs raised up. Cautiously he made his way onto the porch and knocked on the door.  The cats were now hissing at him which was starting to make him very uncomfortable.  He loosened the snap on his sidearm just in case the cats were rabid when Monica quickly opened the door.  “Afternoon madam.  I’m Sheriff Barnes and I’m seeing if you are doing ok here and to welcome you to our community.”  He was taken aback at the sight of her and darkish demeanor.

“But I must admit, Miss Monica is it, I’m curious as to why you chose Hopkins Falls to move to.  Seldom do we get a new citizen.  More people leave than move in, I’m afraid to say. You don’t have to answer that, I was just wondering. Sorry.”

She looked for a long moment at the sheriff who couldn’t help notice her exquisite beauty and the fact her eyes were the same bright green as those of her cats. Finally she let out an involuntary sigh, that staggered zigzagged sigh of the melancholy, a subtle stuttered practice death rattle from deep within the soul before she spoke in a sad but melodious voice.

“I have just suffered the loss of my entire family.  I moved here to be left alone until I can recover from my loss, where I have no friends or neighbors to interfere with my grief, my healing. Most people have good intentions, but in reality they cause more grief then they alleviate. I wish to be left alone at this point in my life and my real estate agent found this place for me.  Now if there is not anything else, I bid you good day” and closed the door.

With the cats still hissing at his heels, the sheriff retreated to his squad car and left the scene. He wanted to check the property but under the circumstances and the lady’s discomfort he felt he had no just cause to do so; especially without her permission, which he was sure would not be forthcoming.

He returned to town and gave a brief summary of his observations and concluded with “What we have here is a young woman deep in grief who simply wants to be left alone. She wears black because she’s in mourning. I say for you all to mind your own business and let her alone.  It’s none of your business who visits her property or what she does on it or how she gets her supplies or what pets she has. Now leave her alone and I don’t want to hear any more of this witch nonsense.  That all started with one of Louis’s delirium tremens episodes anyway during an unfortunate earthquake.”

This explanation satisfied some, others determined to step up their surveillance. I felt a bit insulted, although I do admit to an occasional hallucination after I’ve been drinking hard.  But I know what I saw that night. And I saw the witch climb out of her tomb and transform into Monica and disappear. And that’s a cold hard fact.  I just couldn’t prove it.

 

 

{End of part 1.  Part 2 upcoming soon.}