Tales Of The Macabre

 

4

Months went by and without no inexplicable or frightening occurrences happening, the witch stories slowly dissipated. That is, until the strange events began.  All the cats in town began to gather in the cemetery in what was known as Potter’s Field, the area where criminals, unknown drifters, the very poor were all buried.  It was a wide swath of useless land on the very outskirts of the cemetery near to swampland. 

It was a perfect place to dispose of the unworthy, unwanted or unknown before the time of DNA and fingerprints.  In all my years I could not recall ever digging a grave in this wasteland, but I could tell by the lay of the land even with no markers present it was very much full with graves.  Graves dug by who or how many will never be known but there are plenty of them I can assure you.

At first the cats would return home to eat, sleep and go about their normal routine after a night at Potters Field but after a while they stayed there all of the time.  If a heartbroken child or old lady came to coax their pet home it would acrimoniously hiss and run from them.  Soon no cat could be found anywhere but at Potter’s Field.  That is, except the three black cats at the home of Monica, always stationed on her front porch.

I soon noticed there were no birds around, no robins, sparrows, blue jays, only grackles and in ever increasing numbers.  There were flocks of them everywhere, picking at fruit and vegetable on the vine or tree, and soiling cars and fresh wash hanging in the sunshine to dry.  It was hard to find a place that wasn’t contaminated by their presence, their excrement splattered everywhere. And their constant shrill cry that assaulted the ear from sunrise to nightfall.

And without the cats, mice and rats began to increase their populations and boldness.  They lost all fear of humans and sometimes leaped onto dining room tables while people were still eating dinner in their homes.  The situation was becoming unbearable with all the filth from these creatures and not to mention extremely unhealthy.  People were beginning to fall ill, overwhelming the few doctors in town.  Leptospirosis was a far too common diagnosis.

 

5

Once again my status as an expert on these things began to rise and I was often asked if this was a curse by the witch queen in retribution for what the town had done to her all those years ago.  I was asked if someone should go beg Monica to stop the punishment in return for whatever she asked for.  It was said maybe she only wanted an apology for what happened in the past or maybe she wanted money, but whatever she wanted she needed to return things back to the way they were.

But who would make such a request? Who had the courage to face her?  Who knew the true witch she was?  Much to my chagrin, all fingers pointed to me as the one.  I am not heroic, not even brave, and this idea I should confront the witch unnerved me to the core.  I immediately rejected any such suggestion but still the ever growing chorus persisted. Eventually beaten down and shamed into the role I acquiesced with great fear and reluctance.

With tremendous trepidation I approached the old house with the cats, huge tomcats, hissing in conjunction with the horripilation of their back hairs. My knees were knocking together when I rapped on the door and waited with pounding pulse for Monica to answer my faint tapping. When the door swung open my heart leaped into my throat. I think I might have even gasped.

Standing before me was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, even though she had a look of contempt on her face and fire in her green eyes. She said to me “What is it?  Can’t I have some privacy without you yokels driving by or looking in my windows?  And now you’re coming to my house?  What’s wrong with you people?  Don’t you have anything else to do?”

Flustered, I didn’t know how to answer so I blurted “Sorry miss. But we, us in town, were wondering if there was something you wanted from us?  Have we angered you and if so how can we make amends?” She looked confused but still angry as she said “What are you talking about?  But yes you make me angry by your constant spying on me and it needs to stop.  That’s how you can make amends.  Now get out of here and don’t ever come back” and slammed the door shut in my face.

I quickly retreated back to the road, relieved that my ordeal was over and I was still alive.  But I knew the people in town will not be satisfied with my report.  And I also knew the woman was the witch I saw in the cemetery and she wasn’t telling the truth about her purpose here or that she didn’t want something.  I went to take a fast glance over my shoulder to be sure she was gone but couldn’t believe my eyes.  In the old hickory tree that dominated Monica’s front yard roosted hundreds of grackles. I leaped upon my bike and sped for home.

I knew that once I return to town I was going to make it very clear I was never going back to that house or facing that woman again.  They needed to find someone else for the job. I’m nobody’s fool, that’s for sure and certain.  The look in her eyes told me more than I ever wanted to know.

6

The town of Hopkins Falls became like a medieval village.  It was overrun by vermin, bats had settled in vast numbers everywhere, rats roamed the streets, even the dogs had all disappeared under this onslaught. Some said it was the grackles that pecked the dogs to death then ate the flesh and finally carried off the fur and bones to build nests. But I didn’t see any of that myself.

I was very busy digging graves for the many residents who were dying.  Most of the townspeople looked as if on deaths door, dark sunken eyes, sallow skin, and thin frames. The town council decided it was past time to call in help so a plea was made to the governor.

Medical personnel, experts in vermin control specializing in rats, bats, birds, even cats were brought in to offer advice and assistance.  But nothing changed. People still died, bats and birds flapped overhead, rats and mice scurried underfoot. The town had developed a malodorous stench of guano and feces throughout. The town reluctantly had to hire a helper for me due to the amount of graves needed as I was quickly becoming exhausted from pickaxe and shovel.

Serious plans were being developed by the CDC to evacuate the town and seal it off until a cause and cure could be found.  But suddenly virtually overnight, it stopped.  The CDC urged everyone to leave in spite of this in case of a resurgence, but the stubborn townspeople refused to leave.  With no obvious disease or virus present, the government really had no basis to forcibly remove the people and eventually left.  I know I had no place of refuge to retreat to, Hopkins Falls was the only place I knew.  Most of us were glad to see them go.

None of us was willing to declare witchcraft as the source of our problems to anyone outside the village for fear of retribution from Monica.  Promptly people regained their health and strength, the cats came home and killed the rats and mice, the bats left and the foul stench faded away.  All that remained were the grackles who now flocked to Potters Field.

The general consensus now was to let Monica alone, try to coexist with her in peace. Maybe that’s all she wanted after all, to live in Hopkins Falls like she did centuries before. I think she showed us only a little of what she was capable of and that was plenty enough for even the most hard headed residents. It sure was for me. We now knew how adept she was and didn’t want any more of it.  And hopefully she realized that none of us were the ones responsible for imprisoning her in that tomb.    As for the grackles, we left them alone as well.

7

After about a year of peace all hell broke out. As I lay in the cemetery one drunken sleepless night I heard a voice coming from the direction of Abigail’s broken tomb. I stumbled over and saw Monica atop it and speaking in the direction of the grackle birds in Potters Field in a strong and resolute voice. For the first time ever the birds stopped their incessant chatter and silence filled the air. She spoke with great rancor and conviction with fists waiving and thrusting in the night air.

“Two hundred and two years ago this very night occurred the slaughter of our coven, us, by this town.  Into this mass of graves you were dumped like so much trash and I was deceived into believing my daughter was dead inside this tomb, this vault I was imprisoned in.  They quickly walled me in when I was rend helpless when I stepped into the enchanted pentagram on the floor.  There I remained until the earth opened and set me free.  And now I will set you all free from the earth you are restrained in.  Your spirits are within the birds, I have summoned and bonded them to these birds these last years and now it is time for you all to rise and reunite with your spirit. I summon you my witches, rise!  Rise!  Rise!”

I could see the soil moving over the graves like a snake slithering through the forest.  Then I saw one hand, then another then many prod through that foul earth soon followed by many heads and shoulders and full bodies skeletal in nature rising in a foul stench of death and decay with birds alighting on each and every one bring flesh to the rotting bones of those disinterred.  Soon there was a sea of unearthly creatures standing in that field with arms and fists raised in victory, their voices all blending into a ghastly chorus of cackles and runic babble.

Victorious, Monica, or was it Abigail, continued.  “Now we must take our revenge, not on these present day dolts in this village but rather we must return to our reign, our Time of the Witches where those who harmed us must pay.  I and my three familiars have found a way to use this broken tomb to return to the past and place of our attempted demise and betrayal and punish those who did this to us.  Follow me now witches, follow me now to revenge!”

And with that she shape-shifted back into the rotting hag I first saw and jumped into the tomb via the same gap she was freed by.  Soon single file, one by one, the others followed behind her until there was none left in the cemetery and for the first time in years it was filled with the silent sound of the dead as it should be. With a rumble the ancient broken tomb of Abigail collapsed upon itself leaving only rubble where it once stood and again the silence returned.

 

I sat there dumbfounded at what I had witnessed and finished off my bottle. Now I don’t have to be a college professor to wonder if those witches massacre our town forefathers does that mean all of us will just disappear since our ancestors will not be around to continue our family trees?  What will the future bring, or do we have no future or even a present? Will we all just evaporate? I shuddered and reached for a fresh bottle and drank myself to oblivion.

 

The next day the townspeople noticed the grackles were gone.  Passers-by noticed the three black cats were no longer on Monica’s porch. Shortly thereafter it was determined the old house to be abandoned, empty, Monica gone. Much welcomed relief went through the community that was soon followed by curiosity as to what happened to Monica and the grackles. But this time I knew to keep my mouth shut.