Teen Witch

The TV was still out. She managed to get a few sentences of a news broadcast:

"At least 50 dead, and 70 to 100 more prisoner. Attackers burnt the other buildings and swept the outlying structures within five miles..."

The faceless, staticky religious channel was still there too:"Have I not chose you twelve, and yet one of you is the Devil? Occasioned by dreadful witchcraft—"And that was all.

She took only enough time to gulp down coffee and feed the cat before racing to make it to class. The rain was showing mercy for now, but the black clouds were still there.

She'd meant to pay particular attention to Abbie and Ruth in history today, to see if anything weird was going on with them. But to her surprise (relief?) both of them were absent. Come lunchtime, she asked around; nobody had seen Abbie or Ruth anywhere. In fact, a lot of the senior class girls were out that day, seven in all, a high number for a small school.

"Maybe they're out shopping for matching broomsticks," Mr. Dane said. She laughed. They were in the cafeteria, him on lunch duty overseeing the sophomores.

"I'll bet that's it," Phoebe said. "Mr. Dane, do you ever think..." She paused, searching for the right words and finding that they weren't quite there. "I mean, have you noticed anything strange lately? About the school year? Or any of the girls in class?"

"Everyone's passing my civics class so far, that's pretty unusual. Do you think it's magic?" He winked, and without quite meaning to she crossed her legs and decided she'd file that image away for later.

Because of her hurry leaving the house that she hadn't packed anything for lunch. Buying something off campus wasn't in her budget for the week, but maybe she could beg a freebie off the cafeteria? She waited in line, listening to her stomach grumble. A hovering gray depression had haunted her all day; was it the dream that had spooked her, or just ruth?

Both, she decided. And a million other things too: the weather, the news, Mom, her class load, everything. Don't worry, she thought, you're just cracking up; you're an adult now, it's high time you had your first nervous breakdown. She wanted to laugh, but decided cackling to herself like a crazy woman in the lunch line would only make things worse.

It was the smell that she noticed first: a sweet, crisp scent, like barbecue, but spoiled and sick, as if the meat had gone bad. It made her eyes water. She looked around, trying to detect the source so that she should make a point not to eat whatever it was. It took her a moment to really figure out what she was looking at, and when she did she gasped.

Abbie stood in kitchen. Except, of course, it didn't look entirely like her; she was misty and pale around the edges, like the previous night, and Phoebe knew without even checking that nobody else in the room could see her.

She was naked, standing over an open flame, and slowly turning a metal spit on its hinges. Skewered on that spit, looking as unreal as Abbie herself but still quite distinct, was a human figure, slowly roasting. Phoebe felt all the blood drain from her face, and when Abbie looked at her her lips drew back in an awful grin.

The girls next to Phoebe in line jumped when she dropped her tray, but she didn't notice. If she had eaten anything already, it would have come up now. Instead she felt only a scream welling. This is it, she thought,; I've been joking about losing my mind for so long that it's come true. As soon as I start screaming, it'll be official. All I have to do is open my mouth, let it all out, and then I'll be finished...

But before it could happen the bell sounded, and the specter of Abbie and her gruesome meal both vanished, leaving nothing to suggest that they'd ever been there at all.

Numbly, Phoebe shuffled out of the cafeteria. The chatter of other students suggested that nobody else had seen anything. Maybe it wasn't real, she thought. Maybe it was...what? Another dream? While she was wide awake? That excuse was running out of steam pretty fast.

If she needed any more proof, she got it in her next class. Abbie was there too; not the real Abbie, but her specter again, perched on the ceiling rafters. Occasionally she would make faces or obscene gestures at the teacher. Once, Phoebe very distinctly saw her playing with something that looked like a yellow bird. Nobody else noticed her.

Whenever a bell rang she would vanish like a wisp of smoke, only to wherever Phoebe went next. The final bell seemed to banish her completely, leaving Phoebe mercifully alone. Or at least, she hoped she was alone.

Waiting until most of the school had trickled out of the building to collect her things, Phoebe gave Ruth's locker a slightly regretful look. The spooky girl was still nowhere to be seen.

All the way to the library Phoebe expected Abbie—or something worse—to appear, maybe right in front of her or right next to her. Maybe the lights would all flicker and die one by one, like in a movie, and then she'd be there, and Phoebe would try to run but Abbie would catch her no matter what, and then—

But nothing happened. The library was open for an hour after the final bell. That was enough time for Phoebe to find what she was looking for. She sequestered herself in a chair in the corner and thumbed through a particular book. It was a book she'd read recently, during the witch trials lesson:

"Ann saw a man, skewered on a spit, roasting in her parents' hearth. 'Goody Corey,' she cried, 'You be turning it!' The maid struck at the spot Ann indicated. The vision disappeared, but only temporarily."

Phoebe noted the page number and then flipped more pages until she found the second entry she wanted, about the hysterical girls spotting ghostly witches in the rafters during the trials. The old records mentioned the yellow bird too. Abbie had never been a particularly good student, but it seemed that after all these years she'd finally found a subject she was really interested in studying.

After checking the book out, Phoebe left. Her first thought was to find Ruth, but where could the girl be? If it had been only Ruth missing today, Phoebe would assume she'd skipped school to avoid Abbie. But the other absences suggested something else was going on.

Once home, she locked all the doors and windows. When this didn't seem adequate, she put some chairs and heavy furniture against the back door and the front. Then, on a whim, she found her great aunt's Bible (dusty from years of never being moved from the top shelf) and placed it on the threshold. She fretted a bit over whether that was good enough, but what else was there to do?

She wished Mom was here. She thought about calling her at work, but what would she even say? Mom, there are witches, come home early and bring lots of firearms?

She spent the rest of the afternoon reading the witch trial book, minus a break to feed the increasingly insistent cat. It turned dark out, and the storm started all over again, a soaker that sounded like it meant to drown the house and the whole world with it. Phoebe kept reading:

"A great swarm of witches alighted in the pasture. You might have heard the trumpet that summoned them for miles. Rebecca Nurse sat at the Devil's side, handing out crimson wine and bread. Hobbes explained that the wine was blood, and better than real wine. The Devil offered his great book, which all signed.

"In this place they would establish Satan's kingdom, where they would live in gallant equality. He would pay their debts, and offer riches. Why not cancel the Judgment Day, he said, and eliminate shame and sin? They would all, the Devil promised, have crowns in Hell."

Phoebe didn't remember falling asleep; she was only aware of suddenly waking up. She was lying on the floor in front of the fireplace, where she'd been reading. But the fire was out now, and six girls were standing over her in their school uniforms. They were all from Phoebe's class, although one or two she didn't remember the names of. None of them were Abbie.

The last of them was Ruth, who kept her head down, refusing to look at anyone. The tallest of the set (Miram, Phoebe thought her name was) held out a hand to Phoebe and said simply, "Come on."

Phoebe put her back to the fireplace. The girls stood in a half circle around her, whispering to one another and, once or twice, sniggering. Phoebe didn't move. Miram held her hand out again (a gesture that seemed as much command as invitation) and repeated the words, "Come on."

"I don't want to."

"Abbie says you have to," said Miram. She added, "We can make you come."

Phoebe stuck out her chin. "Go ahead then"

With half a smile, Miram pointed. When Phoebe turned, she saw a strange shape crouched by the fireplace, a squat, hairy creature with wings, seemingly warming itself by the heat of a blaze that wasn't there anymore. When it realized she had seen it the thing growled and bared its teeth. Phoebe scrambled away, only to run straight into another apparition, a great white dog with red eyes that barked when she got close.

And then suddenly the entire house was alive with strange creatures darting to and fro in the rafters and the corners of the room, little imps and strange animals and half-glimpsed figures, a blue boar and a gray wolf and a bear's snapping head and a bird with the head of an old woman that laughed at her.

Flames burst in the hearth as a hysterical laugh bellowed down the chimney and the house was full of the most awful sounds from every corner. Phoebe put her hands over her ears, stood up, and shouted: "Stop it!"

And, very suddenly, it all stopped. The strange creatures disappeared, and all of their cries went silent. Phoebe stood trembling for a second, but then lowered her hands. Taking a deep breath, she looked Miram in the eyes. "You can't scare me with that stuff," she said.

Miram looked at her with an unreadable expression for a moment. Then she shrugged. "Okay then. We won't try to scare you. We'll just hurt Ruth."

Ruth's eyes went wide and she fell into ball on the floor immediately as the other girls encircled her. But before anything else could happen Phoebe jumped forward.

"Stop!" she said, and all the girls turned in unison. "You win. Just leave her alone, okay?"

"Then come on," Miram said again. "You're making us late. Both of you, let's go."

The girls led Phoebe and Ruth to the back door. Everything was still locked, and the furniture was still in place, so they had to move it out of the way. One of the girls picked up the Bible on the threshold, and when she saw what it was she laughed.

They were going to the pasture again, all of them in a line, with Phoebe at the back, comforting Ruth with her arm around her shoulder. She let the others get a little ahead of them, then put her mouth close to Ruth's ear.

"We'll run," she said. "On three, just as soon as they get a little bit further on. Ready?"

But immediately Ruth stopped and shouted: "She's going to run! She's telling me to run! Don't let her get away!"

Phoebe was so shocked that she couldn't move. Miram turned around and, without pause, slapped Phoebe so hard in the face that she knocked her to her knees.

"Cunt," said Miram. Then she prodded Phoebe with the tip of a shoe. "Get up."

They continued their trudge through the wild grass and over the broken fence and into the back pasture. Ruth hugged against Phoebe and whispered. "I'm sorry. They'll hurt us worse if we try to run. Please don't hate me."

"You tried to warn me yesterday," said Phoebe. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you."

"Yeah," said Ruth. "Me too."

Halfway across the pasture they stopped. One of the girls leaned over and pulled something out of the grass; it was a long wooden pole, seven or eight feet. She inspected it for a moment and then, apparently satisfied, pointed at Ruth.

"You come with me," she said.

Ruth shrank away. Impatient, the other girl grabbed her wrist. "Come on," she said. "Stop thrashing. If you thrash while we're in the air, I'll drop you." The girl held the pole out and indicated that Ruth should grab on too. Ruth shook and cried and said:

"Oh, please no. I don't want to. I don't—"

But it was too late. There was a sound like a great rush of air, and a powerful wind blew through the pasture and turned Phoebe's and everybody else's hair about. Ruth screamed once and then both girls, pole and all, were gone, the screams still trailing in the breeze.

Miram retrieved a similar stave and, holding it at her side, indicated that Phoebe should come with her. Phoebe looked at the setup doubtfully. "You can't be serious," she said.

The look on Miram's face said that she was. Phoebe took one step back, but the other girls had closed ranks behind her. So she stepped up beside Miram, grasped the shaft with as much courage as she could muster, and then—

It was like the entire world fell away. Before she knew what had happened they were soaring through the night sky, Miram sitting with poised confidence on the thin breadth of the pole, both legs dangling over one side sidesaddle-style. Phoebe clung to the tail end with her knuckles white, screaming at the top of her lungs even as the wind sucked all of the sound away from her.

Miram laughed like a little kid on a roller coaster. "Look down," she said. Phoebe refused, ratcheting her eyes shut. Then Miram said, "Look down or I'll drop you," and then Phoebe reluctantly opened her eyes.

She gasped. A roiling ocean of black and gray storm clouds spread underneath them, gilded with moonlight and blue bursts of lightning. Wisps of cloud parted and trailed around the other five girls as they flew up after them."It's beautiful!" Phoebe cried. She couldn't help it.

Smiling, Miram nodded in reply and then threw back her head and laughed, long and wild. After they'd been flying for several minutes more Phoebe dared to call out, "Where are we going?"

Instead of answering Miram pointet ahead of them. Through the black night sky a mountain peak penetrated the clouds up ahead, and as they flew closer Phoebe made out lights on the summit. A few seconds later her stomach lurched as the beam angled downward. "We're going to land," Miram said.

"Oh no. Oh no!"

"Hang on," said Miram, laughing still, and Phoebe screamed some more, and down they went.

The landing happened all at once. Miram touched down easily, as graceful as a dancer, while Phoebe hit the ground hard, scuffing her knees and palms in the dirt. It was Abbie who helped Phoebe to her feet; Abbie, naked again, but her real, flesh and blood self instead of her specter this time. She pulled Phoebe up and helped brush the dirt and grass off her uniform.

"You're finally here," said Abbie. "Now come on."

Phoebe stumbled. "Where are you taking me? I don't feel all right. And I'm not—"

"Come on," was all Abbie said. "Come on."

Here there were dozens of women all gathered around fires, talking and laughing and doing very strange things which Phoebe only glimpsed as Abbie dragged her along. Almost everyone was naked.

Near the edge of the summit, where the cliff dropped into a seemingly endless black gulf, someone was blowing long notes on a horn. Nearby, somebody else pounded a drum. Although she couldn't really see them, Phoebe felt the musicians were not people but things, and her skin crawled at their silhouettes.

Ruth was here, sitting on her knees, the picture of misery. Someone else was with her, a tall man dressed all in black, difficult to pick out from the night sky. When he looked at Phoebe, her heart fluttered in shock.

"Mr. Dane!"

He didn't answer. Instead he held something out with both hands: a heavy book, with a red binding. Flipping through it, he revealed page after page of red marks and untidy scribbles, and when he came at last to a blank spot he offered it to her. Phoebe took a step back, confused.

"Mr. Dane, what are you doing here? Why—"

Then she looked him squarely in the eye. He returned a small nod of acknowledgment.

"You're not Mr. Dane..."

He continued to offer the book, but Phoebe didn't take it. The Black Man (whoever he was) eventually gave the book to Ruth instead. She recoiled, as if it were a dead animal.

"Oh no," she said. "I won't sign it. I don't even know what book it is. It's the devil's book for all I know!"

Ruth became hysterical and the Black Man soon turned away, disgusted. But Abbie was right behind Phoebe, and she whispered, "You should sign."

"I...I don't know."

"You should sign," Abbie said again, and, before Phoebe knew what she was doing Abbie grabbed her hand and thrust it forward. The Black Man presented the blank page again, and Phoebe's fingertip touched it. The paper turned dark red, as if it were bleeding where she pressed down. He seemed satisfied when he closed the cover. Abbie did too.

"See?" she said. "That was easy."

Then they took Phoebe with them to the fire, setting her down between them in what seemed like a prominent place. They brought Ruth along too, although they sat her far away, and the other women looked at her with disgust.

Abbie put something into Phoebe's hand; it was a cup made of wood, sloshing with something thick and red and more or less like wine. The Black Man gave her something like a piece of bread, but it was red too, like it had been stained by lying too close to something unpleasant.

By the light of the roaring orange flames she saw the other women greedily tipping their cups back, spilling thick red wine down their naked bodies and feeding scarlet morsels to one another. Ruth was refusing both. "I won't," she said. "I won't, I won't!"

When they tried shoving the bread in her mouth she spit it out. Angry, the women rubbed it in her face, and when she bent over to spit out the crumbs they overturned the cup on her head, laughing. Phoebe frowned

"Try it," Abbie said, putting the cup and bread in her hand again. "This is your body. This is your blood. Do you see?"

Phoebe didn't see. But when the Black Man placed the bread very gently on her tongue and stroked her chin she couldn't help but swallow. She hadn't eaten all day, and she suddenly remembered how hungry she was. When they offered her more, she ate more. Gradually, she realized it really was good.

"Now try this," said Abbie, raising the cup. The drink was both sour and sweet, and it coated her lips so that the taste never entirely faded. Abbie drank hers too, then surprised Phoebe with a kiss. When their lips touched Abbie poured a mouthful of wine into Phoebe's. It flowed into her belly, to become part of her blood. She felt dizzy and drunk right away, but didn't mind.

"Dance with me," Abbie said. Phoebe got to her feet (somewhat unsteadily). Around and around the fire everybody went, all the women's naked hides painted red by flames. Two women Phoebe didn't know began taking her uniform off, and she didn't stop them. Then they all went in circles around again, leaping, twisting, crawling, and shouting, and Phoebe with them.

"This is my body," she muttered. Looking at her own bare arms and legs, she understood. "This IS my body!" she shouted, and Abbie shouted for joy with her, and they both went around again in hellish joy.

Now and then Phoebe glimpsed Ruth, who still sat and stared, wide-eyed, at everything. But every time Phoebe saw her for even a second the Black Man blocked her view. Only now he looked different; sometimes he was still Frank Dane, but sometimes he was a woman, or a little girl, or a bear, or a goat, or a black dog, or a white horse. No matter what he was, he was always watching her.

Phoebe didn't know the woman who began kissing her. She kissed back without question or reply. Someone's hands moved on her, three or four pairs, stroking and fondling and groping and finally pulling her right into a knot of bodies on the ground. Phoebe's head lolled and her eyes rolled back as half a dozen attentive mouths began exploring her.