Prophesy: The Immortal Witch (23)

Part 22 at: https://www.abctales.com/story/marandina/prophesy-immortal-witch-22

Sunlight glinted on windows, occasional white flashes flaring on passing panes as the Mini entered Burnham-on-Sea. By now Danielle had realised something wasn’t quite right. The buildings and streets were recognisable but this definitely was not Uphill.

“Will we be there soon, Sally?” The young girl felt childish for asking a childish question.

“I just need to call in to see a parishioner, Danielle. I won’t be a jiffy.” The reply sounded oddly distant, almost dreamy. Not at all like the cleric she had come to know.

Shrugging off the anomaly, the backseat passenger eased backwards into her seat, surroundings continuing to be scanned in the forlorn hope that somehow they would turn into where she actually wanted to be.

The car slowed, pulling to the side of the kerb outside a large Victorian house with shuttered fenestrations. For all the world it looked like a haunted mansion from an old black and white horror flick. All that was missing was a belfry with bats circling.

Gleeson opened the driver-side door levering herself out and onto the pavement. Bending down, she gave a curious vacant stare that went straight through her traveling companion as though she didn’t exist. The minister set off towards the Victorian dwelling, gliding along with minimal leg action. It was akin to floating in the eeriest of scenes.

A tired wooden entrance was slowly creaking open, an ornate cast-iron knocker in the shape of a lion stared out imposingly, a wreath hanging from a nail now gently swinging from side to side. An arch stained glass window above a wooden panel made it look vaguely like a church chapel.

Danielle craned her neck to see who it was that was allowing ingress. Before she had a chance to focus, a blur streaked from the house along a paved path that divided a garden bordered by a chest-high hedge of hawthorn. It was subliminal, like watching someone or something move in hyper motion; fast forward in extremis. It happened so quickly that it was easy to write off as a trick of the light, a slip of the mind, a glitch in the matrix.

Whatever had happened in those milliseconds, the result was now standing outside the vehicle. There stood someone wearing a black silk dress that was ankle length, open-toe sandals allowing sight of the bottom of a dragon tattoo on a calf. From a visible midriff, the top half of the individual could not be seen despite best efforts to look upwards. 

Behind the mystery figure, Danielle could just make out the vicar returning. For a few moments, a muffled conversation took place, the car door handle then pulled, an invitation to get out.

Marooned in front of two women, it was the occupant of the house that stood smiling serenely at her. The woman was quite beautiful, her hair the colour of ebony, a wondrous sheen lending it a manicured immaculate texture. Crystal blue eyes were like sapphires, her fulsome lips rouge red. In contrast, the reverend looked like a lost soul, vanilla plain, her face devoid of emotion.

“Jessica has asked if you would like to join us. She isn’t comfortable with an unattended minor sitting outside on their own.” The statement was robotic, unwelcoming and emotionless.

Thoughts returned to the strange manner of the unknown person’s impromptu appearance. Danielle questioned whether what she had seen was what had actually happened but then there were so many oddities recently. It had become hard to decipher fact from fiction.

She closed her eyes to allow herself time to think. When she opened them again, she was inside a hallway. A runner ran down the length of the floor covering timber floorboards, a Persian pattern faint in an archaic worn carpet. An odour of dust and dankness permeated. Paint was peeling in strips from the walls, neglect obvious from the dilapidated décor. Portraits lined the walls as well as seascapes and framed prints of the town from yesteryear. Pot plants and ornaments alternated atop a display cabinet.

Danielle blinked several times attempting to reset her brain whilst wondering how she had got here. She had only just alighted from the vicar’s charabanc and, all of a sudden, she was inside someone’s abode. Turning, she saw that the front door was closed. Scouring the vicinity confirmed that neither of the two women were at hand.

Before she could assimilate fully, a sweet smell like polish remover assailed her senses. A yellowish pollen-like cloud was billowing from a Peach Anthurium nearby. A Peace Lily and Ficus Exotica followed suit, silent explosions spewing luminous content into the narrow corridor. The space quickly filled with cloying voluminous substance that left no option other than for it to be unintentionally breathed in.

Her head swimming….

…. consciousness fading….

….slumping to the ground.

Danielle is back in the forest of black and white terrain. The sepia landscape of ragged branches protruding like sharp talons is all too familiar. Once again, she is lost, aimlessly wandering, desperately trying to find a way out. Time stands still as she stumbles through endless obstructions, cuts appearing on exposed flesh.

She can see a cloaked figure bent over, glaring at her from behind a tree. The woman’s face is obscured at first, then becoming all too clear, a leering expression full of age-old malevolence. Danielle turns and runs, desperate to escape. She can sense her pursuer. Finally, she knows her nemesis. She has known all along.

A hand grabs her shoulder and she stops. A hot rancid breath is clogging her nostrils. She can’t breathe. She must turn and confront her demon. The fear is real, her heart beating rapidly, her pulse racing. Slowly inching around. Slowly, slowly….to see someone older than time itself. Years etched in wrinkles, skin tanned and sagging, a mouth opening wide, wider and…

Danielle woke, thrashing wildly, arms and legs constricted by bindings that fixed her to a chair. Stygian darkness enveloped everything. Her head hurt and she was bathed in sweat. Trying to make sense of where she was, the thought struck that she had forgotten to leave her mum a note back at the caravan. Worse still, there had been the chance to send a message by phone but she had failed to do that as well. It was unlikely that her mobile was still in her possession.

The place was cold, the reek of damp penetrating her bones.

With overwhelming feelings of lamentation and terror still being processed, a light from above broke the gloom. A stairway was visible with a door ajar at the top. A shadow appeared on the wall above stone steps. It moved, stealthily heading downwards. Skulking. As though alive. No body. Like one of those creepy silhouette puppet shows. The terrifying sight was further fuelling Danielle’s mounting anxiety. It abruptly disappeared at the end of the penumbra cast by the door, becoming one with the dark. This made things even harder as the apparition could no longer be seen.

The tween prisoner wanted to scream but the gag covering her mouth prevented the outpouring of emotion. She started to rock forward and backwards, panic surging through every muscle and sinew.

A noise. Close by. The sensation of someone else in the room. Tape being peeled from her face. Relief.

Was she being set free?

Candlelight appearing a few feet away. Then another candle being lit.

“What’s going on? Why have you knocked me out and tied me up?” Danielle’s sense of injustice translated as anger.

No reply.

Instead, the light from flickering candles had illuminated an altar, her tormentor draped in a cowl, hands poking out of loose sleeves. Visible in the half-light was a pentagram drawn on the ground in chalk. Melting tallow dripped onto a granite surface. Between the wax sentries, a collection of strange objects: a dagger, a chalice, a wand made of ash and a pentacle.

Danielle recognised the grimoire. It was open, her jailor peering intensely at a particular page whilst clutching a silver amulet to her throat. Her movement was precise, herbs mixed together with water in a shallow bowl using a mortar and pestle.

“You can’t keep me here. I know my rights.”

No reply.

Danielle began to feel despondent. Whoever this was, they clearly were not prepared to engage her. She so wished her mum was there.

Muttering. Words being chanted. An incantation being performed.

The last time the Arts had been invoked, it had been a struggle. Not this time. Tendrils of fog appeared from all corners of the room and drifted towards the young victim. Danielle’s eyes widened when she realised what was going on. The aborted scream from minutes ago erupted, a shrillness that punctured the very essence of the dingy basement she was held captive in.

Nobody would hear, the walls made of breeze block and infused with a magical configuration; as was the rest of the property. Incorporeal appendages conjured from mist wound around the girl in the chair, entering every orifice as though a snake charmed by a fakir. Bonds of rope unravelled like reluctant witnesses fleeing a crime. Wide-eyed and terrified, the youngster was summarily dragged from her seat and hauled up the stone steps and out of the exit at the summit.

The witch winced at the slamming sound that concluded the ceremony. One more life force to be transported to a waiting Purgatory.

That left just a final offering to be made in order to fulfil the Prophesy.

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