When we get home, I make myself another dry peanut butter and jelly sandwich before settling in to do my research. I close my door and lock it, then clear off my desk and unpack the large book, placing it between two candles.
Water stains the weathered pages, but the words are still legible. The first page is a journal entry, which reads like minutes from a meeting.
September 15, 1981
This year’s harvest festival will take place on Saturday, October 17th. All Council members in attendance agreed that the redemption of the following citizens will most benefit the needs of the Council.
Benefit the needs of the council? What happened to the idea that this is all God’s choosing and the people of the town have no say on when this happens? The Council—whoever they are—have control over everything.
The sacrificial rites will commence on Sunday, October 25th at 11:30 PM, after which the bells will toll and the town will return to normal operations.
A foreign language fills the next several pages. The heading reads “Incantata.” Incantation? Is this what they use to summon the Redeemers? Several signatures, written in dark red ink, which could very well be blood, adorn the bottom of the final page.
I stop when I get to the photos of the seven children. Five are female and only two of them are over the age of twelve; all of them under the age of eighteen.
Flipping through the pages of the book, I notice each of the pages contains a picture followed by the kid’s name, date of birth, age, and date taken from their families. A description of the sin committed by the family cinches it all together.
I flip to my mother’s page, and I’m surprised to see a much longer write-up on her. I scan the entry, digesting the words.
October 21, 1981
Angeline Crawford taken as punishment for the sins of her mother, Charley Crawford. We believe Miss Crawford is a danger to society and the well-being of the townsfolk of Highland Falls. The family is of Native American descent and is suspected to be of relation to the original tribe who owned this land years ago. At this time, there is no concrete proof that the family is of danger to the Council or to Malahas herself, though it is imperative that we break the familial bond and eradicate any potential threat as quickly as possible.
Seriously? They took my mother because they believed my grandmother posed some sort of danger to their sacred brotherhood of psychopaths? And who, or what, is Malahas?
The handwriting becomes more hurried and difficult to read the further I go.
Upon closer observation, Angeline is a bigger threat to our well-being than originally believed. When retrieving the blood sample from the child, Brother Parkins was overcome with fear. He spoke of a great force that filled his head, and a blinding light burned across his skin. There is no doubt that young Angeline is of ancient Nez Perce blood. If that is the case, I fear for our safety. She and her entire family must be promptly eradicated.
Why would my mother’s heritage have anything to do with her power? This just keeps getting weirder and weirder.
Angeline is very passive, and it does not appear that she calls on her powers willingly. We believe the child is unaware of the churning force within her.
My mom had some type of superpower, too? The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. Any time I would get sick, my mother would hold me in her arms and whisper over me. Within minutes, I felt ten times better. And there was the time the stove caught on fire. I was sure the entire town house would burn down, but in a matter of seconds, she had put the fire completely out; not even the smell of smoke hung in the air. And the time we were driving home after my sixth grade Christmas program. The snow was coming down hard, the roads a sheet of ice. An eighteen-wheeler came barreling toward us, the trailer snaking back and forth across the road. Death seemed inevitable, but the truck managed to right itself and cruised right by. Had my mother been responsible for that?
The elixir appears to have no effect on Angeline. In the beginning it made her sick, causing her to vomit. Today, Brother Parkins was eliminated when he attempted, again, to draw blood from the child. One moment he was there, the next he was no more than a pile of ash. Brother Bane insists we let the child go and ask the family to move away immediately to keep the agreement between our people and the Nez Perce tribe intact. The rest of the Council is not convinced that this is the right thing to do. Brother Bane seems to have developed an unhealthy bond with the girl. The child and her entire family are a danger to us and must be destroyed. We cannot allow the possibility that their bloodlines be mixed with ours. This could mean certain doom for us and our beloved Malahas.
This is all so messed up. I took this book thinking I would find answers, but if anything, I have even more questions.
On Sunday, October 25, 1981, Brother Robert Bane assisted in the escape of young Angeline Crawford before she could be properly eradicated. Because of the timing of this, the Council was not able to offer all seven sacrifices to Malahas, causing a shift in the energy within the town.
On Monday, October 26, 1981, Council members went to the Crawford residence to exterminate the family, but the family had already left town. It was then decided that Robert Bane would sacrifice his daughter and wife in place of the Crawford girl and restore balance to Highland Falls. Robert Bane was then stripped of his duties and forced to leave town where he will be unable to bind to a new body and will be forced to wither as a mortal.
The rest of the book is filled with nothing but blank pages. Is that it? Did things return to status quo after that?
“What happened, Mom?” I sit, half-expecting an answer, but nothing comes. Of course, it doesn’t. She’s not here. I’m sitting here talking to a dead person. I’ve officially lost my damn mind.
Goose bumps break out across my skin as a cool breeze passes through the room. At first, I think I’m imagining it, but the pages of the book begin to rustle before rapidly flipping, turned by invisible hands. The flame of the candle burns brighter—so bright it seems the electricity has come back on.
The breeze stirs my hair and caresses my skin. The memory box makes a small pop, and then everything grows still. The glow of the candle retreats, the rustling of the pages stops. I glance at the book and see what appears to be a map drawn in careful black ink on the worn page before me.
I shift the book a bit to take a closer look, knocking the memory box off the side of my desk. It clatters to the floor, spilling the contents across the hardwood.
I drop to the floor and pick up each familiar item, closely inspecting it for a clue. There’s nothing out of the ordinary here. Photos, birthday cards, a program from my first Broadway musical. I carefully place each item back into the box, stopping when I notice the pale, pink envelope.
My name adorns the front in my mother’s neat, curvy handwriting. I carefully slide my finger under the edge and remove the folded pieces of paper, opening to the first page.
It’s blank. They’re all blank. I flip them over, hoping to find something, anything written on one of the pages. Nothing.
The stone around my neck gives a slight tug, as if it’s trying to get my attention. I instinctively grasp it with my right hand, stroking it between my thumb and forefinger to calm it.
“Is that you, Mom?”
The stone heats under my skin, soft and warm. Comforting.
“What are you trying to tell me?”
The stone grows warm again.
“I don’t understand. You have to show me.”
No sooner have the words left my lips then words begin to form across the pages in my hand. Letters appear one by one, as the letter writes itself.
September 30, 2014
Dear Caitlyn,
I did my best to protect you. I thought I could keep you safe and it would never come to this. I only wanted you to live a normal, happy life.
If you’re reading this, it means I’m gone and it means you’ve been able to tap into the light within you to make these words appear. I can’t risk anyone finding this letter.
I had always hoped they would never come looking for us, but they’re desperate. They want you, and the only way they can get to you is if they get rid of me.
I’m sorry I never really spoke with you about your gift. There’s a light within you more powerful than the one in me, but there’s also a darkness, and if it’s not controlled, it could destroy you. I’ve worked so hard to suppress your powers, but there was only so much I could do. What’s within you was too strong for even me to control.
You are more of a threat to them than they are to you. You cannot be hurt by them unless you allow yourself to be. Your stone pendant has shielded you from them for years, but soon your power will be too strong to be hidden. Believe me when I tell you that you can stop them. You just have to believe in yourself.
I’m sure none of this makes sense, and you have more questions than answers. Trust me when I say I’ll always be with you, guiding you any way I can. You have the ability to stop them. Never give in to them. Do not let them manipulate you. Do not join them. You must fight, no matter the cost. Be prepared to make sacrifices. I will guide you.
Love,
Mom
I think I’m more confused now than I was before. I already know I have powers, but are they superpowers or witchy powers? Never have I had to cast any type of spell to make something happen, so I guess I’m not a witch. Then again, I don’t think I’ve ever come into contact with anything radioactive to give me superpowers. Oh God, please don’t tell me I’m an angel or some type of resurrected demigod.
I fold the letter and place it back in the box before stuffing it under my bed. I can’t sit here and ponder who or what I am all night. I have some exploring to do.
I have no idea what time it is. When it’s constantly dark outside it’s hard to tell. I throw on a pair of dark jeans and a black sweatshirt, pull my hair into a ponytail, and grab my shoes. Just as I’m tying the last lace, the whole house begins to vibrate.
Shit. They’re here.
Something scrapes against my window, clawing at the glass, trying to get in.
I consider running, but then I remember the letter. You are more of a threat to them than they are to you. You cannot be hurt by them unless you allow yourself to be. Rather than run, I pull back the curtains, determined to face whatever has come for me. Maybe I can stop it.
Misty shadows swirl and dip around the tree, pushing the branches against the glass. The air is alive, pulsing with dangerous energy. I catch glimpses of broken faces, mouths stretched open, crying in pain. Tar-black eyes search my window, staring through me, piercing my soul. A thousand pinpricks puncture my skin as a sense of dread settles over me.
I hear Mitch yelling downstairs, calling my name while Judy tries to calm him. I know I should run to him, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the figures curling around the branches of the tree. One of the misty creatures seems to take on a more corporeal form, shifting in and out of view as it moves closer. The outline of the figure becomes more prominent. Arms reach for me, fingers extended. A full head of glimmering red hair floats in the air, and before I know it, I’m staring into the cold, hard eyes of Monique.
Her eyes turn from black to blue to white and black again. She lifts a cold, white finger and beckons to me, a horrid smirk plastered across her face.
“Don’t fight it, Cait. Come with me. It will be much easier on you and your family if you come willingly.”
Monique is not floating outside my bedroom window. Though she speaks to me from behind the double panes of glass, her voice is loud and clear as if she stands right next to me.
“If you come with me, I promise not to hurt Trevor.” I don’t believe what she says.
He wasn’t marked. She can’t hurt him. Can she?
“I can still get to him. I’m very persuasive.”
What the hell? Is she reading my mind? Mitch cries from downstairs as the same knocking from the night before starts up. Walls quiver around me, and my father calls my name.
“Come on, Cait,” Monique says as she darts around my window like a goldfish. “Don’t make me come in there.”
“If you want me, come and get me, bitch.” I place my hands against the glass and stare at her in defiance. “I’m not giving myself to you.”
The window shudders as Monique crashes into it, mere inches from my face. She places both her hands on the glass, smiling her wicked smile.
“You’ll be sorry you didn’t come out. Very sorry.”
The shaking stops and the mist retreats. Monique’s form dissipates, leaving two bloody handprints on the glass where her fingers used to be.
“Cait?” Pounding footsteps bang against the stairs, and my door swings open. My father stands in the doorway; the candle he holds flings warm amber light across the door frame.
“Why didn’t you answer when I called for you?” he asks, relief flooding his face.
“There was something outside my window.”
“Is she here? Is she okay?” Mitch pushes past my father and jumps onto my bed.
“I’m here, buddy.” I sit beside him and stroke his hair, trying to calm his small, shaking body. The poor kid will be scarred for life.
“I’m okay,” I whisper. “I’m fine.”
“Will you come sleep in my room?” The thick fabric of my sweatshirt muffles his voice.
“I’m not really tired; I’ve been sleeping all day. I was going to read for a while, but I can come do it downstairs. That way I’ll just be down the hall if you need me, okay?”
He hops off the bed and I follow him to the door, but before I can walk out of the room my father pulls me in for a hug.
“I’m glad you’re safe,” he says in my ear.
Safe.
If anything, I need to feel safe.