The Witching Hour (66 page)

Going to the door, I discovered that it had never been bolted
behind her, and I wondered how many times that had been the case.

But it did not matter now. What mattered was that I go, if that damnable spirit would not stop me, and that I not look back, or speak to her again, or catch the scent of her sweetness, or think about the soft touch of her lips or her hand.

And on this account I asked her for no horse or coach to take me into Port-au-Prince, but resolved that I should simply leave without a word.

It had been an hour’s ride out and so I fancied that it not being yet midnight I should easily make the city by dawn. Oh, Stefan, thanks be to God, I did not know what that journey would be! Would I have ever had the courage to set out!

But let me break my story here, to say that for twelve hours I have been scribbling. And now it is midnight once more, and the thing is near.

For that reason I shall shut up in my iron box this and all the other pages I have written, so that at least this much of my tale will reach you, if what I write from here on is lost.

I love you, my dear friend, and I do not expect your forgiveness. Only keep my record. Keep it, for this story is not finished and may not be for many a generation. I have that from the spirit’s own voice.

THE FILE ON THE MAYFAIR WITCHES

PART IV

Stefan,

After a bit of refreshment, I begin again. The thing is here. Only a moment ago, it made itself visible, in its manly guise,
an inch from me, as is its wont, and then caused my candle to go out, though it had no breath of its own with which to do it.

I had to go downstairs to procure another light. Coming back I found my windows open and flapping in the breeze, and had to bolt them again. My ink was spilt. But I have more ink. The covers had been snatched from the bed, and my books had been scattered about.

Thank God the iron box is on its way to you. Enough said, for perhaps the thing can read.

It makes the sound of wings flapping in this close space, and then laughter.

I wonder if far away in her bedroom at Maye Faire Charlotte sleeps, and that is why I am the victim of these tricks.

Only the bawdy houses and taverns are open; all the rest of the little colonial city is quiet.

But let me relate the events of last night as fast as I can … 

 … I started out upon the road on foot. The moon was high; the path was clear before me with all its twists and turns, rising and falling gently here and there over what we would scarce call hills.

I walked fast, with great vigor, all but giddy with my freedom, and the realization that the spirit had not stopped me, and that I was smelling the sweet air around me, and thinking that I might make Port-au-Prince well before dawn.

I am alive, I thought; I am out of my prison; and perhaps I shall live to reach the Motherhouse again!

With each step I believed it all the more, and wondered at it, for during my captivity I had given up all hope of such a thing.

Again and again, however, my mind was overtaken by thoughts of Charlotte, as though a spell had fallen over me, and I remembered her in the bed where I had left her, and I weakened, thinking even that I was a fool to leave such beauty and such excitement, for indeed I loved her; I loved her madly! And what would it mean, I wondered, were I to remain and become her lover, and see the birth of one child after another, and live in luxury as she had suggested to me? That I should within a matter of hours be separated from her forever was more than I could endure.

So I would not think on it. I drove the thoughts from my mind whenever I became aware that they had once more stolen in.

On and on I walked. Now and then I spied a light over the darkened fields on either side of me. And once a rider passed, thundering along the road, as if driven on an important mission. He did not even see me. And I continued alone, with only the
moon and the stars for witnesses, and plotted out my letter to you and how I would describe what had taken place.

I had been on my way perhaps three-quarters of an hour when I saw a man at some distance ahead of me, merely standing and watching me approach, so it seemed. And what was so remarkable was that he was a Dutchman, which I saw by his enormous black hat.

Now, my hat I had left behind me. I had worn it as always when I had come to Maye Faire, but had not seen it from the time I gave it up to the slaves before supper on my first night.

And now as I saw this tall man ahead of me I thought of it, and lamented it, and wondered also who was this Dutchman standing by the side of the road, facing me and staring at me, it seemed, a shadowy thing with blond hair and a blond beard.

I slowed my pace, for as I approached, the figure did not move, and the closer I came to it, the more I perceived the strangeness of it, that a man should stand alone in this darkness, so idly, and then it came to me that I was being foolish, for it was only another man there, and so why should it make me feel all the more undefended in the dark of night?

But no sooner had that thought occurred to me, when I drew close enough to see the man’s face. And in the same instant as I beheld that this was my own double standing there, the creature leapt out at me, drawing up not one inch from me as my own voice issued from his lips.

“Ah, Petyr, but you have forgot your hat!” he cried, and gave forth a terrible laugh.

I fell backwards onto the road, my heart roaring in my chest.

Over me, he bent like a vulture. “Oh, come on, Petyr, pick up your hat for you have let it drop in the dust!”

“Get away from me!” I screamed in my terror, and turning away, I covered my head. Like a miserable crab, I scrambled to escape the thing. Then rising, I rushed at him, as a bull might have done it, only to find myself charging the empty air.

Nothing on this road but my miserable self and my black hat lying crushed in the dirt.

Shaking like a child, I took it up and brushed it off.

“Damn you, spirit!” I cried. “I know your tricks.”

“Do you?” a voice spoke to me, and this time it was a woman speaking. I spun around to see the creature! And there beheld my Deborah, as she had been in girlhood, but for a flash.

“It isn’t she,” I declared. “You liar from hell!”

But Stefan, that one glimpse of her was a sword passing through me. For I had caught her girlish smile and her flashing eye. A sob rose in my throat. “Damn you, spirit,” I whispered.
I searched the blackness for her. I would have seen her, real or illusion. And I felt the fool.

The night was quiet. But I did not trust it. Only slowly did I stop my shaking, and put on my hat.

I walked on, but nothing as fast as before. Everywhere I looked, I thought I beheld a face and figure, only to discover that it was a trick of the darkness—the banana trees shifting in the breeze, or those giant red flowers drowsing on their weak stems as they hung over the fences bordering the road.

I resolved to look straight ahead. But then I heard a footfall behind me; I heard the breathing of another man. Steady came the feet, out of step with my own walking; and as I resolved to ignore it, I felt the hot breath of the creature on my very neck.

“Damn you!” I cried again, spinning round, only to see a perfect horror looming over me, the monstrous image of myself once more but with nothing but a naked and blazing skull for my face.

Flames leapt from the empty eye sockets beneath the blond hair and the great Dutch hat.

“Go to hell!” I screamed and shoved it with all my might as it fell forward on me, the fire scorching me. And where I had been certain there would be nothing, was a solid chest.

Growling like a monster myself, I fought it, forcing it to stagger backwards, and only then did it vanish, with a great blast of warmth.

I found I had fallen without even realizing it. I was on my knees and had torn my breeches. I could think of nothing but the flaming skull I had just beheld. Once more my body shook stupidly and uncontrollably. And the night was darker as the moon was no longer high, and God only knew how long I must walk on this road until I reached Port-au-Prince.

“All right, evil one,” I said, “I shall not believe my eyes no matter what they reveal to me.”

And without further hesitation, I turned back to the right direction, and began to run. I ran, with my eyes down, until I was out of breath. And slowing to a walk, went on doggedly in the same manner, looking only at the dust beneath my feet.

It was only a little while before I saw feet next to mine, naked, bleeding, but I paid no mind to them for I knew they could not be real. I smelled flesh burning but I took no note of it, for I knew it could not be real.

“I know your game,” I said. “You have pledged not to hurt me, and so you go by the letter of the pledge. You would drive me mad, would you?” And then remembering the rules of the
ancients, that I was but strengthening it by talking to it, I stopped talking and fell to saying the old prayers.

“May all the forces of goodness protect me, may the higher spirits protect me, may no harm come to me; may the white light shine upon me, and keep me from this thing.”

The feet that had walked along with me were gone now, and so was the stench of burning flesh. But far ahead I heard an eerie noise. It was the sound of wood splintering, aye, of many pieces of wood splintering, and perhaps of things being ripped up from the earth.

This is no illusion, I thought. The thing has uprooted the very trees and will now hurl them down in my path.

On I walked, confident that I should dodge such dangers, and remembering that it was playing games with me, and I must not fall into its trap. But then I saw the bridge ahead of me, and I realized that I had come to the little river, and the sounds I heard were coming from the graveyard! The thing was breaking open the graves!

A terror seized me which was far worse than any I had felt before. We all have our private fears, Stefan. A man can fight tigers, yet shrink from the sight of a beetle; another can cut his way through an enemy regiment, yet not remain with a dead body in a closed-up room.

For me, the places of the dead have always held terror; and now to know what the spirit meant to do, and that I must cross the bridge and pass through the graveyard held me petrified and dripping with sweat. And to hear ever more loudly the ripping and the tearing; to see the trees above the graves swaying, I did not know how I should ever move again.

But to remain here was folly. I forced myself to move, drawing closer, step by step to the bridge. Then I beheld the ravaged graveyard, I saw the coffins torn up from the soft wet earth. I saw the things climbing out of them, or rather pulled from them, for they were lifeless, surely they were lifeless, and he moved them as he would move puppets!

“Petyr, run!” I cried, and tried to obey my own command.

I crossed the bridge in an instant, but I could see them coming up the banks on both sides. I heard them! I heard the rotted coffins breaking under their feet. Illusion, trickery, I told myself once more, but as the first of these horrid cadavers came into my path, I screamed like a frightened woman, “Get away from me!” and then found myself unable to touch the putrid arms that flailed at me, merely stumbling away from this assault, only to fall against another such rotted corpse, and at last to collapse upon my knees.

I prayed, Stefan. I cried out loud to the spirit of my father and to Roemer Franz, please help me! These things had now surrounded me and were pushing against me, and the stench was unbearable, for some of them were newly buried, and others but half decomposed, and others reeked purely of the earth itself.

My arms and hair were drenched from their disgusting wetness, and shivering I covered my head with both arms.

Then I heard a voice speaking to me, clearly, and I knew it was the voice of Roemer, and he said: “Petyr, they are lifeless! They are as fruit fallen on the floor of the orchard. Rise and push them aside; you cannot offend them!”

And emboldened, I did.

On I ran once more, crashing into them, tripping over them and then dancing back and forth to catch my balance and go on ahead. At last I ripped off my coat to flail at them, and discovering them weak and unable to sustain an assault upon me, I beat them back with the coat, and got clear of the graveyard. And I knelt down once more to rest.

I could still hear them back there; hear the trudge of their aimless dead feet.

Then glancing over my shoulder, I saw that they struggled to follow, a legion of horrid corpses, pulled as if by strings.

Again I rose; again I went on; my coat I carried now, for it was filthy from the battle, and my hat, ah, my priceless hat, I had lost. Within minutes I outdistanced the dead ones. I suppose that he let them drop finally.

And as I continued, my feet aching now, and my chest burning from my exertions, I saw that my sleeves were covered with stains from the battle. Dead flesh clung to my hair. My boots were smeared with it. And the smell would follow me all the way to Port-au-Prince. But it was still and quiet around me. The thing was resting! The thing had exhausted itself. So this was no time to worry about stenches and garments. I must rush on.

I began in my madness to talk to Roemer. “What shall I do, Roemer? For you know this thing will follow me to the ends of the earth.”

But there came no answer, and I thought that I had imagined his voice when I heard it before. And all the while I knew the spirit might take on his voice, if I thought too long and too hard on Roemer, and that would drive me mad, madder than I already was.

The peace continued. The sky was growing light. I heard carts upon the road behind me, and saw that the fields were coming alive to the right and the left. Indeed, coming to the top of a
rise I saw the colonial city below me, and I breathed a great sigh.

Now one of these carts approached, a small rickety wooden cart, laden with fruit and vegetables for market, and driven by two pale-skinned mulattoes, and they did stop and stare at me, at which point I said in my best French that I needed their help and God would bless them if they gave it to me. And then remembering that I had money, or had had, I went into my pockets for it, and gave them several livres which they took with gratitude, and I climbed upon the tail of the cart.