The Necromancer (34 page)

“More real.”

“Let me try,” he said, taking the doll.

Almost immediately the rough, raw bulk of the doll began to take on a more defi nitive shape in Daniel’s adroit hands. The limbs grew lean and sculpted; muscle bellies became curvaceous; even little toes and fi ngers were revealed as he sloughed off the excess muck. He reworked the head, etching in ears, nostrils, and lips, smoothing a jaw-line, developing the cheekbones. In mere moments he had given the doll a realism which Rachel never could have achieved in hours.

The two girls stood by and stared in wonder of the work Daniel had wrought.

“Here,” he said, handing the doll to Rachel.

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It felt warmer than it had when she had handed it to him; heavier too, though he had not added to it, but trimmed away its clumsy excess. And something else: Was it also harder?

“Is something wrong?” Molly asked Rachel the second time that afternoon.

“It...It...”

“Oh,” Daniel said. “I almost forgot.”

He stepped toward Rachel, who still held the doll in the bed she made with her hands, and bent over it and put his lips to the mud doll’s and blew. Then he stood up straight and stepped back.

“There,” he said. “Finished.”

They all stared at the doll, the girls looking more intently to see what it was that Daniel did when he stooped over the doll.

Then, suddenly, the doll blinked and opened its

mouth, releasing a low, tormented screech.

Rachel gasped and recoiled, dropping the doll. It fell quickly, as if it were composed of lead, and hit the shore with a small thud. It stood up and raised its fi st at her.

“Daniel!” Molly exclaimed. “What did you do?”

“I made the doll better. More real. Like she wanted.”

“It...It...” was all Rachel had wit to say as she stumbled back from the doll which was now walking toward her. Finally, she looked up at Daniel and said:

“You...You are a warlock. A warlock. A...”

Now Daniel approached her, his gait calculating, his eyes ice. Rachel’s legs trembled beneath her, her feet wading in the dark muddy water as she backed up along the shore. She raised her hands to cover her mouth and stared at him wildly, 313

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like a convicted man staring at his executioner just before he places the hood over his head.

“Daniel,” Molly said. But he was either too focused on Rachel or simply chose not to answer.

Rachel turned to run, her long blonde hair whipping out at him as she did. He lunged forward and seized her by the nape of her dress. The motion stopped her abruptly as if she had run into an invisible wall. A choked whimper escaped her mouth as he yanked her back toward him and slapped the muddy palm of his free hand to her forehead. At once, her knees buckled and she went completely limp, fainting into his arms as if he had drained every ounce of vitality from her frail little body. He examined her face in the manner of an artist scrutinizing a piece of sculpture he had just completed. Her mouth gaped open. Her eyes were still wide, fi xed...lifeless.

He let go of her and she spattered onto her back in the mud and water, the small waves tugging her golden tresses to and fro as the current carried her out.

Molly stood watching blankly, her jaw slack, her lips parted. Daniel turned to her.

“Say nothing,” he told her in an emotionless voice. She didn’t.

The doll he had infused with life still stood on the shore screaming and shaking its fi sts. Daniel stormed over to it and stamped it to death with his foot. He then crouched down on his haunches and washed the mud off his hands in the water.

“Come,” he said, standing up and taking Molly fi rmly by the crook of the arm.

As they climbed up the slope to their home, she

glanced back over her shoulder to the river. She caught only a glimpse of Rachel’s body fl oating downstream before it was 314

Daniel And Molly

obscured by the dark green canopy provided by the trees which lined the greater parts of the riverbank.

*****

“Forgive me,” Susanna said. “Did I wake you? I know you are weak and need your rest.”

“I am more than certain I have had my fi ll of sleep, dear.” She sat up. “Come, Susanna. Sit with me a while.” She patted the bed feebly with her gnarled fi ngers.

Susanna stepped toward her slowly, not wanting to make any unnecessary noise. It wouldn’t be good for Thea’s condition.

She sat herself down on the bed beside the old

woman.

“But you are right,” Thea said. “I am weak. I should think God will have me soon.”

“No.”

“Let us not allow false hope to fool us, dear. I am old.

I have lived long and seen much. I know when one’s time has come. My time in this world is nigh fi nished.”

“It is the illness that is making you say that.”

“No, child. I am quite in my wits.”

“Is there much...pain?”

Thea touched Susanna’s hand and clasped it lightly.

“No...not much. Weakness mostly. I am most tired. I feel I could sleep a thousand years.”

Susanna frowned.

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“Be not sad, child, for each of us will have our day.

Death should not be looked upon with dread. It is but a part of living. I imagine it is quite beautiful to die. Like drifting away into a long, calm sleep.” Thea’s lids drooped heavily and her grasp on Susanna’s hand loosened to non-existence. Susanna let the old woman’s cool hand drop to the bed, fi guring she had fallen asleep. Perhaps she had. Or maybe she had just died, slipped away right before her. But then the eyes widened again, declaring her consciousness.

“You have so much been a mother to me these years past...since my own mother passed on. It would be painful if you should leave me also. I love you, Thea.”

A faint smile crossed the old woman’s pale, lined face.

“And I love you, sweet child. I could love you no more than if you were of my own fl esh and blood.”

Susanna’s eyes grew glassy with tears, but somehow she managed to keep them from fl owing.

“I made soup,” she said. “Would you like me to fetch you a bowl?”

Thea yawned, showing her crooked yellow teeth.

“No, child. I shall have some later. I am more tired than I fi rst thought. I shall rest a while. Perhaps I need to sleep a bit more.”

Thea’s eyes closed. Susanna rose from the bed and left the room. Her body felt suddenly heavy. She went to her room and lay down. She too was tired. It wasn’t long before she slept.

*****

Edward, and the twins, Edward expressed his concern for his mother.

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“I fear it unlikely that she shall ever recover from this illness,” he said as Susanna rolled an ear of steaming-hot corn onto his plate.

“She is very old,” Roger said.

“Yes,” Edward agreed. “I suppose it is foolish to hope she will live on indefi nitely. But it makes me so sad to see her in such an enfeebled condition.”

“I understand that well. When my dear Martha and Phoebe were convalescent with the smallpox, it required the greater part of my will and strength to see them decline so from one day to the next, such was my grief.”

“And mine also,” Susanna added, placing a hand on her father’s shoulder, the one with the stump. Roger placed his hand on hers and looked up at her.

Edward turned to the twins.

“The both of you have been very quiet this evening,”

he said. “Is there a reason for this uncommon event?”

“We are only tired,” Daniel said.

“Yes,” said Molly. “We have been out playing most of the day.”

“You have, have you?”

“Yes.”

“Did either of you happen to see the Addams girl while you were out and about playing?”

Molly looked at Daniel for a heartbeat as he responded to the question.

“Rachel?” he said. Edward nodded. “No. Why? Should we have, Father?”

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“Not necessarily. I merely ask because Mrs. Addams called to me and your grandfather as we were riding home and wished to know if we had seen her. She told us Rachel wandered away from the house this noontime and has not been seen since. She was very concerned.”

“We have not seen her in almost a fortnight

ourselves,” Daniel lied again.

“Really?”

“Really,” Molly testifi ed.

“Neither of you would lie, would you?” Susanna

asked.

The twins shook their heads.

“I know how fond you are of playing down by the river,” Roger said. “You would not tell lies because you were there when you know you should not have been, would you?”

“No, Grandfather,” Daniel said.

“No, Grandfather,” Molly repeated.

“If you did see her down by the river,” Edward said,

“you would not be scolded if you told us. It is most important we know for certain.”

“We have not seen her,” Daniel emphasized.

“Very well,” Edward said. “I am sorry I was so

insistent, but I fi nd it most distressing to think of what may have happened to the poor girl.”

“I am sure if the children see her they will make haste to mention it,” Roger said.

“Of course,” said Daniel.

“Yes,” Molly added. “Certainly we will.”

*****

Daniel And Molly

That night, after Edward made love to her, Susanna had the dream again.

She was back in Salem, being hauled up into a horse-drawn cart in shackles after having been dragged from her house, which was being set on fi re by several men with torches.

As the cart moved quickly along the road, people came out of their houses and trailed behind and along side, cursing and spitting at her. It wasn’t long before they were riding up a rocky slope to the top of Gallows Hill, engulfed in a mob of angry villagers and townspeople. Thick dark smoke hung heavily in the air. As the cart drew closer, Susanna saw that its source was a smoldering heap of dead bodies, which even now was being added to as two men carried the rotting corpse of a woman over to the pile and swung its limp bulk back and forth by its arms and legs. The men fl ung the body on the heap. The body rolled once, the arms fl ailing, then came to a halt on its back with its legs elevated at the top of the pile and its head on a decline toward the bottom, the arms outstretched. Susanna gazed at the dark, maggot-eaten face with the gaping mouth and upturned eyes, and recognized it was Thea just before the low fl ames caught her dress and the smoke blotted her out of view.

The cart stopped.

Susanna looked up at the great locust tree. It was adorned with decomposing bodies hanging from its boughs, swaying and turning slightly in the hot, smoky summer air which choked the hill and added to the stench of death and decay. Buzzards picked at the soft, larvae-ridden meat of the victims, their ragged feathers rustling as the occasional gust of wind threatened to blow them off their food. The hanged men and women hung there, suspended, their loose fl esh baking in the reddish light of the setting sun. They were unhooded, their fl at eyes dangling slightly from their sockets, their mangled black tongues lolling from their mouths. Among them was 319

The Necromancer

Bridget Bishop. Hanging beside her, turning into view, was Edward. Beside him...her father.

The guards lead her up to the tree now, her eyes fi xed on her dead husband and her dead father, her voice stifl ed as if something huge were lodged in her throat.

The guard forced Susanna up the ladder, her legs shaky, her footing uncertain.

“Susanna,” a voice croaked.

It was the voice of Bridget Bishop. Her dark, dead face turned toward Susanna as she said her name again:

“Susanna. It is not fi nished. It is not fi nished, Susanna.

The evil is still with you.”

The hangman slipped the rope over her head and

cinched the noose snugly around her neck. She looked up at him, but it wasn’t a him at all. It was Molly, a grim smirk creeping across her face.

“Let not the evil fl ourish, Susanna. It is near. It is upon you. Wake, Susanna! Wake!”

Molly looked away. Susanna followed her gaze to

Daniel, dressed in the robes of a magistrate. The corners of his mouth curled up, forming a perverted smile, then he nodded.

Molly turned her off the ladder, and she plummeted and plummeted and...

Woke.

She sat bolt upright in bed, drenched with sweat.

The room was pitch-black. She groped around next to her for Edward. Her hands found his chest and slid up to his shoulders. She shook him hard.

“Edward! Edward!”

“What?” he groaned.

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“There is something wrong. Something bad has

happened.”

“The nightmares,” he said. “You had another dream again, haven’t you?”

“Yes. But this was different. I know something has happened. There is evil in the house with us. Do not ask me how I know. I just do. We must do something.”

Edward groaned again and sat up. He lit the lantern on the end table beside the bed, put on his spectacles, and looked at her.

“It was only a nightmare,” he said, taking her face in his hands and kissing her. “Only a dream.”

“I know,” Susanna replied. “I know. But the feeling is strong.”

“Susanna...”

“It would ease my mind...” She glanced at the door. “It would be a comfort to know everyone was well.”

He sighed, nodded, and removed his hands from

her face. When he reached the door, Susanna was by his side holding a lit candle.

“Check on Father and Thea,” she said. “I will look in on the children.”

Edward opened the door and went left down the hall toward Roger and Thea’s rooms; Susanna went the other way toward the twins’ rooms.

Susanna’s heart thundered in her chest, the sound of it rising up and fi lling her head until it throbbed like an enormous swollen sore. Everything was calm and quiet like death. That made each unnerving step she took, every strangled breath she drew, rattle her all the more.