The Devil's Woman

Imogene Keene turned the witch’s bell over in her hands, running a chewed fingernail along the rim. Her other hand gripped the riverboat railing as lightning flashed in the distance. It was just a small thing, that bell, but Imogene thought it could change her life.

On her wedding day three years ago, her mother warned her that those who make a hard bed have to lie in it. Well, she had, many times, the lumps in the tick mattress doing little to ease her aches, even after Duff Lee finished with her, his sweat drying on her nightdress. Duff was born mean and that’s all there was to it, but it wasn’t until Imogene missed two courses that she knew she was going to have to do something about him.

That’s what brought her to the crossroads that night, her cotton dress clinging to her in the humidity as she waited under a full moon. She listened to cornstalks whisper against each other and the call of cicadas, familiar sounds.

But tonight was different. Tonight was the night she would imperil her immortal soul for the sake of her mortal body, and the babe she grew deep inside it, the one she would protect at any cost from drunken fists and bits of broken furniture turned airborne in the rundown shack she shared with Duff.

Footsteps. Imogene wasn’t sure what form the Devil Himself might take, but the scuff of boots in the dirt was unmistakable. Imogene turned slowly to find herself nose to nose with an old woman wearing faded clothes.

“Now what the hell you want?” The old woman’s voice was irritable, as if she’d been awakened from a long sleep or summoned when she didn’t quite want to be.

“I’m just…waiting for someone.”

A smile crossed the wrinkled face.

“Well, what is it? Lookin’ to catch a man? Get idle rich and famous? Tryin’ to put somebody six feet deep?”

Imogene thought she caught a hopeful gleam in the old woman’s eyes and took a step back.

“No,” she answered haltingly. “I’m…I’ve got to get away from my husband. Duff Lee Keene. He hits me and treats me so ugly and I have a little one on the way. I need to start over somewhere.”

“A new life, is it? If I can help you, what will you give me in return?”

“My soul?” Imogene whispered.

The witch cackled. “In good time, maybe. What else you got?”

Imogene thought for a moment, then reached under her dress collar and pulled out her silver locket.

“This?”

She held it up. Large and gleaming, it spun and shone in the moonlight, the only beautiful thing Imogene’s mother left her.

The crone snatched it and tested its weight.

“Done.”

From the depths of her skirt pocket, she handed Imogene a brass bell.

“Take this and that five dollars you stole from ‘im and get yourself away from here. When you think you can’t go on, ring this bell thrice and you’ll find you can.”

So Imogene had walked through the night to Greenville, booked a one-way ticket to New Orleans, and that’s how she came to be watching the storm gather in the humid night from the deck. She’d used her only money on the ticket, and with her mother’s locket gone, she had little left. But she could picture a little baby grinning joyfully up at her from a bassinet and her heart warmed. Thinking about it made her want to ring the bell right then, to bring all the good gifts the witch surely intended for her. Nevertheless, the old woman had told her to wait until she was desperate and she wasn’t.

“Imogene!”

Her heart pounded wildly as she turned to find Duff Lee standing in the boat’s stairwell, the dim lights throwing shadows on his unshaven face. He eyed her from the small bag at her feet to the black eye he’d given her just last week.

“What are you doing, Imogene?”

She wanted to tell him what for, but the words stuck in her throat and she ended up just standing there, opening and closing her mouth like a dying fish.

“Cousin Tripp saw you walking down towards Greenville. Had to hightail it over here to try and talk some sense into you. Figured you’d be on the first boat outta here.”

Duff Lee grabbed her arm firmly.

“Come on home now, and we’ll forget all about it.”

Imogene dug in her heels, but he hovered over her, baring his teeth in an evil grin.

“I said come on.”

There was nothing for it. With her free hand, Imogene rang the brass bell three times. Maybe a cyclone would touch down and whoosh her straight to New Orleans like Dorothy to Oz. But she was still on the boat deck, Duff Lee trying to take her back to a life she could no longer suffer. As she pictured him depositing her back into their unhappy shack, white-hot fury coursed through her and she wrenched herself out of his grip with a strength that shocked them both.

“I am NOT,” she whispered, deadly quiet.

Duff paused, just for a moment, before he reached for her again. So she pushed. With an almighty shove, Duff Lee flipped right over the boat railing, his scream cutting off when he hit the churning water below. Shocked, she sat on the deck with a thunk as the sky opened up, pouring rain. Seconds may have passed, or hours. As the crew began to prepare for the journey, no one seemed the wiser.

Imogene later looked for the little bell, which had fallen in the tussle. Instead, a glint of silver on the deck revealed her own mother’s locket. She fastened it back around her neck and clasped her hands around her belly, promising safety and peace. Whether a raging storm or a hateful man or even the fiery circles of hell itself, she would never be afraid again.

***

Submitted for the Tales Retold challenge.