She & Them

I was born the day the world began to burn. Ironic, yes. Life and death seemed to intertwine like that every now then. Will the world renew itself with my demise?

It were thoughts like these danced among my thoughts, twirling as the wind twirls leaves on the overcast fall days that still clung to the last warmth of summer. Today was a day like that, actually.

We noted coincidences, but beyond that kept no weary eye. I was never one to let them go—coincidences. They were anomalies too great to not be without some greater reason.

When the world began to burn, the flames were an unstoppable force. The faithful claimed judgement day, the activists a downfall from our own doing, and the elite bad luck as they bunkered themselves in.

Being that I was a newborn when the earth’s death began, I didn’t have much to say about it.

The flames, hungry tones of gold an amber, ravaged across America. No amounts of water or chemical mixtures, which usually nulled fires, could halt the force. It began on the west coast, then it slowly spread pushing the population together in such closeness that it became impossible to function as a society. As for the rest of the world? They knew the states weren’t alone in their conundrum, but the fire ate away communication leaving the knowledge vague and uncertain.

Those who outlasted the fires sometimes wished for death as the air became thick with grey smoke and smog.

The coven leader—to the coven my parents associate with—maintained communication with global covens and worked out an escape route. It wasn’t the safest destination, but it gave us a chance to live and continue unlike the rest of the world.

There were several mirrors safekept by various covens that worked as a doorway. Ours was nestled in a momentous Weeping Willow that could never burn nor decay. They had kept it hidden among the pine, birch, and maple trees that composed a dense section of forest in the Pennsylvania Appalachia.

We fled our burning reality to begin a new life in another one. Not quite an alternate, but a world much like the one we had come from. The only differences were the faded hue that hung around all that could be seen, and a new set of dangers that lurked in the shadows. Fortunately for our coven, and the others that made it as well, the indigenous people to this new reality accepted us and taught us how to survive.

In the new world were new spells, new rituals, new meaning.

I was born into a Wiccan coven. My mother named me Joanne. My father named me Beatrice. Joanne Beatrice Lunn. But everyone just called me Jo.

Since I was just few months old when our people came here, I was raised learning as though this reality was my own. Lives were lost to the dark creatures here in the beginning. The sounds that caused cold sweats to my parents evoked nothing in me. They, though it had been 20 years and counting now, remember the horror that took place before they knew how dangerous this world was. As many dangers as there were, however, it was a world that lived unlike the one we had once called home.

My parents brought along pictures that were bright from the past. I believed them when they said that everything was faded here and listened to their nostalgic stories of vibrant sunsets, but there was something comforting about the grey washed hues. Again, I was raised here. There were no memories for me to hold on to.

I carried two symbols with me, the pentagram and witches knot. The first hung from my neck, a metal charm. The second inked on the skin at my right wrist, the wrist that held my dominant hand. A chunk of red garnet adorned my neck as well. My birthstone for good luck, as my father had instructed. Luck seemed too much of a chance for me, but I complied to help him worry less. It seemed he was always worried, and I didn’t think it originated from the move. He is a man of fear.

My friends called me brave.

Perhaps I was. There was something exhilarating about taking that leap of faith that nothing will go wrong and dive right into the unknown.

The elders in our coven called me foolish.

But I was always careful. Little to my friends knowledge, I had casted protection charms beforehand. I took precautionary measures. I had learned very quickly as a child that bravery led to falling and falling led to abrasions, cuts, breakages. So, I learned and adapted.

My parents said that in my birth world, for the most part, we were a hidden society. There were groups that called themselves “witches” that conducted the seances, wore the crystals and symbols, and studied our literature, but hadn’t even a drop of blood from the Founders. Therefore, they could perform rituals until their hearts desired, and nothing would come of it. This is why our covens stayed quiet. Power is both feared and desired.

Here, however, the greater population shared the religion. And for those who didn’t, they could care less. They could still be friends or even family. The covens aided in protection from the monsters. Who would give that up?

The university I attended held mixed studies both human and the divine. About a decade prior, it was a progressive notion.

My parents weren’t completely satisfied at my choice of study being in English, but I won back there approval when I selected the literature track, a concentration that observed Wicca and Witch literature as well as the non-magical—if one could even consider a sort of literature that. Non-magical. Even the most mundane tale held a whimsical aura with each word that wove together like a web to create a non-existent scene within my own head.

I often found myself transfixed by what appeared to be non-magic. Everything has to have even the slightest hint of magic in it, right? How else would the world go round?

At the clock tower’s bell toll, three thunderous chimes for the hour, medieval literature came to an end.

Instead of notes regarding The Canterbury Tales, sketched flames filled the entirety of my notebook. If this had been new, I would have been taken back. However, lost time had become quite the reoccurrence. A low sigh escaped my lips as I packed up and quickly navigated the halls to the nearest exit.

The first floor west exit of Havisham opened to a shaded pathway that ran alongside the fairy garden. I stopped in front and, seeing as there were no fairies present, rested my forearms against the walkway railing.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath of what should’ve been the comforting scent of earth after a light drizzle but was instead thick, ashy smoke. My eyes shot open in alarm to see a grey figure staring straight back at me.

“Is anyone there?” A voice, high and distorted, called out.

And just like that, like a burst of static on a television, the figure vanished. The smoke lingered for a few more seconds.

Immediately I ran to the Yancey Academic Center, the location of offices for professors.

Dr. Rena Walker was a tiny middle-aged woman with a darker complexion. She kept her hair tamed with a single, thick braid that fell down her neck and often wore the same cardigan each day, differing undershirts as proof she left her office to return home at night—though the circles darker than her already dark skin under her eyes led me to believe she merely left to continue her work in her study at home.

Her office sat in a corner of the aged building, third floor with two narrow windows that looked as though they had been added during the remodeling a few years past. Despite being small window sills, she had managed to fit a handful of flower pots to hold herbs that had grown out in her years of teaching here. There were even a few plants, though smaller, younger, on her bookshelf.

When I walked in, a lavender candle was lit filling the room with a tranquil aura. Sitting next to the candle where three stones: amethyst, black tourmaline, and lepidolite. Dr. Walker’s rested against her desk atop her crossed arms. Seeing her asleep, I quietly turned to leave.

“Going so soon?” She said in a low, drawn out tone of one who had just woken.

“It looked as though you wanted to sleep.” I shrugged.

Dr. Walker sat up in her chair and scooted closer to her desk. “Have a seat.” She said motioning to the spare chair that sat opposite from herself.

My freshman fall semester began with a course taught by her, Legends and Sagas. It was an intriguing subject matter, but what had made the semester truly fantastic was Walker pushing me with extra reading after my first assignment submission. Since then, I’ve been a weekly appearance in her office. I confided a large quantity of information to this woman. After two years, she had become a familial figure, similar to an aunt. My parents liked her for a variety of reasons, the biggest being that she was a distinguished witch. They still clung to the snobbish values of the old world.

“Rena, the weirdest thing happened today after class.” I told her about my experience providing as much detail as I could from memory. “I don’t think it was a ghost. When it disappeared, it wasn’t a fade away or anything like that. It was like…as if they were ripped away. It smelled so strongly of smoke too.”

She rested her chin on her thumb. I watched her think. Age lines scrunched together on her forehead, an effect from her knitted eyebrows and, my guess, years of deep thought.

“I don’t want to rule out a ghost, not yet.” She paused. “Is this the first time?”

This experience had been new, that was true. But I wasn’t completely sure how to answer the question. I am an individual who lives in thought. My silences is accompanied by the connection of multiple lines, formulating what to say, when to say it, and whether or not what I have to say is relevant. It was an exhausting process—figuring out what to say—as time wasn’t always my friend. More often than not, by the time I processed information and put together something to say, my chance was long gone. Very few pause time for the quiet.

I’d seen that being for the first time today, but the smell of smoke brought my attention to the episodes of going black and sketching fire. As I’ve said before, coincidences shouldn’t go unnoticed.

When did it first begin?

I couldn’t say exactly. Perhaps one, two weeks.

Something clicked.

Dr. Walker leaned forward. “Jo? Can you give me anything else you remember?”

“There was a bonfire two weeks ago.”

She nodded. “The moon festival.”

“Yes,” My fingers tapped against my leg. “There were eyes for a brief moment near the embers. I saw them, they were looking around. But they connected to me and went away. Since then, I’ve felt…like someone is always right behind me. And this.” I pulled out my notebook to show her.

“No notes?” Walker raised a brow.

Sighing, I flipped through the pages from the past couple weeks. “When I’m in class it’s as if the class is over after a minute. I sit down and pull out my pen and paper for notes, then class ends. I all I have is what I draw.”

Her lips pursed together. “Thank you for coming to me, Jo. Give me a time to research this.” Her eyes glanced to the sun’s fading beams. “You should be getting home, it’ll be dark soon.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

Unanswered questions dug itched at my brain. They always have. My parents told stories of me as a child always curious as to how things worked, meanings, and why things were as they were. Maybe that’s what made me brave. I needed to know. But I’d never desired an answer as much as I did now.

She was right though, Dr. Rena Walker. Walking home in the dark isn’t a task to be taken lightly. The campus attempts to maintain a curfew, but it was always difficult to enforce as the patrol officers didn’t even want to be out in the dark. Protects spells, talismans, and hexes only did so much. Students still went missing periodically after dusk.

I stepped into the student apartment complex just as the evening mist began to roll in.

When the covens fled the burning realm to cross into this one, they unknowingly came to a realm of the unknown. Those who were native were still making discoveries of the evil that lurked which in itself wouldn’t have been that alien had there been more than a handful of discoveries and the monsters not so difficult to catch or come in such variety.

In my early schooling, I learned about snatchers, crawlers, demons, howlers, and banshees. During my later—pre-graduation—years I learned then about the sirens, growlers, and pmurts. College taught me that they aren’t truly certain what all exists, they simply are aware that monsters are masters of daylight hiding and night hunting.

If you stayed up late, I mean the early morning hours when all seem still and eerily quiet, you may hear a sirens call or the scuttle of a crawler. You might even catch glimpse of a demon or snatcher searching for the unlucky souls who ignored the warnings.

I’ve heard sirens here and there, and I’ve caught a glimpse of something just once. I never considered myself to be stupid enough to seek out what could kill me.

My apartment was the standard four room flat among the three others in the two floor complex. It was an old building, the walls red bricked and floors a worn, dark wood. In the winter, the window panels rattle ferociously. In the summer, cooling units were bolted in place in attempt to fight the sweltering heat.

I unlocked the door and swung it open to see my three roommates sitting in a triangle, candles lit in the middle. They sat cross legged, hands connected and eyes closed chanting under their breaths.

Dropping my bag to the floor and locking the door behind me, I knelt down and waited for them to finish.

When the lit candles went out, they opened their eyes and turned their heads towards me.

“You’re back late?” Brisa, who sat closed to where I knelt, looked to me with concern.

“I went to Rena’s office after class.” I shrugged it off and asked nonchalantly, “What were you guys doing?”

Helena and Mabel, who I was not as close to but were friends to Brisa, exchanged smug glances.

Helena smirked. “You can stop pretending you’re too good for a nice séance.”

I shook my head. “There’s no one I need to talk to.”

“It doesn’t mean no one wishes to speak with you.” Mabel said absently.

Brisa simply rolled eyes and pushed herself to her feet. “Susan is waiting for you in your room.”

At the mention of her name, my heart fluttered as if it were ready to spring from my chest and connect with the girl who it truly belonged to.

I immediately stood up with my back and stepped at a quick pace to my room. Helena muttered someone as I turned the corner down the hall to my room, an action that would have normally itched at myself but didn’t matter now.

Opening my door, wisps of smoke from a rose smelling incense pulled me in and to my bed where Susan rested.

As gently as possible to not give her a spook, I stroked her cheek and planted a quick peck to her forehead. Her eyelids rose sluggishly and, upon seeing me laying aside of her, a smile spread across her lips.

“I’ve been waiting for you.” Her voice was low from sleep.

Her last class ended two hours before my own, so I assumed that she had come here and immediately fallen asleep. I was glad she had found the time to. She, like Dr. Walker, struggled with catching sleep during the night. Unlike Walker, however, she didn’t spend her nights in the books.

“Close your eyes, flower petal. I’ll wake you when I’ve finished making supper.” I cooed.

Susan gave a wordless nod and curled herself up. I took a moment to admire the sleeping gem. Her face was smooth and expressionless—yet she still came off as warm soul. Her cheeks held a rosy blush that stood out easily on her milky complexion.

The America we lived in was another difference my parents marveled about often. A less selfish and more aware country than the one they left, although we weren’t completely free of impurities. We were still a divided nation, though likeminded people migrated to various geographic locations and were content ruling their own little communities, the only interactions between different alignments was purely business. It kept peace.

With that peace, unfortunately, other burdens came. Different goods held expense dependent on their origins. Therefore, fish, grains, and greens were common commodity in the eastern side of Pennsylvania. Red meat was somewhere in the middle, though that never bothered me as I had a taste preference for fish.

I cooked up cod, spinach, cherry tomatoes, and rice with a little rosemary and cilantro. It was an easy, go to meal.

While I wait for the food to cook, I flicked on the little radio we’d put in the kitchen and fiddled with the tuning knob until I found the first clear station. If I had to pick two forms of listening to music that provoked the most feeling in my core from the sound it would have to be radio and vinyl. It was that lack of perfect clarity—the same clarity technology was adapting to reach—that truthfully allowed a song to speak. Maybe that slight imperfection better reflected this reality.

I flipped the two fish filets then leaned against the counter.

The radio feedback began to distort the instrumental break in the song to reveal a voice, out of place, within the static.

“Can you hear me? Hello? Please, I need help!”

Upon hearing it, I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise and a chill rippled down my spine as if revealing something had appeared behind me. I whipped around but nothing by the small refrigerator occupied that space.

“Hello—?” The static stopped and the music was as clear as it had been before.

Despite this, the words echoed in my head, the same tone I’d heard earlier in the day, the only difference was the lack of smoke.

A hand touched by back just lightly causing me to jump, but it was just Susan.

“I saw something.” She spoke in a whisper. A gleam of fear shined in her eyes, a look I recognized now as her reaction to visions.

I took her hands in mine, hers much cooler than my own, and pulled her close to calm her down. Only when I felt her heartbeat slow to its normal pace did it loosen my arms. “Tell me what you saw.”

Susan’s gift of the third eye was revealed early in her life when she, as a four year old, told her parents that, should they attend a nature retreat they’d registered for, they would meet their deaths. As it so happened, the couple that took the room the Lockhart’s had originally been assigned to were killed by a malevolent spirit that had found its way into the room.

It wasn’t merely death that she foresaw—as some were only able to see ends—but really anything significant as long as it connected to her in some way.

She’d told me that’s how we met. Susan had been planning to go on a trip to the coast when she saw herself meeting something bright, something that made her feel warmer than anything she’d ever felt, but she was also perplexed by how unclear the vision had been. Nevertheless, she wandered around campus to find the location the vision had taken place longing for an answer until we bumped into each other. Quite literally, I should add. Neither of us noticed each other until we walked into one another.

It wasn’t until Susan later showed me her journal that I completely believed her.

Now, Susan sat on my bed waiting patiently for me to retrieve the well-worn moleskin notebook from her bag and a pen from my desk. It was ritual for her to write it as she saw it before reiterating aloud to ensure nothing would be forgotten or mixed up. My room felt eerily silent. Only the scratching of pen on paper, our breaths, and the outside air rustling what was left of the leaves on trees. Still, I waited.

“I couldn’t see very well,” She finally said, her voice calm with its usual rasp. “There was a lot of smoke everywhere. I think something was burning, but it was also very vivid. I saw someone wandering around. Maybe a woman? She was calling for help. And then that was it.”

I sat down aside of her causing the mattress springs to creak. “Did you see that right before you came to me, Susie love?”

She nodded. “It was shorter than usual and confusing.”

“Why was it confusing?” I questioned. My hand stroked her back.

Susan opened her mouth to speak but hesitated and grabbed my hand to trace the lines of my palm, a habit I noticed she did out of uncertainty. “I couldn’t see who it was. They didn’t sound nor look familiar. How am I supposed to help?” She turned her head to face me with eyes wide for my answer.

I brushed back a tuft of her dark hair that had flopped in front of her eyes. Having had short hair for the longest time, she had decided to grow it out again. Now it was a fluffy, shaggy, adorable mess. I lived for it. I wanted to rake my fingers through her hair and play with it to make it stand in goofy ways, something that I knew would bring a smile. Instead, I knew I had to tell her about what I had experienced to allow for at least a little clarity.

She listened intently while I explained what happened earlier in the day, my meeting with Rena, and what had gone on in real time during her vision. Now it was her who was comforting me by resting her head on my shoulder. A small notion that meant the world.

“I don’t understand what this is or meanings.” I said, finishing my retelling. “But, if it’s okay with you, I want to go to Rena’s office tomorrow again to tell her about what you saw.”

Susan agreed. “She might have a better chance finding an answer with more information.” She titled her head to kiss my shoulder.

I grinned and tapped her on the thigh. “How about we eat now?”

“That sounds good.” She peered up at me. “Thank you for cooking tonight.”

“Of course.” For her, it was always a pleasure.

On the rare occasion, my love would fall asleep before me. What kept her awake as the moon crept its way across the sky were the nightmares of what could go wrong, outcomes that hadn’t happened, but what would have happened had even the slightest change altered the course of time.

She’d fallen asleep against my shoulder this night clutching a little dreamcatcher I’d made her in one hand and a handful of my nightshirt in the other. I’d been working on perfecting a little dream spell since we’d started dating. Though it wasn’t always strong enough to keep her eye’s worry at bay, it was beginning to work more—especially when she slept with me.

I called Susan my love because, with her my life and she in mine, connections were made similar to that of puzzle pieces fitting together to complete an image. It was the kind of love poets wrote about.

Still, I was laying aside of her, her warmth spreading across my body in opposition to the night’s chill that crept through the window’s glass, awake with a tangled knot of thoughts. Unanswered questions were the bane of my existence, yet they seemed plentiful, if not growing in quantity.

The mysterious happenings were a new series of the unknown, but I had already been plagued with where my journey in academia would continue onward following to looming graduation from Belgrove University.

I wanted to continue my education, that much a knew. But as far as where and the area of study, I was hopeless. Deadlines were approaching much faster than I could fancy. Decisions needed to be made.

The anxieties continued when I thought of the future with my love. Not in the fact of whether or not there would be a future between us, I was fairly certain of that. Susan gave me no reason to doubt her love and commitment. But I worried our plans after college would lead us in two different directions. Living in such close proximity has been a blessing that I knew I was taking for granted. I knew she would try to stay close, but I didn’t want to hold her back as well.

There had to be options that made us both happy. The answer just hadn’t been made clear yet.

My fingers brushed the wood of the dreamcatcher before her hand. The wood was cool in contrast. I’d managed oak twigs bound with hemp twine and created a lumpy circle. That hadn’t been the most difficult part. The difficult aspect had been crafting the web well enough to serve it’s purpose. I’d selected a lovely shade of red twine for that part. Tying on selenite, celestite, rose quartz and a few feathers was an easy finish to the physical part of the gift.

I’d spent the better part of the past weekend researching the best spell for a finishing touch. Seeing her so peacefully asleep slowed my racing thoughts a little. Seeing Susan so tranquil against me brought a calming happiness that eventually allowed me to drift off.