The static noise coming from the TV became more frequent and louder. Clay looked around for a remote but couldn’t find it. “Sean, can you turn that thing off? Something’s wrong with it.”
Sean reached up to turn off the TV and got a static electricity shock that made him jerk his arm back. “Damn!” he exclaimed. “Sorry,” he added after glancing from Elena to Jackie.
The static grew in intensity until the TV suddenly went dead with a pop. Elena got a bit of a chill and headed over to her momma, who picked her up and put her on her lap.
“What’s up with all the electronics in here today?” Sean asked as he looked over at Clay, who shrugged.
𓂓
Martha had been silent on the ride over. Officer Street didn’t seem to mind the lapse in conversation. His demeanor calmed her, which gave her time to center herself in preparation for the disturbing presence she had encountered by the fire that night on Haynesville Woods Avenue.
As they pulled up to their destination, Martha broke the silence. “My astrologist friend, Tiffany, lives over there.” Martha pointed to the house next to Sally’s. “That evening, she told us a story about two children who had been run over.”
“Recently?” Officer Street asked as he slowed the car and placed it in park in front of Sally’s house.
“No, this tragedy occurred long before the development of this area. I imagine this was a rural road at the time.” Martha paused, squinting as she looked out the window up into the trees. “After that night, I made a trip to the town library and looked it up. I found an old newspaper article on microfiche. It explained that two children—sisters—had wandered away from a nearby farm. Apparently, they were looking for a lost pet. The details of the accident are murky, but they somehow wandered into the road in front of a large produce truck. The driver said he’d been distracted with tuning the radio, but it came out later that he had also been drinking.”
Officer Street shook his head. “Horrible. It seemed like you were disturbed when I mentioned this street. Did you... see something?”
“Well, the spirits of the children were conjured upon the telling of their story around the fire that night. They were frantic, terror-stricken. If I’d had time to prepare for the encounter, I would not have been caught off guard.” She moved her hand slightly and felt the presence of the Zippo in her pocket, renewing her vow to never be without it.
“I thought light or fire repelled spirits,” Officer Street said.
Martha turned to him and grinned. “Been watching some late-night ghost hunter shows?”
Officer Street scoffed. “Sometimes.”
“Generally speaking, that is true. But it really depends on the medium,” Martha continued. “For me, the light of fire brings their manifestation into my consciousness.” She paused again, then said thoughtfully, “I wonder what that says about me.”
“What?” Officer Street asked.
“That fire draws their energy to me, rather than repels. That fire is my element.”
Officer Street had nothing to say.
“Let’s get out for a moment,” Martha suggested. Not waiting for a reply, she opened the door and hopped out. Removing the plain Zippo lighter from her pocket, she flipped it open and spun the flint wheel with her thumb. The flame burst to life and she appeared to fall into a meditative state.
Officer Street remained in the car, observing with fascination until his phone rang.
𓂓
Martha stood next to the squad car and absorbed her surroundings. A light breeze began to build like a slow exhale, rustling the branches of a rather lively tree in Sally’s front yard to her right, the signs of a landscape renovation evident. She turned her head slightly to the other side of the street, recognizing Jackie’s house from the video. Motion caught her eye. In the front yard, the colorless manifestation of two children in matching plaid dresses emerged from the safety of the bushes. Martha turned and walked toward them.
They appeared to be interested in something on the ground. Martha approached to have a look. As she got nearer, the children jerked their heads up and cut her a hateful glare. She put her hands up to indicate she meant no harm, then returned her attention to what they were so interested in on the ground. What she saw made her stop and cover her mouth.
She pulled in a quick breath, gagging a little before turning her head away. Martha knew she would never get the image of that dead dog out of her mind, lying on its back with broken legs splayed out in four directions. The poor beast’s skin had been split along its belly and peeled back in a ritualistic fashion. It appeared the flesh and innards had been torn or stripped, but not consumed. This was no ordinary predator. What would torment a helpless animal like this?
This question lingered as the children rose from the ground and moved animatedly around her. They were frantic, eyes now wide with fear. Their manifestations shifted side to side in a blurry haze. They appeared to be shouting, trying to tell her something, but she could not hear them. They had been muted by some...
Martha stiffened in shock as a baleful presence encroached on her personal energy. Martha recognized the psychic grip she had felt that night around the fire, a distinct mixture of despair and terror, with a bit of rage peppered in for good measure. She turned to see something moving around the corner of Jackie’s house—an evil presence that struck a chord of deep-seated fear... An instinct resting dormant in her soul.
The shadows shivered, announcing the arrival of a presence that seemed to pull a reddish mist with it as it moved closer. She stood her ground, Zippo extended in front of her in an act of defiance. The mist stopped a few feet away and materialized. The children cowered behind her.
Martha recognized the energy of a soulless demon. She could sense the hatred oozing from it as the presence struggled to manifest before her. She suspected the light of day might be a hindrance, but the ghastly image managed to communicate, nonetheless. It did not speak. Instead, its words felt like sharp jabs landing blows in her thoughts. “You will not hinder my plans, Curandera.”
She recognized the Latin American reference to Shaman but confirmed nothing. Martha knew if she allowed conversation with a demon, gave it any information, she would more likely be drawn into its schemes.
“Keep your silence then, witch. Know that I laid claim to these parts long ago. You are trespassing.”
Martha knew it meant ‘witch’ in the derogatory sense, not the mystical, which she deeply respected. The presence coursed back and forth in front of her as if examining her, attempting to gain an understanding of what it was dealing with.
Martha raised her chin and stood her ground. She sensed a desperation humming below its energy, which seemed to consume their immediate space. Without her noticing, it had drifted closer. More intense now. Tentacles of terror twined themselves into her mind like an invasive vine growing over a tree, the tips piercing her psyche, adding depth to a unique despair she could not have otherwise known. Pressing. The sensations implored her to act in service of the looming presence so it might show mercy and relieve the psychic pain that would soon overwhelm her. Pressure came from all around.
She could not take this much longer.
In that moment, a realization washed over her. Her eyes widened a bit, and staring into the eyes of this entity, its eyes widened too as if it now understood what she realized. Her intuition had locked onto an incongruity in its energy.
“You have been trapped into the service of another,” Martha stated this as fact, not wanting to induce an exchange.
With that, the demon reared back and shrieked, “You would provoke me, Seer?” The children knelt tighter behind her and covered their ears.
“The trickster was himself tricked,” Martha pressed.
More shrieks, the demon pressed in tighter, eyes more intense, sparking red.
Martha reached out with her mind. A motherly instinct imbued her energy. She could sense the loneliness consuming the spirits of these children. She knew she must find a way to protect them now that they had revealed themselves to her in defiance of the wishes of the malevolence before her.
Martha shifted her attention to the ghostly carcass. Although it appeared to her in shades of gray, clearly it had been left as a bloody mess. “You did this,” she said, “but did not finish.”
