Christopher walked the narrow concrete path running alongside the contours of the isolated estuary. It was incredible to think the water flooding into and ebbing out of the estuary was controlled by that disc in the sky. He stopped and watched a lone pelican cruising across the water. He could just make out its webbed feet giving the occasional thrust in the water.

A large mound of dirt lay piled near a group of tall shrubs in a dry elevated area, away from the water edge. Curious, he ventured off the path and edged closer to have a look. Someone had dug a large hole. There were straps lying on the ground which reminded him of a burial service he attended, where similar straps had been used to lower a coffin into the ground. 

What was the purpose of this hole? He’d heard of natural burials on private land but on public land? He wasn’t sure. Besides, why was he thinking such things? The hole must exist for a good reason—perhaps a pit for a new sustainable composting-type toilet. And straps could be used to lower many things.

A few shovels had been left in the shrubbery, near a gap that led down to the water’s edge. It was a sandy area and there were grooves in the sand where a boat had beached. Christopher shrugged. Enough of this Sherlock Holmes stuff. 

He headed back to the path, and soon came to a weathered timber bench at the end of the path. There was a symbol painted on the concrete path. Christopher sensed a chill in the air and had a sudden desire to leave, but knew the desire would pass. He looked around. 

Silence.

He examined the symbol—a star in a circle. It was familiar, but he didn’t know what or who it represented. What he did know was that it was evil. He could sense the evil surrounding him. He knew what he would see if his spiritual eyes were opened.

He sensed their presence. 

He’d heard people came to this park at full moon for some kind of ritual. He could imagine the gleam in the red ember eyes of the entities greeting the worshippers. The entities would be invoked during the ritual but not be visible to the invokers who would only experience their presence—a cunning and deceitful presence. 

He turned away, and said a quiet prayer.

Christopher walked out of the estuary park thinking about the worshippers who gathered here. What type of mystical experiences did they seek? He paused and looked back at the park, and a sense of foreboding came over him. 

Lord, cleanse this place.

He’d come to the island to escape from the city. Too many people, too many thoughts, too many demons, and not enough angels. When he first arrived, he thought he’d made the wrong choice. Too many mozzies and too many midges. But he attacked the mozzies and midges with lotions and antihistamines, and the itching stopped and the sores no longer appeared. 

Next came the people. The island attracted all sorts: humans and insects. His neighbour believed a recent onslaught of houseflies was related to witchcraft. On investigation, Christopher had discovered a dead possum under the house near his neighbour’s kitchen. His neighbour was relieved but not convinced. He told Christopher witchcraft was active on the island, that the insect problems were associated with spiritual attacks, that there was usually a demon involved. 

Christopher knew his neighbour was partially right. He knew a small band of demons roamed the area. He’d seen them. But he didn’t believe swarms of insects were a sign of witchcraft but then he was not an expert on witchcraft. 

“The island had a few witches but many chose not to come out of the broom closet,” the neighbour had said, and Christopher had laughed at his wit. But then the neighbour had turned serious, saying he believed his other neighbour had witchcraft connections. “And I think he’s a male witch. Or whatever they’re called.”

“I think it may be ‘witch’ as well.” But then what was a wizard? It always seemed witches were females and wizards were men. Maybe that was just Hollywood. 

“I might have to dig up my Harry Potter books to refresh my memory,” the man said. “They even advertise their events. You may have seen the symbol and posters around.”

“Symbol?”

“They call it the pentagram. Five pointed star.” He knelt, found a stick, and drew it on the ground.

That was it. The symbol he saw in the park.

“An all-round symbol. Used by Wicca, Satanism, and Masonry,” the man said.

The neighbour was knowledgeable. As they spoke, Christopher heard a creaking sound, and looked over to see the man’s neighbour getting mail out of the letterbox. The next-door neighbour had a swirl of green in his blondish long hair and wore a mauve shirt with what looked like stars splattered across them. He’d acknowledged them with a silent nod. Christopher wondered if he’d heard their conversation and donned his wizard uniform to impress them. 

The man told Christopher the community had a surprising number of pagans, although most were into nature-worshiping rather than witchcraft.

“Do you know what I’m talking about?” he’d asked.

“Well, pagan originally meant rural people—people outside Rome who didn’t worship the God of Abraham. Some confuse it with Gentiles, but that meant non-Jewish people. And then you have the heathen, which also means rural people, those living outside the walls—in the heath.” Christopher answered, impressing the man with his knowledge. 

“So we island people could be referred to as pagans or heathens. I know those city folks have funny views of us. Less educated, dress funny, not fashionable, behind the times, late on catching on to God, although I don’t necessarily agree with the that.”

“Just sweeping generalisation.” Christopher said. “But I have tended to steer away from the pagan witchcraft world because I believed it was real and dangerous.”

“You know there were stories of pets going missing and an incident connecting a missing child with pagan ceremonies in the forest somewhere, but thankfully they found the child safe and sound but the pets were not so lucky.”

Safe and sound it may be. Something still didn’t sit right with Christopher. Demons and witches were not a good combination.

Some islanders had found dead cats that looked as if they’d been speared, shot with a bow and arrow. That was consistent with the medieval feel of the island.

A gust of wind had come up as Christopher left his neighbour’s yard. He heard a tinkling sound and looked over towards the wizard’s house. An ornament hung from a beam on the veranda: a piece of driftwood with keys hanging on strings, clanging together in the breeze. The keys were all painted red. The keys chiming must be to attract good things. Not to protect from bad spirits.

They were already here.

4 – Ferries and fairies

RUBY CHOSE THE SEATS AT THE REAR of the passenger ferry, outside with the elements, her backpack and sleeping bag on the seat next to her. She would put up with the slight chill in the air. The coolness of the water touched her face as the ferry reversed out of its bay in the ferry terminal. Most passengers sat inside, seeking protection from the elements. Locals, she guessed, as the trip would’ve become humdrum for them, but not for Ruby. She tilted her head to let the ocean breeze flow over her face. Should she untie her hair and allow the breeze to flow through it? No, she’d end up with a head full of angry tangles.

A few other people had braved the chill. Some older people sat near her. A lady and a man. Not a couple, but the man did remind her of the weirdo she saw at the doctors earlier in the week. But it wasn’t him. It was hard to guess the age of the lady—she appeared old but looked youthful, even attractive, with long grey-blonde hair enhancing her looks and earthy appearance. The man seemed excited to be on the water. He had a white beard and the look of a rogue—a black patch over one eye and a Captain Jack Sparrow hat would’ve brought it all together nicely. 

Ruby watched the backwash of the high-speed ferry as it ploughed towards the island, with each wave spreading behind the boat in unison. Pure, clear, sparkling water, waves generating energy—vibrations. Her friend, Shoana, told her vibrations generated by water soothed the soul, that we all have an affinity to water because our life began in water, in a peaceful environment in our mother’s womb. 

But Ruby didn’t want to be reminded of mothers, of her mother. Didn’t want thoughts of her mother in her mind. Sorry, closed. 

Yet Ruby agreed with Shoana’s ‘water logic’. She felt the water’s peace and calmness come over her, it gave her a desire to connect with nature. And maybe with God. And the opposite was true—away from water, the not-so-peaceful realities of the world attacking her senses. 

She wanted to be positive. Blue water, blue sky, one reflecting the other. Yes, peaceful thoughts flooded in. She was glad she decided to come this weekend. 

Why had she come? Was she desperate? Desperate people ventured into things normally considered superstitious nonsense or irrational. Her dad had told her about drought-weary farmers locating water on their land by pacing up and down across the land with a forked stick. Some thought they were crazy. Water witching they called it. And here she was, on the water and heading to a witching get-together—although she preferred not to think of it as such. Besides, the brochures Shoana had given her referred to Wicca and magick, not witchcraft or magic. The brochure said magic was not real magick, just an impersonation. Ruby decided at that point to try and keep it all simple. 

Shoana said it was all harmless and fun, that society painted a wrong picture about witches. Ruby didn’t know enough to comment. Anyway, she was here to connect with nature. That’s where she’d find her answers.

No superstitious adventures for Ruby, thank you. She’d closed her eyes and tilted her head back. She sensed an increased awareness of her body, inner peace, a connection that she’d not felt for a long time. She’d been reconnected to the life force. It must be the water. The vibrations.

And, maybe a dark stranger might come into her life. Her feet started drumming a rhythm. Shoana and Zoe had organised a cabin for the weekend. They were already there and had bunked there overnight. Ruby had needed to look after the gardener, but she was on her way now. She thought of what the gardener had said. 

Demon deception.

Surely there was no such thing.

Ruby wrinkled her nose at the thick, sharp smell of exhaust fumes. Perhaps she should move inside.

“It will go away soon.”

Ruby turned. It was the earthly lady speaking. “Sorry, what was that?”

The lady pointed to her nose. “The fumes will thin out soon. It’s the angle of the boat. Once it straightens, the breeze takes them away.”