The Haunting of Romney Wood, Part Six
“Legend says that you are she. But you’re older, aren’t you? From her grandfather’s time.” Without taking his eyes from the darkness of the second floor, he swung the camera around his head, pointing it in all directions, until the pinpricking stopped.
“George,” he said slowly, “Cecil…” A wind picked up outside, the house shook, an old cabinet let go from the moldy kitchen wall and crashed wildly to the floor. Walt breathed the last word, barely audible, “Atherton.”
The wind buffeted the house, and a tree out in the yard fell with a crash that startled Walt and finally made him tear his gaze from the second floor. He caught sight of the Witch just outside the window, standing on the porch. An old woman, her hair flying wild, her face contorted into a hateful leer, her hands clawed as she rose off the ground and began approaching. He let her move through the window, the wind carrying the agonized screams of both Laurie and Lon, before he jerked the camera slightly, enough to catch her eye, and she stopped.
“Aren’t you curious?” he asked her. “Why am I not afraid? How do I know your weakness?”
She hovered, her mouth relaxing into a troubled grimace, a confused fleur-de-lis blossoming between her malevolent eyes.
Walt watched her, then leaned forward and spoke gently, “Speak to me.”
The Witch settled onto the floor, watching Walt carefully.
“Well?”
The Witch didn’t move. Then she said the last thing she had spoken out loud, “These are the – “
“Things you done,” Walt interrupted, putting on a hick accent. “Say something else.”
“I would appreciate…”
“A Coca-Cola. I know. Further back.”
“No.”
Walt nodded towards her, moving the camera again, but keeping the lens away from her.
The Witch screamed, “No!”
The curse.
“Into Atherton’s ear. Whisper it.”
She whispered it. Walt leaned away as she did so, plugging one of his ears with his free hand and turning his head away. Then she exhaled, and felt a weight pull away from her. “Oh dear Jesus,” she mumbled, looking at her hands. She dropped to her knees. She wanted to cry.”
“Release my friends.”
She nodded.
“You’re still not free, you know.”
She looked up at him, realizing the truth in his words. She was still here. Still stuck.
“It’s your curse. Your choice.”
She stood, the hatred and evil returning to her face, but Walt shook his head at her. “You realize who I am?”
She didn’t, but refused to speak to him.
“Well,” he shrugged, “perhaps it doesn’t really matter. I do, however, hope that my visit has been an education.” Walt smiled warmly at the Witch, “Now, if I may, I have a small favor to ask. I’m making a film. For school. The tale of the Romney Wood Witch. It would be wonderful if you told me your name, and if you pointed me in the direction of Amanda Atherton’s remains.”
The Witch’s eyes brightened, and she asked slowly, “Why….Amanda?”
“Ah, well. Proof.”
“Of…?”
“Innocence.”
“Why?”
“For the film, of course.”
“There….more. You…speak.”
“Okay, Chief Wigwam. We’ll leave Amanda alone for now. But, please, who are you? Even a first name will work.”
She shook her head, a thin smile playing on her lips. Walt narrowed his eyes and, too late, heard the footsteps behind him. Something crashed across his head and he tumbled to the blood-stained floor, his left ear roaring, blood leaking from his nose. A shower of splintered, rotted wood and termite dust hovered over him and he turned, dazed and hacking, to see Laurie standing over him, staring down at him with just the whites of her eyes as her whole body shook and she raised what remained of her weapon.
“Now…photograph.” The Witch hissed, and Laurie turned, smashing the piece of rotted kitchen cabinet down on Lon’s camera until the Witch raised a hand to stop her, “Good.”
Walt reached into his pocket and pulled out his cellphone, flipping it open and pressing the camera button the side as he did so. The Witch turned quickly, then screamed and vanished. Laurie’s eyes rolled down and she swooned, then collapsed into a heap at Walt’s feet.
“Fuck me,” Walt muttered.
From outside, Lon’s voice broke the sudden silence.
“In here!” he shouted back.
Lon stormed into the house and, when he saw Laurie, he rushed over to her. “What’d you do, man?”
Walt sat up, pointed at his head, then glared back at Lon.
Laurie groaned and sat up with Lon’s help.
“Where were you?” Walt asked him.
“Upstairs…” Lon replied, “At the big house. And…then… Well, out front of this one. I…”
“Laurie.”
Laurie looked at Walt, her eyes clouded. She started to cry. “Maureen.” She said. “Maureen Kane.”
“Ah.” Walt struggled to his feet. “Good. We’ll need that.”
“What?”
“I assume my camera’s been destroyed?” Walt asked Laurie.
Lon looked over at his camera and gasped, “Holy fuck, dude!”
“I’ll get you a new one, Lon.”
“Yes…” Laurie pointed over her shoulder towards the kitchen, “In the hole. She…made me. Sorry.”
“Right. Either of you have your cell?”
Lon was staring forlornly at his smashed camera while Laurie patted her jeans. “No… Lon?”
“Huh?”
“Your cell.”
“Nah. In the car.”
Walt nodded and walked to the door. “Okay, then. One cell phone. And a name.”
“We’re getting the fuck out of here,” Lon hissed, stepping up behind him. Laurie stood, wavered slightly and put a hand to her forehead, then moved forward slowly. She twisted and vomited onto the floor, falling again to her knees.
“I’m afraid the game’s afoot,” Walt said.
“’The game’s afoot’? Jesus, have you lost your mind?”
“Laurie’s going to have to move slow…”
“So what? We’ve got the whole day. It’s only a couple hours to the car!”
“The canoe will be gone.”
“Fuck. What?”
“You’re also wrong about the time.”
Lon checked his watch. Six PM. Sunset in just over an hour. He looked up. “That’s not possible.”
“We are subject to the impossible on this side of the river.”
“Would you stop talking like fucking Sam Neill in some sort of crappy movie?” Lon moved over to Laurie, who vomited again.
Walt turned, smiled slowly, then he also squatted down beside Laurie. He put a hand on her shoulder, “We’re going to have to go.”
She nodded, retching, closing her eyes.
“You’ll be fine as soon as we’re on the other side of the river.”
That got her to her feet, and Lon half dragged, half carried her out of the house and into the yard. Walt stuck close behind.
“So what’s the plan? Run through the woods armed with a cellphone?”
“If I had a plan, I would have focused on finding Amanda Atherton’s bones. Or, thanks to Laurie, the Witch’s final resting place.”
“Why?”
“Part of the legend is that she can be freed if her remains are recovered. Though that’s sort of fallen by the wayside. Interesting how legends morph over time, isn’t it?”
“Right, whatever, Walt. Fuck the witch. We’re moving.”
Walt nodded, looked up at the sun inching down in the west, “Yeah…”
Walt led the way down through the woods towards the ruins of Black Hill.