Excerpt
She awoke in a dank, dark, ancient cell. The dismal, very cold, bare stone room, devoid of anything but the laid out human bones next to her on the floor. It immediately struck cold fear into her heart. She is cold, afraid, and almost naked except for the very light black sleepwear she went to bed in. How long ago was that? A dream?
She is on the run, through desolate craters, blasted landscapes, crowded with monstrous and malevolent creatures. A cacophony of colors and malodorous aromas, no form or texture. During this amorphous phase, the country within her head darkened and became a fearful place. She is being swept away by a turbulent and icy river, choking on its bitter waters, struggling for breath but finding none, breaking surface, gasping in lungfuls of sour air, frantic, weeping, praying for delivery to a warm shore.
A reminder, her head told her as if she had been sent to this reality for a reason. But what rationale is there in the universe to cause such a visit on any human being? What had she done to warrant this time transportation of her physical body without consent? Who would be safe with such evil magic in the realm of all humankind?
A shadowy, cold dungeon deep in a catacomb basement. Where? Good question. Bars that were two-inch ancient latticework, strap iron. Stone, green slime walls with murky, stagnant water seeping down from somewhere above. The bony, wet, slimy skeleton lay on the rock floor staring upward at nothing. Smells of dankness, mold, and sewage stung her nostrils, causing her to retch.
How the hell did I get here, she thought to herself, knowing she went to sleep in her Chicago walkup condo on the north shore in the new millennium. This is very old. I must be dreaming but why is it so significant of a time period? I don't get it.
She cried out, "Hello! Is anybody out there?" Calling to anyone down the long hallway dimly lit from some outside light source straight ahead of her and through the bars. Nothing. No windows. She called again, "Hey, is anyone there?" Only the dim, bluish light from the long hall. She cried out again. Just the echo of her voice coming back to her. Trying to wake up, if it is a dream, nothing, no change.
In the previous days, something mysterious had invaded her life but she gave it no mind. Signs of a star appeared in her morning paper one morning. At first, Megan thought it was a Star of David, the Jewish symbol. On second thought, she noted that it is the Pentagram, the five-pointed star of ancient Wicca. Witchcraft. Sorcerers. She knew about those from stories passed down from her genealogy to ancient times.
Knew that her family history dated back to more than three centuries when members of her family were tried and hung for practicing any cultish religion outside of Christianity. The traditional religionists chose to call it witchcraft. There were other obscure symbols.
A crystal sun catcher that hung in her window had caught the sun one day, magnified its rays into an old heirloom cloth, wingback chair, setting it afire. And, at night, there came the bats. Just a couple but the inordinate sign of mystery and, recognition that an unseen force has tried to communicate something to her.
Vivacious, light-skinned, long, dark-raven-haired, five-foot-six, slender, piercing dark eyes, pert breasts, and a twenty-six-year-old model of immutable natural beauty. A vamp look-alike of Cher, her quasi-movie double. Checking her reflection in the mirror, paying sybaritic dues to her good looks, satisfied that her smoldering sensuality had the feline grace of a cat. But her portentous good looks were not in great demand, attracting a minimal following of sinister avant-garde media types, and quasi-Halloween genre for modeling assignments that paid very well. Taking it in stride, she affably accepted her lot in life and dressed to please only herself.
What brought about her haunting now? Salem's vindication? It had happened before, hadn't it? Very subtly, she became aware of the threat to her person, to her spirit, and to her sanity. Parts of the past appeared at other inappropriate times. For the last few years, it only came back a few times, once or twice a year.
But this began to be too much. A dream? No. Now she is not dreaming. Something or someone has transported her physicality back in time. But why? She screamed, pounded on the bars, shook the door, made it rattle, knowing it is locked. No longer dreaming this. It is too real. But why?
After a few minutes she heard a sound, a scraping, not rats this time. A shuffling, scuffing, pacing noise, coming closer. A syncopated noise only a human would make. A large, looming dim, daylight, backlit shadow coming toward her down the long hallway. The shadow cast a long, caped look with a large-brimmed hat that blocked the light in front of her. The figure came closer, seemed to be dragging a foot, limping toward her. Now stopping in front of the bars. Breathing hard the shadow's breath is cold, vile, and stifling as if it came from the grave. And, it did.
She cried out, "Who are you? Why am I here? Turn me loose. I demand it immediately."
Now a voice. It cackled at her demands, gleefully satisfied in the pleasure of his caged trophy. "In my spirit world I am called Morlock, thee elder. Known amongst thee living as High Sheriff Crowin. Charged to imprison thy great-great-grand-father in thy years of thou family's practice of worshiping thy devil. To be hung for thy crimes of devil worship. Died too soon of a frail heart. I haf summoned thy soul to pay thy price for thy heirs sins."
She righteously screamed at the shadow, "They did not worship Satan just because they didn't believe in your chastising and cruel Christianity. It was not a case of either or. Not black or white as you Christians so aptly make it so. I will never believe your cause is justice either. You tortured him and he died because he could not stand the pain you inflicted on him."
"I shall not haggle with thou, bitch of Jezebel. Ye whore of thy devil shall be cursed forever. Thy indictment haf been passed long ago on thy forebears. Many haf been punished. Ye turn comes now. O hears me, daughter of Satan."
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