Outside Looks like winter. Slate gray clouds hang Low, Just above the ridge tops. Between cloud base and horizon, The magenta-orange haze Portends a chilly dawn.
Out back, A carpet of frost Dulls the still-verdant grass. Twisting paths Of darker spheres Tell of predawn visitors Crossing the yard. Raven roams, Adding her own path of prints As she sniffs the story Of night-beasts passing through.
I sip coffee and smile. Thoughts turn to the spooky souls Who will come knocking Tonight Seeking sugary treats Under cover of masks and darkness Before flocking to frightful festivities. Memories rise Of childhood parties past, And tales told in dark rooms With flashlights beneath our chins.
One reminiscence crisscrosses another, And I soon recall Superstitions whispered by elder aunts On dark October nights. I cackle into my cup; My logical, modern mind Doubts and discards The old beliefs of veils parting And souls slipping Between worlds.
Still, I watch as my breath ascends Ghostlike To vanish in the icy air, And I know That summer has slipped Beyond the veil of time, And winter will soon materialize In its place, Amid a hoarfrost veil.
That thought Makes me shiver More than the spooks And skeletons And super-villains Who will visit in the night to come. With a final glance To the gray sky, I whistle for the dog And retreat inside.
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When at last I turned out the light and snuggled down beneath the cool sheets, I did so knowing that the Swamp Angel would neither show up in my dreams nor summon me to her. She never came to me two nights in a row.
Except for tonight.
***
My heart raced as I found myself in the same section of woods I’d been in the previous night. I rubbed my arms against the chill and frantically looked around for the shape-shifting owl that had terrorized me as I searched for the Swamp Angel. The trees tonight were devoid of owls, and of anything else I could see, but that was little comfort. Knowing I’d been brought back here for a reason and resigned to the fact that this scene would repeat itself until I discovered what that reason was, I started walking toward the sound of running water.
I had just crested the hill when an unusual sound made me stop in my tracks. I cocked my head, listening and trying to separate the sound from the babbling of the creek. At times I could hear it over the rushing water, and other times the water seemed to drown it out. Over and over again, the sound rose and fell, but always with a familiar cadence that I couldn’t quite place.
All at once I realized it was a voice, a man’s voice. I knew it wasn’t Loop Hill Ike, but who else could it be? Suddenly feeling vulnerable, I pressed myself against a tree and squinted into the darkness, listening hard to figure out which direction the voice was coming from. Though I scanned the creek bed below, I saw nothing, although I was able to determine that the sound came from upstream.
I knew I had to make my way toward the voice so I could figure out who it was and why he was there, but fear kept my feet rooted where I was. Once, twice, a dozen times, I tried to make myself leave the shelter of my tree and move upstream. The sharp sting of a mosquito biting my leg made me jump and then swat it away. Come on, Kyr. You can’t stand here all night; you’ll get eaten alive by bugs…or other things.
Squashing down my fear for the moment, I began moving as quietly as I could from tree to tree as I made my way downhill toward the creek. I was only a few yards from the water’s edge when I heard the voice again. It spoke in the same rhythmic cadence as before, only this time I was able to make out a few words: “Walk…valley…shadow of death…fear no evil…”
I let out my breath in a whoosh. The 23rd Psalm. He’s saying the 23rd Psalm. It seemed unlikely that a serial killer would be quoting the Bible in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night, so I took heart. “Hello? Hello, who’s there?” The voice stopped speaking, and I heard a sharp intake of breath close by, so I tried again. “Hello?”
After a moment, there was a timid reply. “H…Hello?”
I started toward the spot I thought the voice was coming from, continuing to speak and hoping for responses. “Hello? Where are you? Help me find you.”
“I’m here.” Apprehension still kept his voice low; he was as wary of me as I was of him. “I’m over here. Please don’t hurt me.”
“I’m not going to hurt you.” If I hadn’t been so frightened myself, I might have found it amusing that a man would be afraid that I might hurt him. Just ahead, I saw a figure in light-colored clothes that contrasted sharply with the dark rocks and vegetation. The only reason I hadn’t seen him before was that he was crouched down between a large rock and a double-trunked tree with his hands over his head, obviously hiding. Leaving the safety of my own source of cover, I waved both hands in the air so he would see me. “Here I am. Over here.”
The man lowered his arms and turned his head to look in my direction; then he cried out and leapt to his feet so abruptly I thought he was about to attack. I turned quickly and was about to make a run for it when he called out, “Ms. Carter? Is that you?”
Recognizing his voice, I whirled around to face him. “Caine Michaljuk?”
“What are you doing here?” we both asked at the same time.
Before I could say another word, he took a step back toward his hiding spot. “You…you really are a witch, aren’t you? How…why did you bring me here?”
I fought the urge to pick up a rock and throw it at him. “Caine, for the last time, I am NOT a witch!” No matter what your nutcase grandmother might say.
“Then how did I get here…wherever this is?”
I shot him a scathing look I was sure it was too dark for him to see and replied, “The same way I did. The Swamp Angel.”
“The Swamp Angel?” He looked around wildly. “Then where is she? Why isn’t she here?”
“Because she tends to show up at the creek—“
“The creek is right here,” he exploded, gesturing to the water flowing next to us.
I remembered to count to ten and then amended, “A certain part of the creek. There’s a confluence upstream a ways. That’s where she usually appears. You’ve read the legend; I’m pretty sure that’s where she…drowned.”
“Well…why wouldn’t she just beam us there?” he asked, pacing between his hiding spot and the edge of the creek. “Why would she drop us here in the middle of the woods?”
I let out a huff. “Caine, your guess is as good as mine. All I know for sure is that when she transports me somewhere, it’s because she has a message for me, or there’s something she wants me to do.” I crossed my arms and gave him a pointed look. “This time, I’m guessing she’s got something for you to do as well.”
Caine continued to stand frozen, doubt clouding his features as he stared at me. “What…what will happen if I don’t do what she wants?”
Although I knew that fear was driving his distrust, my patience was wearing thin. I threw out my hands in frustration. “You know, for someone who up until recently was actively pursuing me for help with his leafy alien problem, and who was hell-bent on talking to the Swamp Angel, you’re being awfully uncooperative now that she wants to talk to you.”
Some of the stubbornness left his expression, but he still made no move to accompany me. “But—“
“Okay, look. The longer you stand there questioning me, the longer it’s going to take to get what we’re here for and get back home. I’m sure you don’t want your Gran checking in on you and finding you gone, do you?” Because Lord knows I don’t.
His eyes widened in terror at the suggestion, and he sprang into action, pushing past me to follow the creek upstream. “Okay, then, let’s go.”
It didn’t take long to reach the confluence. I had to run to catch up to him and stop him before he walked headlong into the swampy ground. “Be careful, Caine. The ground is unstable here. This is the quicksand where Orchid…where the Swamp Angel drowned.”
He froze, and we both looked around. A half moon peeked through the trees, casting just enough light to make the scene before us eerie and surreal. As if being transported across space and time weren’t surreal enough. My eyes were drawn to the shadows in the forest around us. I sensed that we weren’t alone here, and I couldn’t help feeling that whoever or whatever might be watching us wasn’t necessarily friendly.
“So where is she?” Caine asked accusingly, glaring at me as he wrung his hands. “She’s not here. There’s no one here but us.”
“Shh, keep your voice down.” I was as uneasy as he was. The Swamp Angel had never been a no-show. I continued looking around in dismay. Were we too late? Had our brief delay caused us to miss her appearance? “I don’t know, Caine. I’m sure she’ll be here soon. She wouldn’t have—“
The sound of someone—or something—moving through the underbrush off to our right interrupted me. Suddenly apprehensive, I grasped his arm and pulled him back under cover of the trees. “Quick,” I hissed. “Get out of sight.”
Stumbling over each other in our haste, Caine and I barely ducked behind a large tree before two people, a man and a woman, came into the clearing. I recognized the man, but the woman was unknown to me. “Is that the Swamp Angel?” Caine asked, trying to see around me.
I quickly covered his mouth with my hand and whispered, “No. Now be quiet.”
“Mr. Ike,” the woman said, casting a nervous glance around the clearing, “I don’t know that I can do this. What if she doesn’t come to me?”
“Who’s that guy?” Caine asked, pulling away from me and leaning in to see better.
“That’s Loop Hill Ike,” I said, low. “I don’t know the woman. Be quiet and watch; I’ll answer your questions later.” Thankfully, neither seemed to hear our exchange or otherwise be aware of our presence.
“She’ll come. This is the third night.” He motioned toward the quicksand in the point of the triangle. “Throw the foxfire into the quicksand, just like I showed you these past two nights.”
After a bit more back and forth between them, Loop Hill Ike handed the woman a small pouch. Glancing at him uncertainly, she opened the pouch and took something out. She took a few uncertain steps toward the quicksand and turned to look at him. He gave her a curt nod, and she threw the foxfire into the soupy ground, where it sank quickly.
“This…this is what I read about,” Caine said excitedly, parting the bushes in front of him to see better. “This is when that woman summoned the Swamp Angel.”
Having gathered as much, I nodded. It seemed odd to me that neither seemed to hear us—especially Caine—and that Loop Hill Ike hadn’t even so much as acknowledged me. It was as though he didn’t know we were there.
A moment later, the quicksand took on a bluish-green tinge that became brighter as a figure rose from the water and took the form of the Native American woman I knew as Orchid. Even though I’d witnessed this scene several times now, a thrill of wonder still coursed through me, and goosebumps rose on my arms.
Caine obviously didn’t feel the same. “What is that?” he screeched. “What’s happening?”
“It’s the Swamp Angel,” I hissed, not taking my eyes off the scene before me. “Can’t you see her?”
“I see something,” he said, just above a whisper. He retreated behind me.
Just as the Swamp Angel began to speak to the woman, Loop Hill Ike turned toward us and met my eyes with a stern gaze, the first acknowledgement of my presence. He gave me a curt nod, and the scene before me vanished.
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