Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
“It’s so pretty here,” Brent remarked, taking in the green hills and blue water of the haunted lake.
The area offered a visitor’s center, picnic area, hiking trails, sporting fields, pavilions for gatherings, and a history display. In the distance, Brent could see the Conemaugh Dam and hear the rush of falling water.
“Doesn’t exactly look like a death trap,” he commented as they walked toward the lake from where they parked.
“Good death traps rarely do,” Travis said.
Signs warned boaters to be careful and made it clear that swimming was prohibited, but fishing was permitted. This early in the day, only a few kayakers and canoes dotted the lake’s surface.
“It’s a nice place,” Brent said wistfully. “Maybe we can make it safer.”
Someone had left a faded bouquet of flowers at the edge of the water, with a note commemorating the most recent boater to drown.
Travis put his hands on his hips and surveyed the area.
“It’s way too big a lake for us to easily walk the whole way around it.
Which is going to make it difficult to find any sign of the witch. ”
Brent scanned the shoreline. “Maybe not. Let’s walk for a while and see if anything happens.”
They had brought their usual protections: amulets, salt, and silver in their pockets, steel blades discreetly hidden beneath their jackets, and Travis’s notebook of banishment spells and sigils. Brent had a shotgun with salt rounds and his Glock, while Travis carried his own handgun.
“Go ahead and listen for the ghosts,” Brent told Travis. “I’ll watch your back.”
“I’ll tell you what I hear,” Travis replied. “I know it’s a little weird having me report both sides of the conversation, but that way you know what they’re telling me.”
They found a spot in the shade, and Travis reached out to the ghosts, listening closely.
“The Livermore ghosts are faint, but there are a few that are stronger,” Travis reported. “They might be the witch’s most recent victims.”
Brent drew his shotgun with salt rounds and kept watch while they stopped so Travis could focus on hearing what the ghosts could tell him.
“There’s a man who looks like he was kayaking,” Travis told Brent. “He says she flipped his kayak and dragged him under. Another ghost says the same thing happened to him.”
“What about the others?”
Travis shook his head. “I think they’re the hunters. Not dressed for boating, canvas jackets, flannel shirts, jeans, boots, they look like they knew how to handle trouble.” He listened intently again.
“They’re surprised I can hear them. They want me to stop the witch.”
“We’re hunters too,” Travis told the hunters’ ghosts. “Tell us what happened. Was it the witch?”
Travis listened again for a moment. “The taller one says they don’t think the witch worked alone. They think another entity drew the witch here and made her stronger. Says they found binding sigils in the woods.”
Travis returned his attention to the ghosts. “Did you use magic against her?”
“The tall ghost’s companion replied, ‘No. Salt and steel didn’t work,’” Travis repeated so that Brent could follow the conversation.
Most hunters weren’t able to talk to ghosts or do magic. They relied on shotguns, knives, salt, and a few rote incantations and rituals to banish low-level violent spirits and supernatural creatures. Usually, that was enough unless it wasn’t.
“We have magic. Will you show us where the sigils are? And will you help us stop the witch?” Travis asked.
“We’re ghosts. What can we do?” Travis repeated for Brent. “You’d be surprised,” he replied to the ghosts.
Travis relayed the rest of the conversation to Brent, who had been keeping watch. “Did you see any other nasties out there?”
Brent shook his head. “No, although the lake and this whole area gives me the creeps. Maybe that’s a warning.”
“Let’s go see the sigils, and I’ll try to recruit more of the recent ghosts to give us a hand,” Travis said.
“Having any luck?” Brent asked after they had walked for a while.
“The place is very haunted. Some are too faded to respond. Those probably include the people buried in the old Livermore cemetery,” Travis replied. “We’ve got about half a dozen ghosts following us. They seem curious, but I don’t know if they’re willing to help.”
“We want to stop the witch from killing people,” Travis told the ghosts aloud, for Brent’s sake.
Brent knew they couldn’t do anything to prevent boating accidents brought about by carelessness or bad luck, but he figured maybe they could prevent the witch from adding to the death toll.
How? One of the ghosts spoke for the others, and Travis relayed the comment.
“We’re going to break the sigils binding her here and do a ritual to send her away,” Travis told them. “If she or anyone else tries to stop us, and you can interfere without getting hurt, we could use your help.”
“Getting hurt? We’re already dead,” Travis repeated after one of the ghosts countered. Travis didn’t try to correct him on all the ways it could still go wrong.
They headed for the sigil, which was carved into the bark of a large oak tree.
Travis began to chant as Brent dug into the tree with his knife, cutting through the spelled drawing.
Brent could feel the dark magic, but whether it was the power that bound the witch or the witch herself, he couldn’t tell.
Travis raised his voice as the carving began to glow.
Brent felt the blade vibrate in his hand, growing hot. He held on, hissing against the pain, making the last few vital cuts. With the final swipe of the knife, the vibration stopped, and the sigil went dark. Brent blew out a breath and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
Travis looked to the hunters’ ghosts. “Take us to the other sigils,” he said aloud.
The hunters led them to two more trees with similar markings, positioned to triangulate on the lake, and Brent destroyed those sigils as well.
With the marks disabled, Travis turned his magic on the water witch.
A shriek of fury sounded, the shrill scream causing them to wince.
A woman’s figure rose from the center of the lake and hovered above the surface.
She appeared to be made from water with long hair and a long dress.
Fury twisted her expression, and rage glinted in her dark eyes.
Brent leveled the shotgun, firing shells filled with salt and iron and blessed with holy water.
Her body exploded in a shower of water, but quickly reformed, looking even angrier.
Travis saw the ghosts hanging back. “We need your help,” he shouted to the spirits. “Help me fight her. Protect us. Stop the deaths.”
The witch started toward Brent again, and he grabbed the propane torch that hung from a strap on his shoulder. He had modified its range so that he could send a stream of fire several feet through the air.
That drove the witch back, but Brent knew it couldn’t hold her long, and Travis wasn’t done yet with his incantation.
The spirits swarmed toward the witch, a wave of gray figures powered by anger. Travis kept chanting, and Brent dug a witch-banishing mark into the ground with his knife, then blasted it with fire.
The witch screamed again, hemmed in on all sides by the ghosts. The fire and sigil took a toll. She looked translucent, no longer solid, and her piercing scream no longer deafened everyone in range.
Two of the ghosts that made themselves visible to Brent surged toward the witch, one from each side. They plunged through the witch’s water form, and when they met in the middle, both the ghosts and the witch vanished.
“Go in peace,” Travis told the haunts, then he turned to his partner.
“Brent? You, okay?” Travis gently shook him by the shoulder.
“Yeah. Just…concentrating really hard,” Brent replied. “I zoned out. I could actually see a couple of them.”
“She’s gone,” Travis said. “No sign of the witch or her magic. If she was compelled to come here or stay against her will, I guess she went back to wherever she came from.” Travis went still, listening for the ghosts.
“A few of the ghosts stuck around, some moved on, and some just disappeared. I don’t think they’ll be bothering anyone. ”
Something drew Brent’s attention to the edge of the forest. A dark form with red eyes stared out from the shadows before vanishing. “Do you see that?” He pointed.
“See what?” Travis looked in the same direction, but the manifestation was gone.
“I thought I saw something with red eyes under the trees,” Brent replied.
“Certainly wouldn’t be the first time we had multiple hauntings at the same place.
” Travis scanned the shadows warily. He laid down a fresh salt circle around the two of them, lit a candle, and pulled his flask of holy water from his pocket.
“Be gone from here, all infernal and evil spirits. Depart from this place and do not return. Harm no one and take your eternal rest. Your presence is not wanted here. Go, and trouble this place no more.”
A cold wind rose out of nowhere, sending a chill down Brent’s back. Then mournful howls sounded from deep in the woods, feral as a wolf, a sound his hindbrain recognized as a mortal threat.
Three beasts burst from the tree cover, running at full speed. Despite their speed, Brent knew they weren’t regular wolves, too large, too rangy, and with red eyes. They came at Brent and Travis with teeth bared and claws ready.
“Shit. I’m so done with this,” Brent muttered.
Travis drew his Glock and fired a barrage of silver bullets that tore into the lead creature’s chest, dropping it in its tracks and spraying black blood across the grass.
Brent still held the souped-up torch. He brandished the weapon, swinging the flame in an arc to keep the second and third monsters at a distance, but the tank was nearly empty, and it wouldn’t last much longer.
The two creatures growled and bared their teeth, wary of the flames. Instead, they separated, circling in different directions, making sure Brent couldn’t fend off both of them.