Mabon Magic (Equinox Hunters #1)

Prologue

Elijah

I was found in my family’s cabin curled up on the old braided rug in the den in the fetal position. Screaming about spiders and flies while tears tracked down my dirty, unshaven face. I was nearly starved and severely dehydrated when sheriff’s deputies and paramedics found me. I don’t remember that day, only the details given to me when I finally came to a week later in the hospital’s psych ward. When no one heard from me after my vacation, my parents had filed a missing person’s report, the detective told me when he came to take my statement. The authorities had checked the cabin a dozen or so times before I was found. To this day, no one knows what had happened to me during the missing time.

Two Months Earlier…

Four weeks vacation to escape the city to relax and soothe my soul. I’d counted down the days for more than a month. SUV loaded with supplies, GPS set, and my phone playing music through the Bluetooth, I left all my worries at home. The drive took a few hours, but the beautiful scenery made up for it. Time went by faster than I’d expected, and before long the sign for the turn-off came into view. Maybe this trip would allow me to put all my struggles at work to the back burner, and I’d come back in a month refreshed and ready to pick up my life again.

Taking the turn, I drove up the old mountain roads to my family’s cabin. Older than dirt and in need of serious repair, the cabin greeted me. No one had mentioned it’d fallen into this level of disrepair, just how cozy and nostalgic I’d find it. Looks like I’d spend a good deal of my vacation doing some much-needed repairs. At least it’d give me something to do to pass the time besides taking day long naps.

My parents dragged me here every few summers with my brother and sister. Everywhere I looked in the small three-bedroom cabin held a memory. Roasting marshmallows and hot dogs in the flagstone fireplace when the rain had forced us inside. Playing the various board games stacked on a bookcase near the front door around the picnic style table in the kitchenette. Piling into the queen-sized bed with mom and dad during the loud, summer thunderstorms. Bonding again after I’d learned of my adoption.

Outside, held just as many memories, the large oak tree where our old tire swing used to hang. Picking wild blackberries along the hiking trails and trying to catch frogs in the creek that ran behind the cabin. Mom sitting on the porch rocking chair and telling us ghost stories while dad grilled dinner. The cabin sat midway up the mountain and the family owned several of the surrounding acres, no traffic sounds or neighbors fighting. There wasn’t another cabin for several miles on either side. I couldn’t think of a quieter place than this cabin at night when everyone had gone to bed.

My first night, I spent cleaning up a thick layer of dust covering everything. It wasn’t how most men spent the start of their vacations, but the place was an unlivable mess. Ideally, the way to start my vacation would have been a beer and a nice big steak on the grill. When all of us kids had gone off to college, the family had stopped coming to the old cabin, and it had fallen into a growing state of decay.

The pipes had started to rust, and the tap had run brown water for several minutes. A couple of generations of birds had built nests in the chimney, several of which had fallen down to rest in the empty fireplace. Thick and stale air filled the entire cabin. I’d opened all the windows to let the early autumn breeze carry away the distinct smell of abandonment and cleansing chemicals. Spider webs clung to the ceiling fans and the corners of all the rooms. I didn’t find any spiders, dead or alive, it was slightly disconcerting. Where there are webs, spiders should follow.

But even exhausted after the long drive and the thorough cleaning, I’d had trouble sleeping. Too quiet and still compared to my tiny condo in the middle of a downtown that never slept. My mind shook me awake every time the aging cabin so much as creaked in the soft, night breeze. As a result, I spent most of the night staring at the ceiling thinking about whatever popped into my head, from what I was missing at the office to long ago pillow fights with my brother. Sleeping in the master bedroom instead of the room mom had always referred to as the boys’ room felt strange. I tossed, turned and even broke down and tried counting sheep. The place felt too empty.

I took my blanket out to the porch swing to enjoy the nice night. Maybe I’d get some sleep out there. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d slept on that old swing. The cool air, and the crystal clear sky, filled with stars. Peacefulness waited under the moonlight. I swiped away several old cobwebs from the chains of the swing. The little table next to the ancient wicker chair, a perfect prop for my feet. Settling in with the quilt and the softly creaking swing began to lull me into slumber. Tomorrow I’d do whatever I pleased and have a good day.

My first week at the cabin went by far too quickly, but perfectly. I’d worked around the place getting the gutters cleaned out and the pipes no longer spit out rusty water. That steak dinner on the grill I’d been dreaming about had finally become a reality. During the day, I took short walks around the house to the tree boundary to stretch and enjoy the fantastic weather. I’d also read a book I’d had on my nightstand for far too long.

At night, I cooked, stargazed, and played solitaire. Turns out, solidarity was only amazing for so long. The number of times one can play solitaire and not go crazy from the boredom, not as many as I’d thought. I’d made a small trip into the town at the base of the mountain to pick up a puzzle and another book to help me get through the rest of my vacation. A book on local vegetation and wildlife had caught my eye as well. It would be a good guide for the big hike I planned to take next week once my hiking boots were fully broken in.

I finally gave up and padded outside to sit on the porch swing. The door hinges squealed loudly in the stillness. I sat watching the stars and listened to the sounds of the nocturnal forest. Brushes rustled, an owl off in the distance spoke, and a twig snapped. I glanced in the direction of the sound, but could scarcely see my own hand in front of my face.

The mostly clear sky above the trees had a few stray clouds drifting by, occasionally blocked the light of the nearly full moon. Other than the crack of the stick, the loud beating of my heart became the only sound. If anyone had been with me, I’m sure they would have heard it. I reminded myself there was nothing to fear in these woods, and my heart began to settle as I scolded myself as the voice in my head sounded like my brother calling me a city slicker ninny. I’d obviously spent too much time in the city, if a twig snapping was heart attack inducing.

Unseasonably late, crickets chirped, and a breeze rustled the leaves in the trees. Calm swept over me in soothing waves. My eyes grew heavy, and I settled fully into the swing. The cadence of the chains creaking, and the gentle motion, had me beginning to doze as I thought about the hike I had planned for the next day. Up to the summit, picnic on the overlook rock, and then back down for some cedar plank salmon.

I must have dozed off because the next thing I remember was feeling the warmth of the sun on my face and opening my eyes to the bright light of day. The swing had left my body full of knots and aches from its unforgiving, stiff planks. I stood and stretched, yawning so much my jaw popped. Inside, I got a cup of coffee and dressed for the hike I had planned for the day. In short order, I found myself exploration ready.

I headed off down the trail which made a wide loop around the property at a brisk pace, so I’d be back home just as the sun set. It wouldn’t be wise to be caught out after dark and break an ankle on an unseen tree root. Despite the sunshine, the air held a chill. The flowers had begun to wilt and most of the bugs had started their hibernation. Birds sang in the trees in the distance; those closer to me quieted or took flight as I passed their forest homes. I stopped often taking out my camera to snap pictures of the foliage, the creek, and spider webs.

Everywhere I turned, there seemed to be another spider web. It’s a forest, so some spider webs were to be expected, but this seemed an unusually large number of them. I’d run face-first into a handful already, but I had yet to see a spider. The more I saw, this odd feeling began to creep up on me, growing stronger. I tried to tell myself to stop being ridiculous, that I had just been away from nature for too long. But a part of me deep inside knew better. Something wasn’t right in these woods.

I reached the halfway point of the trail around lunchtime and decided to stop to eat and take a look at the pictures I’d taken. At this part of the trail, I was higher up the mountain, above the cabin. It’s a particularly rocky area. Huge boulders stuck up out of the earth, some covered in moss. I chose one of the rocks to sit on while I ate the sandwich and granola bar I’d packed.

I placed my camera in my lap and brought up the pictures I’d taken earlier on the viewer. Most of them were pretty decent, but a few had flaws. I deleted the overly bright, the blurred, and the overly dark images as I went. The sheer number of spider web photos was staggering and beautiful, a work of art all on their own.

I started packing up my camera when I heard crashing in the trees just down the slope. Birds boiled up out of the trees screaming and crying as they took to the sky as if being chased. It easily ranked as one of the most chilling sights I’d ever witnessed. I quickened my pace to get on my way to avoid whatever had so upset my avian neighbors.

I started back onto the trail when the normally nocturnal coyotes began to sing their mournful calls. The sad sound bounced off the trees and hills surrounding me, causing a sense of foreboding to take root in the pit of my stomach. The day suddenly no longer seemed so peaceful and calming. The sky had already begun to darken. The few thin clouds in the sky began to thicken and multiply, causing the shadows to grow as if they reached out for me. I shook myself to try and rid myself of the absurd thoughts. I was perfectly safe. A small late summer rainstorm trying to blow through would explain all of this. Not wanting to be caught out of doors in the threatening rain, I picked up my pace.

Paying absolutely no attention to my surroundings in my haste to return to the cabin, I got caught completely off guard when a voice called out from the deep shadows to my right.

“Hello.” The soft, obviously feminine voice called. The sweet tones held a hint of surprise. Looking around, I saw nothing. Who could the voice belong to out here? I stepped closer to the trees bordering the trail. Peeking between the trees and foliage, I still saw no one.

“Is there someone there?” I asked, still trying to find the body to the mysterious voice, with no luck.

“Yes, someone is here, silly. Can’t you find me?” She giggled around her words, voice smooth as silk. Whoever this woman was, she possessed one of those voices you could listen to for hours and still not tire of it.

I walked further up the trail, thinking maybe she was ahead of me in the brush. Warning bells began to sound in the back of my mind. If she could see me, why didn’t she make herself visible? At this part of the trail, the undergrowth was very thick and mostly made up of poison ivy. Venturing off the marked trail here went against all common sense. If she was lost out here and off the trail with darkness falling fast and a storm on the horizon, I need to find her quickly.

“Where are you? Are you hurt?” The last question seemed ridiculous, as she hadn’t been calling out for help, nor had she asked me for assistance when I drew close enough for her to spot me from her hiding place. I turned back, hoping to finally see the woman. The only thing I saw, the trail leading back the way I’d come.

“I am unhurt. I am here admiring this lovely piece of artistry.” I looked into the trees yet again and there a few feet into the trees she stood. Her back to me, I couldn’t see what she was looking at. “It is a true work of perfection. So strong yet fragile. Perfectly balanced and symmetrical. It’s just lovely and work blessed by the gods.”

Barefoot and in a dress, she wasn’t dressed to be wandering through the wilderness. Alabaster skin miraculously unblemished by her trekking through bushes and branches, it fairly glowed in the shadows. Back still to me, I noticed her height, almost as tall as my six-foot two. Her build elegantly slender like a professional ballerina. This deep in the shadows, I found it hard to make out much coloring wise.

“Why don’t you join me out here on the trail, and we’ll walk back together? A storm is rolling in, and it won’t be safe to be out here once it hits.” I held my hand out to her before checking the sky again and seeing the clouds were thickening and turning black with impending downpour.

She slowly turned toward me, the skirt of her dress flaring away from her finely muscled legs. The edges were uneven, making me wonder if she’d had a harder time in the forest than my first assessment. I shivered as she drew closer to me, her face completely shadowed from view. The temp dropping was making me shiver. That was my story, and I was sticking to it.

As she drew closer, I could begin to make out her features. The paleness of her skin only served to illuminate her dark eyes. From this distance, I couldn’t discern their color. Her raven blue-black hair hung down to her hips, straight as an arrow. Her sleeveless dress, a muddy color, almost rust-colored. It appeared unkempt, as if she’d worn it for a while. It didn’t detract from the lovely features of her angelic face. Her cupid bow lips stained red.

“Can I help you?” I asked, the sound barely audible coming from my desert dry throat.

She took my hand with her much smaller, fine boned hand as she stepped onto the trail. Up close, she appeared even more delicate, as if a breeze could lift her from her feet and send her soaring away. I scanned her from head to toe, checking for any injuries, and came up empty. She squeezed my hand before letting me go and stepping back. Giving me her own perusal brought shivers down my spine.

I swallowed, wishing I had packed a second water bottle. Something wasn’t right with this situation. Those alarms from earlier grew louder and began eating their way through my gut the longer she went without answering my question.

“Yes, I do believe you can help me.” She spoke in those same lyrical tones as a smirk crossed her lips.

“Okay, let’s get out of the woods and this weather, then we’ll get it all sorted out.” The air thickened, as if lightning could strike at any moment. A static charge crawled across and beneath my skin. It was time to get the heck out of dodge, passed time.

The phantom woman smiled at me, revealing teeth too white and looking sharp as a blade. Her eyes flared and glowed a crimson red with deep black slit pupils like some kind of snake. She’d gone from a beautiful albeit odd stranger to skin crawling creepiness in sixty seconds flat. I took a step back from her as panic rushed through my bloodstream. She began walking toward me, and every instinct I had screamed at me to run. Instead, I slowly backed away from her like one would an enraged wild animal.

“The fly fleeing the spider.” She spoke in her graceful voice. I turned toward her as I continued to move, thinking that a strange thing for a person to say. Feminine laughter sounding on the edge of insanity greeted my silent retreat. The hysterical laugh echoed from all around. It abruptly cut off, leaving the shudder inducing echoes still floating through the air. Deciding it best not to stick around the crazy lady, I picked up my pace. Really, it was more of a jog.

“The fly cannot escape! The whole forest is my web!” I could hear her soft footfalls following me down the trail. Manic laughter and anger edged her voice, killing off the loveliness it had held moments earlier.

Something snagged my backpack, bringing me to a stumbling stop. That wicked laughter split the air once again. I slipped the straps off my back trying to figure out what had caught me and get it untangled, so I could return to beating feet out of here. She slunk around in front of me, her shapely hip cocked to one side as moonlight glinted off teeth that could only be described as fangs.

I took one step back, and her face I’d thought of as beautiful rippled into a snarl. A hiss fit for a wild animal left her throat, and my feet felt welded to this patch of dirt. She walked right up to me until only air could pass between our bodies. Her hand with fingers tipped with long, sharp, black claw-like nails lifted and gently brushed her knuckles across my cheek.

“I told you, fly. You can not escape my web!” Those claws raked my face.

A scream ripped from my throat as everything went dark.

One year later…

They— my doctors, psychiatrists, and caseworkers— believe I was attacked by some kind of wild animal repeatedly from all the scars at varying stages of healing that they’d found all over my body in the emergency room the night of my rescue. As implausible as that might seem. They still marvel at the fact I’m alive, that whatever attacked me didn’t kill me. I’m not so marveled. I don’t remember much more than what I’ve recounted, and even that is hazy and might not even be true.

According to my roommate at the mental institution where I currently reside, I talk in my sleep. They claim I had a psychotic episode. My brother told me I scare nurses at the hospital with my strange ramblings about the spider woman. My shrink thinks I’m a danger to myself and others with my delusional thinking. That had led to my lock-up here after I’d been discharged medically.

That whole danger to myself and others' diagnosis stems from those scared nurses I mentioned. I don’t fully remember everything that happened, but I remember having the nightmare and felt a presence. I came awake, not sure where I was or who was in the darkened room with me. Through the darkness, I could make out the vague silhouette of a woman’s body coming towards my bed. My whole body chilled, and my heart seemed to stop beating.

I knew deep down inside where our instinct lies in wait that the person coming toward me was intent on finishing me. Vaulting out of bed, I slammed into the soft body of the woman, sending us crashing into the far wall. She screamed, and the sound jarred me out of the hallucination. The lights clicked on as doctors and nurses came rushing into the room. I looked down to see my arm across the woman’s chest, a nurse. My knuckles were white with strain as I held her immobile in front of me. Her eyes were huge with terrified tears beginning to brim, but they weren’t red. And that was important, they should have been red, my mind kept telling me. Wrong! It was wrong!

Now I just feel numb. All that’s left is endless days here rotting away and the sting and horror of the fading nightmares I wake to every morning just before dawn. I never hated spiders before that vacation at the cabin, but now I have a severe aversion to the creatures. I’d found one in my room the other evening and lost it.

The next thing I knew, I woke up in a strange room with the distinct tint of a sedative clouding my memory. A nurse came in and removed the restraints. I asked her where I was and what had happened. She handed me a little plastic cup with water and another with pills in it. I swallowed everything and waited for her to answer my question.

She sighed and told me to follow her. I put on my uniform slippers and shuffled behind her down the long, unmistakable hallway of the isolation rooms. I’d been here several times before in the early days of my recovery when I’d fallen into an episode, as the doctor liked to refer to them. We wound our way through the hospital until we came to the wing where my room was located. She opened the door with her keys and I cautiously peered inside.

The room was in shambles. The Plexi glass cracked and the sheets and mattress torn apart. The bed flipped over, and the light fixtures ripped from the ceiling and smashed on the industrial tile floor. My roommate’s side of the room was exactly the same way, though you could no longer tell where my side ended and his began.

I could hardly believe what I saw. The guts of the pillows dusted like snow over most of the room. The letters my family had written to me in shreds scattered to the four corners. Clothes everywhere, some still mostly intact, others not so lucky. The staff that passed us mumbled to one another about the strength it had surely taken to destroy the light fixtures and the nearly bulletproof Plexiglass.

Now my new room is in the isolation ward. I’m completely alone except for during my therapy sessions where I’m surrounded. They keep orderlies on standby when I go to speak with the shrink so that if I were to relapse into an episode that I might not kill the doctor. I can even sense when the doctor is coming to see me. It’s as if I can smell his fear through the thick, reinforced door. Even now I know he’s coming, and this time I think I’ll tell him that he might be right. I can feel the crazy. It’s taking over, swallowing me whole.

Whatever attacked me, whoever that woman was, and whatever it has to do with spiders has well and truly broken me. The crazy has consumed me and there’s nothing left to return to, not now. I’m the crazy man that was once lost in the woods. There were no more hopes, dreams, or plans for the future, just endless days here.