Frankie
This has to be a nightmare. I probably hit my head falling off Satan’s Seat and I’m unconscious and dreaming right now.
That’s the only possible explanation for what I’m seeing, because women clad only in long black veils cannot rise, screaming,
from the depths of the earth.
And they definitely cannot do what this one does next, which is to continue to rise nearly a dozen feet above us, the long
black train of their gown dangling below them, then demand, in a voice that sounds like a snake hissing, “Who dares to disturb
me from my slumber?”
At first the only reply is more screaming from the girls. Haley has fallen to her knees beside the crevice, craning her neck
to look up at the black-garbed specter, her face a mask of fear and wonder. The other girls are cowering together in small
groups, some weeping and some shrieking, but all seemingly seeing the same thing I am . . . which should be impossible, given
that this is a dream.
Then I hear Emma’s voice ringing out through the clearing, “Hecate, she did. She woke you.”
When I glance her way, I see Emma is still on her feet and pointing indignantly at Haley, cowering below in horror.
“It w-wasn’t me.” Haley is so frightened, she can’t stop stammering as she begins crab-walking away, desperate to escape Hecate’s
menacing gaze. “I didn’t do it—”
But it’s too late. Before Haley can get to safety, something white shoots from the ground near her feet and closes around
one of her ankles, then sinks into the earth, trapping her where she is. I’m too far away to see what’s holding her, but from
where I lie, it appears to be . . .
Bone.
A skeletal human hand, to be exact. It’s fastened her foot to the soil as firmly as a staple from a staple gun.
“You dare to wake me,” Hecate rasps to a terrified Haley as she floats toward her, the long black train of her veil-slash-dress
still trailing from the fissure like it has no end, “to steal my powers?”
Haley is so frightened, she’s babbling. “No! N-no, please. I think there’s been a misunderstanding—”
Hecate is hovering only a few feet away from the terrified girl, looking down at her the way a bug collector might look down
at her latest sample.
“Misssunderstanding?” Hecate hisses the word in disgust. “What misssunderstanding?”
“I made a mistake!” Haley screams. “A terrible mistake!”
But this isn’t a good enough excuse for Hecate, who sends another skeletal hand shooting up from the earth, this time to fasten
itself around Haley’s wrist, pinning her—and the bone in her hand—to the forest floor.
“Missstake?” Hecate hisses. “You woke me by missstake?”
I’ve never inadvertently wakened a goddess before (that I know of). But if I had, I’d probably come up with a better apology
than Haley does.
“I’m sorry!” screams the terrified girl.
But it’s too late. Hecate’s response is swift . . . and brutal. An entire cemetery of white bones bursts from the black soil
and fastens themselves around Haley’s arms and legs. Then the flames from the various smoldering fires suddenly leap to life,
blazing as high as a dozen feet in the air and forming a circle around the imprisoned girl. Meanwhile, Hecate drifts menacingly
toward Haley, the long black veil trailing behind her.
Is this a dream? If it is, it’s the worst one I’ve ever had.
But how can it be a dream when I can smell the smoke and feel Ash’s heart drumming hard against mine? Those kinds of details
never make it into dreams, or even nightmares—not mine, anyway.
I’m not a religious person. I was raised in the church, but I’ve been mad at God since the death of my dad. I rarely pray,
except as a sort of learned reflex in moments of desperation, like when Violet would go missing.
But I find myself praying now.
Please, God. I want to go home to see Daisy and her kittens, and my nieces, and my mother, and Ash in an apron again. . . . Please, God,
send help. Please—
I break off because I can feel Ash’s muscles tightening. I look up at him and see that his gaze is focused intently on Hecate.
Oh, no.
“Ash,” I whisper. “No. Don’t—”
But it’s too late. He’s rolling away from me, and then off the altar. He lands on his feet in the leaves and dirt, crouches there for a moment as if trying to get his bearings, then straightens up and heads right for the floating, black-garbed woman.
“Aunt Hecate,” he says as he approaches, and I’m horrified to see the creature’s head turn toward him. “Hi, it’s me, Ash.”
Hi, it’s me, Ash?
But the creature doesn’t attack. She tilts her head to look at him through the black veil covering her eyes. Then recognition
seems to dawn. Her voice goes from a hiss to a caress.
“Ashraf,” she purrs.
“Yeah, hi, it’s been a while, huh?” He walks right up to the apparition and points at Haley, still pinned like a bug to the
forest floor. “Sorry you got disturbed by all this, but I promise she’s not worth your time, Aunt Hecate. She is, though.”
He points at Emma, who is still standing nearby, trembling . . .
But not with fear, I realize, as Hecate turns her head toward her, and Emma bows her own. Brightly shining tears are streaming
down the girl’s face, and her expression is what I can only describe as ecstatic.
“Oh, Hecate,” Emma breathes, sinking to her knees. “I’m Emma. If you only knew how long I’ve waited for this moment. I never
thought it would really come. I’ve believed in you for so long without thinking I’d ever meet you someday, but I never gave
up hope.”
Distracted by this worshipful greeting—the kind she’s probably missed since the height of her popularity—Hecate begins drifting
away from Haley and toward Emma. Seeing this, a still-imprisoned Haley sobs with relief.
But Emma doesn’t seem the least bit intimidated. In fact, when the apparition is hovering just above her, the girl lifts her head to cry, “You’re so beautiful!”
“Emma,” the apparition says, but this time in an entirely different voice. It’s tender and warm and affectionate, the voice a mother
would use when speaking to her favorite child. “Emma.”
Hearing her name spoken from the lips of Hecate, Emma breaks down weeping. “Oh, Hecate! We’ve made so many mistakes and done
so much wrong in your name. I’m so sorry. I’ll do anything to make myself worthy of you. I only hope you’ll forgive me.”
That’s when I see the hand—brown, slim, with nails as long and as sharp and black as a tiger’s claws—come out from beneath
the veil and settle lightly on the top of Emma’s bent head.
“You are forgiven,” whispers the goddess, in the softest, most comforting voice imaginable. “Blessss you, my child.”
Then Hecate turns her head to look at me, up on Satan’s Seat, and all of the other girls—even Haley—still cowering in place.
“Forgiven.” She repeats the word in that same gentle voice. “You are all forgiven.”
Her mouth stretches wide beneath the glossy black material of her veil. It takes me a second or two to realize Hecate is smiling.
And then there’s a flash of light so bright that I have to throw a hand before my eyes to shield them from the glare, followed
by a crack of thunder so loud that the ground shakes beneath us.
When I lower my hand, I can’t see anything. It takes me a second to realize it’s not because the flash of light blinded me.
It’s because all the fires are out. Every flame has been doused as if by some unseen rain. It’s completely dark at Satan’s
Seat. . . .
Except for the light from the moon, which suddenly breaks out from behind the clouds.
As my vision adjusts to its blue-white glow, I can see Hecate is gone.
So is the fissure she came from, as well as the bones that had been holding Haley prisoner.
She’s sitting up, looking as astonished as I feel. . . .
But maybe not as relieved, especially when, in the next few seconds, I hear a familiar and very welcome sound: the roar of
a helicopter directly overhead. It’s accompanied by the sweep of a search light.
“This is the West Harbor Police,” a voice from the helicopter announces authoritatively. Jackie’s voice. “Stay where you are.
Help is on the way.”
Dozens of smaller beams of light appear in the woods around us. Flashlights.
“Frankie?” I hear Troy call. “Frankie, are you there?”
I sag with relief. He must have gotten permission to use the new swift water rescue boats after all. And I didn’t even know
the West Harbor Police Department had a helicopter.
“We’re here,” I call. My voice sounds weak and ragged. I raise it and call again. “Troy, we’re here!”
“Frankie?” Troy sounds close. “Stay where you are; we’re coming!”
But before I can scramble down from Satan’s Seat to greet him, strong hands seize me. I spin around only to find Ash by my
side. He takes me into his arms.
“It’s over,” he murmurs into my hair, still damp from my swim. “They found us. And you found me.” His arms tighten around
me. “You found me!”
I put my arms around his neck and bury my head in his chest. He’s holding me so close, I wonder if he’ll ever let me go. I hope not.
“I think you’re the one who found me,” I start to say.
But then he lowers his lips to mine, and I realize it doesn’t matter. We found one another . . . and I’m pretty sure neither
of us is ever letting the other go.