Chapter 44

By the time Rebecca Collins regained consciousness, it was dusk. Most of the day had passed while she lay on the ground. If she had dreams, she could not remember them, for which she was grateful. The dreams during normal sleep terrified her. They were nightmares; the same visions of torture and agony she experienced when she saw the shadow man in her home centuries ago.

She thought by taking the path perhaps she could escape, but they followed. Even after over four years they haunted her, allowing her little sleep and no peace. When the being who possessed her left, she hoped the nightmares went with him, but such was not the case. He left her, but they remained. At least, she thought, his leaving brought her back to sanity.

The outbursts in Danielsford so many years ago terrified her. It was her voice and her body, but it wasn’t her. Whatever part of her mind remained in her control listened to the raving and felt her body making the gestures. Worse things happened to her.

In her home, if not the worst thing, she experienced the most horrible of all - feeding on the meat of raw animals she caught with her bare hands, then killed. It revolted the part of her mind still in her control. By the time she left Danielsford, hours ahead of the constable and his men, the conditions inside her house appalled her.

Then, just a year later, she became ill. The moment before death, she made the jump. Traveling the path, she searched for, and found, Mary Bradbury and the man who disobeyed her at the church. Three times she tried to get rid of the man she now knew as Frank Jackson. Three times she failed.

The last was a disaster. Rebecca enlisted the aid of another traveler. Together they planned the attack. She thought it a well-made plan, but it resulted in total failure. She went for Mary and her friend, while the accomplice confronted Frank Jackson and the Collins girl, a distant relative.

Both attacks failed. What happened to her ally was still a mystery. The woman seemed to have vanished. The girl with Frank Jackson apparently had a surprising amount of power and knowledge. Being a distant relative, Rebecca took some pride in knowing even though barely past teenage in years, she had inherited the gift.

In her confrontation with Mary and the other woman, she suffered a beating, and vowed it would not happen again. This time, if it came to another fight, she would be more careful about choosing the time and place. Of course there was always hope that, with the thing inside her gone and sanity returned, they could avoid a battle.

She began planning the attack, but something stopped her. They were at supper in Wenham. Knowing where they were was the first step, and it was what surprised her. Was the Bradbury woman so arrogant as to not shield her from being able to find them? It appeared so. She could sense all of them.

The fact upset Rebecca. She had never thought Mary to be proud, or haughty, but she was. Maybe it was the Cloyce woman filling her head with nonsense. Having beaten and driven her away before, did they think they could do it again, on her home ground?

Eating supper in a public place could cause another problem. Other people would be there. Her attack could harm them. Was it wise, she thought, to risk hurting others?

Yes, it was. They were not her responsibility. If they suffered, the guilt was on Mary Bradbury. It would not have happened had she not returned to Danielsford.

The day was too far gone to do anything. By the time she finished the details, they would be gone back to wherever they were staying. Of course, she could finish them there, which might be even better. Let the little healing witch and her whore friend be sent away, and punish Frank Jackson.

Then what? She had to decide what to do with her ancestor, the Collins girl. There was but one answer. The girl should die, but being one of the wise ones, killing her was not possible. Something else had to be done, but what?

While she considered her options, she realized like Mary and the others, she, too, was hungry. She could not remember the last time she ate. There were squirrels, rabbits, and other animals all around. The squirrels were like a plague. They were everywhere.

Catching them was difficult, but she had become a skilled hunter. While her enemies ate in a public house, she would find fresh meat on which to dine. Then, she would think more about the plan. All she knew for certain was, it would all end on this day. She would rid herself of Mary Bradbury and the other woman, and the man and her young ancestor.

Nearby, she heard the rustling of leaves on the forest floor. The sound of the dry leaves reminded her of her hunger. Rebecca began stalking the gray squirrel. Like a cat, she moved silently, with patience and no wasted motion.

Minutes later, she had the squirrel in her grasp, snapping its neck like a twig. She gnawed on it, spitting out the fur and savoring the warm blood. The blood, she thought, is what gave her strength. Squirrels and rabbits had little meat on them to fill her belly and satisfy her constant hunger.

By the time she finished, she knew Mary and the others were in their rooms. Regardless of where they were, she planned to strike them. She had given up trying to reason with Mary. The little healing witch would not compromise. Sending her away was the only choice—to the same place they tried to banish her years before, when Frank Jackson and the other men came to Danielsford, and the Papish priest performed a ritual of some sort.

She received a measure of retribution three years later, killing the other man. The priest still lived, and of course Frank Jackson. Maybe when finished with the job in Wenham, she would find and punish the priest. Then, she would go back to the little town, whose name she could not remember, where the Collins ancestors lived. Once she rid the world of them, she could have the peace she craved.

The squirrel had taken the edge off her hunger. There wasn’t enough to the animal to make a decent meal. It wasn’t the fine, plentiful food Mary ate each day. Such a selfish woman, never offering to share with her best friend. Now, it was time she realized her sinful ways.

Rebecca clambered to her feet. She stood motionless, staring toward Wenham. First, she would send them a gift—to let them know she was thinking of them. Then, she had to decide whether to go there or fight them from afar. It was a simple choice. She would confront them and watch as they begged and pleaded with her. What pleasure was there in destroying your enemies if you couldn’t see them being destroyed?

Thinking, she paced back and forth. What would be appropriate to share? She wanted all of them to know she had not forgotten them. There was little time to decide. It was almost dusk. The spell had to be strong enough to frighten even Mary and her adulteress friend, but not so powerful as to do serious harm to Frank Jackson. When she punished him, she wanted to do it in person.

She smiled. In just a few minutes, she made half the plan. After dark, she would send the gift, and then follow it with a visit before they recovered. All she had to know was what she wanted to do. Lately, she had trouble deciding. Since the shadow took possession of her, and even after it left, she experienced difficulty not just making her mind up, but staying focused.

No, she told herself. Attacking all of them was senseless. Harming Mary or the tramp would take away from the pleasure of victory when she confronted them. She would do what almost worked twice before and strangle Frank Jackson. He was an easy target. After punishing him, with the others distracted, she would strike and drive them from her home.

Rebecca made her way to a place she discovered in the forest. It was a place of unique energy, close to where her house once stood. Discovering it by accident, she had used it in the past to calm her racing mind. This time, she would use it for a different purpose.

Standing in the center of the clearing, she closed her eyes and tried to stop her mind from racing. She attempted to raise energy, which she would send to the target, the man who disobeyed her. There were no chants, no spells, just Rebecca Collins, her eyes closed, building energy and focusing on Frank Jackson. When the internal energy peaked, she would release it and send it to him. This time, she was certain she would succeed.

In Wenham, Frank Jackson sat with Mary and Marjorie Putnam at a small table. Gail sat nearby, cleaning and studying the artifacts they carried out of Danielsford. Watching Gail, Frank had to smile.

“Maybe we can add an antique section to the store,” he said.

Gail smirked and shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

A moment later, Frank closed his eyes and shook his head. He tried to speak, but no words came out.

“What is it?” Mary asked.

Unable to respond, he pushed away from the table, tried to stand, and collapsed onto the floor.

“Rebecca.” Mary spat the name. “Quick, we must counter her.”

They kneeled by Frank, put their hands on him and chanted an old spell. The three women worked in unison, each supporting the other. The room seemed to vibrate with the energy they released. Within seconds, they felt Frank begin to relax, as whatever attacked him subsided.

Another few seconds passed and he tried to sit up. Mary held him down, while they continued repeating the spell for another 30 seconds. At the end, Marjorie nodded.

“It’s over,” she said.

She looked down at Frank.

“I don’t think Rebecca likes you.”

He sat up and shook his head. “I don’t know what happened. I couldn’t talk, breathe, or even stand. My muscles wouldn’t work.”

“She won’t get another chance,” Mary said, eyeing Marjorie and Gail.

“We’re going to fight back?” Gail asked.

“We are. Now,” Mary answered.

“I’m ready.”

“Same here,” Marjorie said.