Salem's Vengeance
Aaron Galvin
Sixteen-year-old Sarah Kelly never expected to meet the Devil’s daughter. She only sought innocent dancing in the moonlight, not a coven entranced by their dark priestess. When her friends partake of a powder meant to conjure spirits - and the results go horribly awry - Sarah is forced to make a choice. To keep their secret risks her own damnation, but to condemn them may invoke the accusing remnants of Salem to rise again.
Hey everyone! So Salem's Vengeance, that's what's up today. Sounds scary, right? Well today I have the first chapter and a giveaway, so you can get a bigger taste, and a chance to win it for yourself! Thanks for coming and good luck!
-1-
-October,
1712-
Winford,
Carolina Territory
My freedom comes with the moonlight. A dim ray,
broken and scattered by my wooden shutters, spreads over the pine floor of my
room. My toes tingle with anticipation beneath the heavy checkered quilt Mother
sewed for Rebecca and me. The time for dancing draws nigh.
Clink!
The rock striking our window ledge quickens my
heartbeat.
Something is wrong.
The moonlight should be spread over four boards, not one, ere it would be the
proper time to leave.
A
quiet voice floats through my window. “Sarah!”
“Shh!” Another hushes.
Rebecca
stirs beside me on the straw pallet we share.
I
stroke her flaxen hair ere she awakens further. “All is well, sweet sister,” I
soothe. “Go back to sleep.”
She
rubs her tired eyes with balled fists. “But I wish to join you and the others,”
she says.
Clink!
My
limbs tense anew. Father will surely wake to their voices soon. I wait,
listening. He can be silent as a barn owl in flight when he chooses. Still,
even he cannot rise from his rickety bed without it creaking under the
movement.
I
hear nothing but my own heart pounding.
“Sarah!”
the quiet voice calls again.
It
must be Emma. An ever-present fear has clouded her since she heard tell of the
Tuscarora Indians who raided and slaughtered throughout the Carolina territory.
I suppose it hardly matters to her most of the savages were put down a year ago
September past.
Rebecca
tugs at the sleeves of my lace nightgown. “Please, Sarah,” she whispers.
“Please, take me.”
I
kiss the top of her forehead. “You are much too young for the dance.”
Rebecca
wrenches away from me to pout.
I
sweep our quilt of muted blue and white over her head. The breeze from the open
window tickles my bare feet and drifts up my thighs like a feather tracing
against my skin.
I
shudder, and revel in its chill; the same feelings I hope to continue at the
moon dance. I gather my thin leather shoes in hand. Turn toward my escape.
Though my windowsill is but three quick steps away, my path holds creaky
floorboards that will betray my otherwise silent movements. I step over the
first of them, and leap sideways to avoid the next two.
Rebecca
giggles quietly. It must seem to her I play scotch-hopper.
The
fresh scent of strung, dried lilacs from my room dissipates the moment I poke
my head out our window. Odors of farm life—sweet-smelling heifers,
excrement-sowing swine, and the like—blend together in the night air. Fifty
yards away, our four-storied barn is a hulking gravestone casting its long
shadow over our homestead.
The
nearly full moon is perfect to dance beneath. Not so, however, for one seeking
to flee without being seen. To reach the barn will be only a quick sprint. But
my friends are not as fast as I, nor as cautious. I wish I had the sliver moon
and less light to escape beneath.
Across
the yard, Mother’s dogwood shrub shakes. A slender, trembling girl in a dull
blue dress emerges from behind it, her narrow face accentuated only by the
roundness of her eyes. This eve, they are near the size of tea saucers.
“Sarah!”
Emma says.
I
raise a finger to my lips.
Another
girl leaps from the shrub and yanks Emma into hiding. “Be silent!” she hisses.
Ruth...At least she has the good
sense to know they stand before Paul Kelly’s household.
Father
is quick with the strap. I harbor no misgivings he would whip the daylights
from both my friends if roused by their noise.
Carefully,
I swing my leg wide over the window ledge to not snag my gown. I lean forward
to jump when there comes a rustling from our corn shuck mattress.
“I shall tell…”
I
wheel to face my sister. “You shall not!”
Rebecca
raises a rebellious eyebrow.
“Sarah…”
Emma calls.
I
glance over my shoulder and out the window. Emma again emerges from the
shrubbery. The fool stands in plain view of Mother and Father’s window.
I
wave her away to hide.
Emma
nervously clutches her apron with one hand. She points to our barn with the
other. “Ruth leaves us!”
At
times, I wonder if Emma were born daft. When Ruth once told her keeping chicken
bones in our aprons would ward off evil spirits, Emma carried them for nigh on
a year. And when I warned her mythical snipes lived in our barn beneath the
hay, she never again ventured inside. How has Emma not yet realized Ruth’s
favorite custom is to hide amidst the corn to scare her?
It
next occurs to me, for all Ruth’s many virtues, patience is most lacking. She
is ever the one who misses dancing most. Mayhap she means to make good on her
threat of going alone. I imagine her running down the rows of corn, off into
the woods without me.
I
snort the thought away. It would not stand for her to share the night whilst I
remain here, thwarted by the threat of an eight-year-old.
I
turn to face my sister again. “Rebecca…”
Her
arms cross, like Mother oft does when in a foul temper. “Take me,” she says.
“Or work my chores.”
I
dig my fingernails into the windowsill. “No!”
Rebecca
dangles her tiny bare feet inches from the floor in warning. “Then I shall wake
Father and tell.”
“Saaaarah…”
Emma whines.
My
sister’s smile is evident in the dim light. Even at such a tender age, she
knows time is on her side this night.
“I
will do one of your chores,” I reply.
“You
will milk the cows?” She says it so quickly I wonder how long she has planned
to force this upon me.
I
grit my teeth. “Agreed.”
My
sister yawns in victory and happily scratches her head, content in her victory.
I
pull my gown up past my knees, and drop below ere Rebecca coerces me further. I
pause to listen for any stirrings inside my home. Spreading my toes, I take the
dewy grass between them to cool my nerves.
A
minute passes with no noise; Father sleeps soundly.
I
slip my shoes on as fast as possible and hurry to join Emma. She makes a tiny
yelp at my sudden pull of her hand. Hand-in-hand, we run toward the barn. Her
clumsiness slows my pace, but I will not let go. If she falls, it would not
happen silently.
When
she does eventually stumble on the cold and slippery grass, I slip my arm under
her armpit to keep her afoot. Emma tugs away as we near the barn. No doubt she
desires to give it a wider berth ere a snipe emerges to drag her within.
Cornfields
lie before us. The stalks stand only six feet tall, yet the dark makes them
appear larger. Like a foreboding wall of spears, we must pass into their
protection to reach our destination.
I
release my grip on Emma. Plunge ahead, five rows deep.
The
dry leaves scratch at my skin; a small sacrifice for the joyous reunion to
come. A few stalks lie broken near their shafts. I shall need to scold Ruth
later. Father will know neither deer nor Indians bent them in such a way.
Emma whimpers behind me. I watch her gently push the
stalks aside as if the mere touch of them will taint her perfect skin. “Why did
you not come sooner?” she asks. “With Ruth gone, I feared you abandoned me to
journey alone.”
“Alone?”
I ask. “But where is Charlotte?”
Emma
shakes her head. “Her father suspects she has danced.” Her voice trembles. “I
fear mine does also.”
I
frown. It is not like Charlotte to miss a gathering. Especially not when the
last occurred three months past.
The
corn crackles three rows over like teeth chattering in the grip of a January
nor’easter. Emma draws closer to me.
I
step forward. “Who comes?”
“One
who has no fear of the darkness.”
An
apparition brushes the stalks aside. Ruth’s skin, pale even in daylight, is
luminous by night. She has discarded her white bonnet and scandalously tied
back her raven hair with a scarlet ribbon. Ruth closes her eyes, tilts her head
back to inhale the night air. “Art thou ready to dance, sisters?”
Emma
releases her hold on my dress. “You should not have left me!”
“You
should not have remained behind,” Ruth replies curtly. “The moon dance waits
for no one—nor do I.”
A
cold wind harrows through the corn, confirming Ruth’s claims, ushering us
ahead. I step in the earthen path between the rows. The hard dirt warns of a
frost soon to come. I am glad of it. The solidity will not reveal our tracks so
easily as in the wet spring or dry summer.
“Come,”
I say to my friends. “We should not tarry.”
We
walk for nigh half an hour to our destination. Emma is a constant shadow at my
side. Holding my hand all the way, she frequently glances skywards as if she
fears witches on broomsticks will fly over us. Ruth tromps in the next row. Her
fingers run over the corn ears as she quietly hums a tune I have never heard.
“Emma,”
I say. “What shall you wish for tonight?”
“A
safe journey home,” she replies, casting another furtive glance at the moon.
“I
shall wish for a night that never ends!” Ruth shouts.
I
laugh with her. Even Father cannot hear from this far away.
The
sound makes Emma jump with fright. Her grip stiffens. “You should not speak so
loud. My father would—”
“Your
father sleeps at home.” Ruth lazily swats at the corn.
“A-aye.
H-H-He would be very displeased to find me here,” Emma shakes her head like a
horse with flies at its ears.
“What
if he knew you journeyed to a gathering of witches!”
Ruth says.
A
shudder runs through me. “Enough, Ruth. You should not jest of such things,” I
say. “You beckon the darkness upon yourself.”
Ruth
grins. “As well I should. I am sister to the moon. A lover of night!” She
loosens her ribbon. Her dark hair spills about her shoulders as she lifts her
arms. “For why dance if not to beckon the darkness into our hearts?”
Emma
looks at me as one betrayed. “Y-you said dancing was innocent. N-not a sin.”
“Dancing
is innocent,” I reply. “I said naught
of what Ruth speaks to.”
Ruth
scoffs. “I thought you were a fellow lover of the night, Sarah.”
“I
am.”
“Then
why do you come this eve?” Ruth asks. “Dancing can be done by the light of
day.”
“A-aye,”
says Emma. “I think it best we only dance by day henceforth. My father—”
“Why,
Sarah?” Ruth asks. “Why do you come?”
“Only
at night am I truly free,” I say. “Free to do as I will with no one to speak
otherwise, or—”
“Listen!” Emma says.
I
hear it too; the quiet beginnings of a measured symphony wandering over the
night sky. The gay pipes call to the wood spirits of Pan. Each hypnotic beating
of drums beckons us to venture further.
The
gathering starts without us.
Ruth
and I grin at one another.
“Race
you to the woods!” She runs ahead without waiting for me.
Nor
do I pause for Emma. The sprint to catch Ruth is longer than first I guessed. I
fear my lungs will give out ere we reach the end of the field. The drums beat
as one with my heart to lend me strength. I pass her at the last, bursting from
the field and into a clearing of dandelions.
The
wind in the corn follows us out. It blows the hundreds of translucent florets
away from their stems. Like wisps, they create a rippling blanket of nature to
lead us.
A
dim glow rises inside the woods. It grows brighter with each passing moment.
Shadows from the flames climb the trees as if to escape from Hell and sneak
into Heaven.
Emma
thrashes behind us, her once beautiful gown now mottled with stains, and her
bonnet askew. Even so, she cannot help but smile at the sight of rising fire.
We
sisters of the moon clasp hands. Together, we cross the meadow and enter the
woods. I have oft visited this same hallowed place to escape my chores and
dream of what lay beyond its borders.
Tonight,
the woods feel foreign. A place no goodly person ought be.
Tiny,
thin bones from some unfortunate forest creatures hang in the trees, strung
together as one by thick horsehair to form relics. I see feathers tied to
them—crow, falcon, and eagle. There are freshly cut saplings also, interwoven
to form odd, twisted dreamcatchers.
I
shake whilst walking beneath the jangling bones. Their invisible power is
palpable. It seeps through my skin and twins with my soul.
We
exit the underbrush into a clearing, seventy feet across. Nine cut elms have
been leaned against one another; a towering teepee set alight. A ring of girls
surrounds its blaze. Some wear bracelets of silver serpents with rubies for
eyes. Others have adorned themselves with necklace reliefs of the moon in all
its stages.
Emma gasps beside me. “Ne’er have I seen so many
before...”
I
watch the unknown girls approach the fire. They tempt its flames to sear their
skin and dance away ere it licks them.
Ruth
points to a sharp-jawed girl in a forest green gown. “Charlotte!”
Charlotte
turns at hearing her name called. She releases hands with the other girls. I
watch the circle instantly shrink to fill the void she leaves. Charlotte
prances toward us, hugging Ruth first.
“We
feared you would not come!” Ruth says.
“I
thought the same of you,” Charlotte replies.
A
naked girl, dancing in the circle, motions us closer. Her body is a canvas of
tattoos. Trained ivy and dragons snake around her limbs. Raven feathers litter
her belly and chest. A pentagram covers the space between her breasts.
“Wh-who
are these girls?” Emma asks. “They are not from Winford.”
Charlotte
looks upon the strangers. “Aye. I gather many come from the north. All wish to
share the night with us. They bring…”
Several
girls pull their gowns over their heads. They toss them aside with little care.
I see their bodies decorated in similar, tattooed fashion.
“Strange customs,” Charlotte says. “They
claim there is nothing like a sister’s kiss.” Her face flushes red. “I-I must
admit. I wish to try.”
“Yes!”
Ruth says. “We shall try together!”
My
gaze sweeps over the gathering. I take special notice of a tall, slender woman
at the center. A dark veil, lined with scarlet silk, covers the top of her head
and trains down her back. Her emerald eyes stare at me from behind a mask of
raven feathers that glistens in the firelight.
I
look away from her piercing gaze.
Ruth
does not. “Who is that woman?”
Charlotte
chuckles. “The others name her Hecate, the Devil’s daughter.” She waves at the
woman and receives a bow in answer. Charlotte turns back to us. “They say she
comes to lead us.” She whispers. “Have you ever seen a woman so beautiful as
she?”
I
caution another glance.
Hecate
approaches us. Her violet robe clings and moves so smoothly it seems painted.
“Good
eve to you all.” Hecate purrs. “Charlotte has told me much and more of
you…Ruth…Emma.”
I
watch her give a nod to each of my friends in turn, then linger on me. She
reaches out, gently lifts my chin that I might look her full in the face.
“I
find your face even more familiar, child…” Hecate grants me a smile to elicit a
marriage proposal from any young man. “You must be Sarah Kelly.”
A
lump forms in my throat. “I am, Madam.”
Hecate
laughs. “I am no madam. Call me sister, for we are all but daughters held in
sway to our Moon Mother, yes?”
“Aye,”
Ruth says. “We come to dance in Her light!”
“And
you are most welcome.” Hecate bows away and opens her arms to permit us entry
to the dance.
Charlotte
tugs at my hand. “Come. Let us join!”
Emma
falters. “Perhaps we should not…not dance with those we know nothing of. I
feel…odd. Ne’er have I felt so at the dance before.”
Ruth
and Charlotte will not heed her. They pull Emma and me to join them.
I
glance over my shoulder, see Hecate’s glittering gaze trained on me. Why does she watch me so?
Any
nervousness I held is lost upon entering the circle. I surrender myself to the
melodic tune. The moon dance and my sisters are all that exist. Unknown faces
stand before me whenever I chance to open my eyes. I recall Emma’s words. I am
among strangers, yet these outsiders seem friendly. I put any question of their
intentions out of mind. Tonight we all are moon sisters.
A
girl holding my hand lifts it to her mouth. Kisses the back of my hand. When
she smiles, I see her teeth have a touch of black stain to them. I shyly pull
my hand away. The girl shrugs and is gone, replaced by a new one who only
laughs at my discomfort. Her teeth are normal.
I
put away the idea I witnessed a demon amidst us, and lose myself to the music’s
rhythm again. Only later, when it stops, do I question whether I danced for a
few minutes or several hours.
Embers
from the fire pop and spark brilliant shades of orange into the air. As if
signaled, the drums begin anew in a slow, measured tempo I fear will lull me to
sleep.
Hecate
elegantly enters the middle of the circle. She has donned a thin, black cloak
and stands so near the fire I fear it will catch aflame. She lifts her arms to
the night sky, unbothered by the heat. Her light, silky voice commands my
attention. “Sisters, sisters, one and all. Your Maiden’s beauty held in
thrall.”
The
other girls repeat her chant.
I
feel the circle of oneness enveloping me into the fold.
I must join them. I think. Or be outcast.
A
shadow moves outside the circle. Snaps me from the reverie. I search for its
owner, but now there is only dark where the shadow existed not a moment ago.
The
drums beat faster, yet they no longer hold me to their cadence.
Not
so for the other girls. They continue to sway and tug at my arms, willing me to
rejoin them.
The
invisible feather returns to drift down the nape of my neck. Now awakened from
the music’s spell, I shudder at the oneness the others experience.
These are strangers here. Emma’s earlier fear catches
within me. Their customs odd.
I
search the circle for my friends.
Emma
is easiest to find. She sits across from me—the only other girl not content
with the oneness. Her eyes are two deep wells of tears. Save me, they plead. End this
nightmare.
My
gaze sweeps over the unknown faces. I see more than I first supposed. Were
there so many all along? I cannot recall the circle being so large when first I
entered.
Ruth
sits nearest Hecate, still entranced with the tune. Blissfully swaying beside
her, Charlotte, too, remains in the music’s grip.
Hecate
thrusts her arms out. The fire at her back makes her appear liken to a bat with
the cloak she wears now tightly drawn. An assortment of leather pouches dangle
from twine cords inside it. She jerks one free of its binding. “Mother,
Mother,” she cries. “Let these who would serve never tire!”
The
drums quicken. The circle follows.
My
body aches to join. My mind rejects the notion.
Hecate’s
escorts slip silently forward. They carry a silver platelet—long and thin like
Mother’s griddle—and hold it before her chest.
Hecate
unties the binding round the bag and sweeps it over the platelet. A dusky snow
of fine, purplish-black powder falls across its surface. “Father, Father. Hear
my plea!” Her voice heightens. “Let these who would call spirits, come unto
thee!”
I
see Ruth rise in a stupor. She strides into the circle’s midst, never stopping
until she stands before Hecate.
Hecate
places her right hand upon Ruth’s shoulder. With her left, she motions her
escort to raise the platelet.
My
conscience screams to stop her, but my body seems racked with molasses. I
cannot move. Not even when I see Hecate gently push Ruth’s face toward the
powder.
Ruth
opens her eyes at the last.
I
see doubt in them. “No…” I hear myself whisper.
Hecate
tilts her head, places a skeletal finger on Ruth’s cheek to draw her attention.
Then she swoops low. Dragging her nose across the plate, she snorts the powder
in example.
The
drums grow louder.
The
girls chant as one. “Hama shelabedi—hama
shelabedi—hama shelabedi—hama shelabedi!”
Hecate
pulls away from the plate, moaning in satisfaction. A thin trace of powder
lingers beneath her nostrils. She sweeps it away with a quick flick of her
finger. Fixated on Ruth, Hecate points to the plate.
Ruth
takes a hesitant breath…and plunges into the powder.
I
stand without meaning to, the spell over me broken.
Ruth
pulls away quickly, gasping. Her fingers clasp into fists. Her eyes go wide.
Hecate
lifts her arms in praise.
The
gleeful pipe music begins anew. The circle of oneness is over. Some of the
girls dance. Most hurry to have their turn at the platelet. They do not notice
Ruth collapse like I do. The others crowd over and around her, each more
desperate than the next. All while Ruth’s hands claw at her nose and throat.
Hecate
glances over her shoulder. She nods.
A
pair of masked and hooded figures emerges from the clearing line. I cannot tell
if they be women or men. Unlike Hecate, their bulky garb is not royal—deerskin
and beaver pelts. They cross the distance in short manner. Each roughly grabs
hold beneath Ruth’s arms. They drag her limp body back the way they came.
I
start forward. A bird’s whistle distracts me.
Far
outside the circle of light, the shadow has returned. A weatherworn pastor’s
hat shields the wearer’s face, but I feel their cold gaze upon me.
A
new figure steps into my line of sight.
“Why
do you not join us, Sarah?” Hecate asks. “We have come so far to share in the
night with you and your friends. You do us grievous wrong by leaving now.”
I
take a step back. There is naught but trees where the shadow stood moments ago.
“I-I…”
She
reaches for me. Her fingers massage my shoulder blade.
I
gather the massage will become a vice if I run. My breath is ragged, and this
she seems to find amusing.
“Rest
easy, sister,” Hecate says. “Your secret is safe with me.”
“But
I have no—”
“We
all keep secrets, even our Moon Mother. It’s why She only comes at night, when
things are best kept hidden. Would you like to know that which She guards
closest of all?”
I
nod.
“She
hates.” Hecate relishes. “At night
She is beautiful and free, all Her mysteries kept. But Her master, the sun,
reveals them in the light of day, for nothing is hidden from His sight…just as
nothing is hidden from mine.”
I
fight off a shudder.
“I
see others for who they are.” Her
voice holds me. “You are different, Sarah.”
“H-how?”
“Your
friends lust after forbidden things, as children are wont to do. Thrills and
conjures, magic and wonder.” She shrugs gaily. “But our Moon Mother did not
bring you here this night for such works alone.”
I
shake my head, even as I am unsure of what she presumes to know of my
intentions.
“Night
is the time for secrets. Truth is best left to the light of day.” Hecate draws me close.
I
feel a weight fall into the front pocket of my apron.
“Learn
your truth, Sarah,” Hecate whispers in my ear. “As I did.”
She
releases me.
Despite
the fire’s warmth, I feel cloaked in ice. I stumble out of the circle, and run
to the brush where I witnessed Ruth taken.
I
fight through the limbs and shrubbery barring my path.
My
shin hits something hard. It occurs to me this be the same direction from which
I saw the shadow appear. I turn to see if a person wishes harm upon me. Release
a sigh when I see only a small stump.
Someone
moans not far from me.
I
climb to my feet, and hurry to follow the sound to its owner. Twenty feet away,
I discover Ruth lying in a pile of dried leaves.
I
kneel beside her. “Ruth, we must leave.”
Her
head lolls to the side. The veins in her neck pulse feverously. Beads of sweat
train down her face. Ruth opens her eyes. She stares at me like I am unknown to
her. “I can see…” she says. “Sp-spirits. They call…call me to dance.”
I
hear the underbrush trampled. Mayhap it is those who brought Ruth here! I stand
and lift a fallen branch to ward off whoever comes. It is only Emma, aiding the
frightful mess Charlotte has become.
Charlotte
laughs hysterically. She swings her arm off Emma’s shoulder and collapses
beside me. A touch of powdery residue remains under her nostrils. She crawls
forward. “I wish to dance with you, Ruth!”
“And
I with you!” Ruth answers.
Charlotte
attempts to stand. I keep her from falling. “Yes!” she says. “Come…come,
sister. Let us dance together with the spirits of the night!”
“You
cannot mean to stay,” I protest. “The dawn approaches. We must leave—”
Ruth
leans upon a tree to help her stand. “The night lingers on!” she snarls. “And
the spirits…they need us!”
She is not in her right mind. I think. The powder stole away her wits.
“We
are sisters, borne of shadow,” Ruth says to Charlotte. “We—we dance until the
dawn!”
Charlotte
pitches forward, barely catching hold of a tree to stay upright. “Come,
sister!”
Giggling,
Ruth stumbles to Charlotte.
What sort of devilry did the
powder possess?
I wonder. We were only to have danced…
“I
like this not at all, Sarah,” Emma sulks. “I wish to go home. Can we not
leave?”
I
go to her. The weight Hecate gifted me shifts in my apron. I feel a sharp prick
dig into my inner thigh. I cast a final glance toward the fire. See Hecate
welcome my friends back into her fold. Her eyes find me; hold me in sway to
their beauty.
Emma
breaks me of it. “Sarah! Please let us go!”
I
put my back to the dance, and escort my friend away, out of the woods.
Even
so, the music echoes in my ears when we reach the cornfield. And, despite my
fearful misgivings, all I desire is to return and welcome the dawn with my
sisters of the night.
His debut, Salted, a YA urban fantasy, continues to receive critical acclaim for its unique take on mermaids and selkies.
Aaron is also an accomplished actor, screenwriter, and film producer. He has worked on Hollywood blockbusters (The Dark Knight, Flags of Our Fathers), starred in dozens of indie films, and he co-wrote/executive produced the 2013 award-winning comedic feature film, Wedding Bells & Shotgun Shells.
Aaron is a proud member of SCBWI and currently lives in Southern California with his wife and daughter.
Find Aaron Galvin Online
Salen's Vengeance on Goodreads
Aaron Galvin on Goodreads
Website
IMDB
Buy It!
Salem's Vengeance on AMAZON
a Rafflecopter giveaway
