The Tavern

The Tavern was dark and the few lanterns that sat on the wooden tables threw long shadows against the walls like knives. Every time a villager shifted the shadow pulled in the opposite direction as if it wanted to escape to a darker place. The walls were thin and could barely keep the biting cold from seeping through and soaking the bones of men closest to them.. Some men sat together in groups of three or four, their voices a low rumble. Others sat alone. One man picked his fingernails with a blade and then used it to carve his apple. There were no women or children at this hour, or any hour for that matter and it was better that way. In that moment the door flung open and in came a petite figure wrapped in a cloak blowing her inside. The men closest to the door flung obscenities around and flinched away from the cold. Others proceeded to take a longer drink of ale to keep the numbing chill from coming any closer.

When the room realized who had entered the hush grew like a wave and crashed into dead silence. It was Charlotte Jakobs, the eldest of the daughters of Martha Jakobs. That family was the outcast of the community because of their strange practices. It’s believed that Martha was a witch and taught her daughter devils magic. It only made sense because Charlotte’s eyes were once a deep brown but now are the color of honey, like marmalade in a mason jar. The girl was oblivious to her abrupt entrance causing the hushed silence to fill the room like a thick fog . She pushed the door closed with a thud and rushed to the bar which was made of a deep oak slab that ran across the far wall.

“Help, please.” The girl panted, out of breath.

The bartender looked up and studied Charlotte Jakobs. Her honey eyes were manic and her raven black hair was twisted into a bedraggled braid down her back. It looked as if the wind pulled strands loose, causing the wisps to frame her face in a wild manner. She wore a hunter green cloak and the barkeep suspected she was hiding a weapon somewhere in the folds. He wouldn’t blame her, especially at this hour. But there had always been something that unnerved him regarding her, even more than her mother had. “There is no help here for you tonight,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

The girl straightened her shoulders. “But my family, there was an accident. My sister’s fingers were blue when I left.”

The girl leaned forward, “but my family, at our home, there was an accident-” another man shouldered his way in, cutting her off “There’s no help here, girl! It doesn’t matter. It’s too late for them.” Then he turned his back to her and asked the bartender, “Another dark ale, would you?”

The bartender nodded, his lips tight as he looked at the girl once more out of curiosity.

She then turned to the whole tavern and pointed at the door. “All of you would just let a family die out in the snow storm?”

Everyone who had been watching the conversation refused to make eye contact and turned back to their own conversations.

Charlotte was overcome with rage. She stormed off, quickly ate up the length of the tavern, leaving it behind, but not before looking back one last time with a curse under her breath. The people closest could feel something sinister in the air as the door slammed behind her. As men trickled out, drunk enough to brave the harsh winds that cut your lungs like swords, their shadows were left behind. It would take days until they realized something was amiss.

Outside she pulled her cloak closer around her legs and started trekking back home, hopefully she would find someone who would be more willing to help. Charlotte Jakobs knew people feared her family because of what they practiced, but it’s all she knew and these spells saved her countless times growing up. She walked with her head down and her fur lined cloak clutched around her throat. If she hadn’t lived here most of her life, she wouldn’t have been able to find the non-existent trail back home. The path was currently under a deep sheet of snow and when she glanced up everything was a stormy gray. The trees swayed in the brisk winter wind, causing the shadows to cascade out and claw at her heels like lost souls. The leaves rustled in the wind, sounding like the baying hounds of hell. Doubts started to creep into her mind like sludge until she found the tree that Cora and herself marked with symbols for safety and home.

Charlotte looked up and spotted a glowing lantern swinging, coming closer. It was an old woman wrapped in fur. As the woman came closer, Charlotte saw her blue eyes and red cracked lips. “Mother, what are you doing out here? You were supposed to stay with Cora and Papa.”

Martha Jakobs looked her daughter straight in the eyes. Her voice was like sandpaper against a stone, “Charlotte, your sister is dead.”

Charlotte flinched away as if her mother had slapped her. She might as well have. The only person she ever loved was supposedly dead.

Martha continued like she hadn’t noticed, “she was born too weak to finish the spell. You must help me finish or your father will be next.”

“No-”

“Yes, child. I knew you were always the strong one. Now you must show your family the loyalty you were taught.” Martha gripped her daughter’s arm and yanked her back towards the little cottage with more force than she looked like she possessed. But it was a fealty to this family, that caused her to follow her mother without objection.

Instead of going through to the front door, her mother darted to the side of the house, her hand like a bear’s trap on Charlotte’s bicep as they entered the barn. The purple flames were smoldering in the middle, and a cry bubbled up Charlotte’s throat when she saw her Cora slumped on the ground with blood running down her chin.

“No time for that now. You must help me.”

“No, please, there must be another way. We need to save Cora.” Charlotte’s tears slowed as they started to freeze on her wind-rashed cheeks.

“If you hadn’t gone looking for help, maybe you could have saved your sister from the fate was dealt. Now help me with your father, I won’t lose him again.”

Charlotte had heard the story many times before; Her mother was young and still pregnant with Charlotte when she was trying out a new hex and her father walked in with wood piled high in his large arms. The hex backfired and her father was dead for minutes. That was the first time Martha crossed the line and called on the Devil for her magic. Since then, her aura has been tainted with darkness and her mind slowly fractured into tiny shards. Her reality was chaos and Charlotte could no longer tell if her mother could tell the difference between fable or fact.

Mother would always say, “Nothing is true. Everything is permitted, not even you Charlotte, are true,” as if to reassure herself that she hadn’t gone too far and she could still save herself from the devil’s magic. To Martha, Charlotte was part of this reality that the devil created for her, and her daughters were gifts given to be used as tools.

Charlotte glanced one more time at her beautiful sister and vowed to find a way to save her after she dealt with their mother.

Moments later they were standing over the fire, their energy focused on Papa’s unconscious form. They melded minds, Charlotte a bit unwilling, and began to chant together. Her mother was the lead sorceress in the chant.

Oh Dark One join us

In union this very night.

Grant this heart a second life

And do not curse the weak

For the misgivings of my

offspring.

You who have been caste down to the earth

To do your magnificent work.

Revive this heart once more

And I will be your servant

Forever.

While Martha Jakobs chanted her prayerful spell, her daughter was humming a different tune underneath. She was calling for a different savior to give her the power necessary to do what needed to be done.

*

The next morning Cora sat at the table eating breakfast while Charlotte was humming a spell of safety and washing the dishes. In the distance, out back, she could hear wood being split with the sharp edge of an ax. And if anyone were to ask, Martha Jakob’s body was out behind the barn deep in the dark pine woods.

The family was saved, Papa was clear headed, and Charlotte was the protector of the family. Nothing would ever get between her and who she loved again.

Cora spoke then, “Charlie, you look nothing like Mother. Your beauty is far more.”

Charlotte smiled at Cora’s endearing name for her and turned to glance over her shoulder. “Thank you, sister.” Charlotte’s voice was more worn like she had already used up it’s clearity and youth. Her hair was still in a long braid, but it had faded to white, and her hands were now of an older woman’s. But her eyes were still just as radiant and golden.

And all that mattered was the sweet girl eating breakfast at the table.