Part 2: Chapter 19
Sunday morning. Halloween had finally and fully arrived for Thankful. She awoke to a house full of impatience, anticipation and pent up emotions. It was hard to believe this holiday without Daddy, she thought, but Mom said they needed to move on with their lives because “that’s the way your father would have wanted it anyway.” Still Thankful felt like a big cloud hung over her; that there was a heavy feeling that dulled her senses to what had once been an awesome holiday for the whole family. Church might help. The young girl remained blue without her daddy.
Once dinner was over, Thankful followed her brothers around the cul-de-sac and then to a few other nearby houses. Oona and KC stayed home to tend to the neighbors’ trick-or-treaters and Stinkly went along with the kids. Once they returned home, the three spread out and sorted, counted, and organized their booty. All in all the kids made quite a haul. They traded some candy among themselves and when they were done, the long holiday’s fun and frights finally descended full bore upon them. First they retired to the study to watch some TV, and a short time later they were all in their beds.
After all, it was Sunday and a school night.
KC grew very sad around this All Souls’ Day without her husband of twenty years. She retired to her own bed. Three weeks since Drew’s death and barely a week since his service.
Once everything settled down, Oona took her leave and headed into Boston.
It grew very late on Halloween and was close to midnight. Thankful knew Oona was at a party in Boston and would probably be gone all night. Nonetheless she knew she had to move now. The Festival of the Dead approached. A silent voice guided her. It spoke of the New Year of the Spirits. The girl was invigorated. And in a similar, silent voice Thankful called this moment Samhain, a sacred time that marked the colder half of the year – the darker half – more favorable for witches and warlocks and others like her. The child-witch processed downstairs, sure now she would conjure up that silly little key. She was certain that this time she would open that box where the book slept. Thankful was sure in her five year old mind that the book was something of Oona’s which gave her nanny great powers to practice even the craftiest Arts.
Unafraid, the young girl passed through unlocked French doors and directly into Oona’s bed chamber. She set her mind first on Pi Gran Liv and as she visualized it safe and secure in its resting place, then turned her mind to the key and slowly scanned the room around her. She hungered to have that book in her hands, and could see it quite clearly now, but nowhere could she see or sense to key to the cedar chest. No doubt Oona was smart enough to place such a precious object out of plain sight or access. She must have it with her. Thankful tried again and again and, finally, believed the key was nowhere nearby.
And who would conjure me so?
Thankful took a seat at the corner of Oona’s bed. She’d be careful not to mess up the bed and waited patiently. Then she heard the same guiding voice. Like a melody, the voice was one of a young woman, strangely and beautifully accented, outdated, and still clearly understood by her.
Novembers’ Eve link present and past: Bring two sewing needles the length of your longest finger. Quickly! Go. Slender wires will serve in place thereof.
Thankful rushed upstairs, first to the kitchen, to find what was requested of her. It was nearly eleven-thirty at night. The young girl stressed. Midnight is only a half hour away!
The child-witch returned a few minutes later with two bobby pins. It was the best she could do in such short time and she hoped they’d help the lady with the beautiful voice. Thankful had served a well-intended purpose! This was more than just her feelings of warmth and friendship; a real reason to believe that the lady with the voice was real. Unseen hands now guided her to break one bobby pin in half. This Thankful did. Then she shaped one half into a letter “L” and the other half into a “U.” Calmly she moved the “L” shaped pin into the bottom of the cedar chest’s lock. Then the “U” shape pin was placed into the top. The five year-old meticulously moved the pins about the inside of the lock. And she listened and felt. She fully expected something would happen.
Not working; not working.
Then the lock finally came undone. The lovely voice matched the sweet caramel color of the young woman who Thankful saw now clearly in her mind; a woman who lived in a time long ago.
The Dark Witch Lucia went to damnation to spend eternity with the devil and his power who would crush and keep her in hell forever, and from there she should never return. Then from the depths of despair and total darkness, Lucia knew her guiding voice was heard by the young maid who, in the name of the devil, would use the occasion of November Eve, when all spells worked when performed in his name, to pull her from the grave.
The time fast approached for Lucia to enter into the living, breathing world. The young girl’s blood bonds and determination were sound. And the Dark Witch played with the portals of time and space, of good and evil, and used the hands of the child-witch, with the key that opened the door to a world which, when last she walked upon its face, the Province of Massachusetts Bay was a thriving trading center for the inhumanity of slavery. She herself was born a slave in the year 1666.
The sound of the opened lock opened Lucia’s eyes to the blackness around her. By the powers of the Great Book and a certain spell cast more than three centuries ago, Lucia would finally be freed and live once again. The much-coveted book, the veritable witches’ Bible, would bring her back to the material world – the world of the living – in substance and in form. The Great Book was finally found, or better to say, the Great Book had finally found her: Lucia, Satan’s helper, Grand Mistress of Witches; necromancer, high priestess, sorceress, charmer-Magician.
And Lucia asked the child-witch, “And who is the mighty witch whose mind is muddied by me and the consequences of her own choices? This one who keeps the Great Book of Spells and Magic, wholly unguarded, surrounded by sundry vows of useless secrecy to keep its cosmic magic to herself?”