“What the hell!” exclaimed Seth.
“Exactly,” agreed Pound. “Isn’t that the church we’re supposed to enter?”
“Yes, it is,” said Dr. Tatum as she swallowed down her fear. “It’s too late to turn back now. Besides, if I didn’t know better, I would say that we were expected.”
“That you are,” came a wretched voice from behind. Startled, they all turned to see another such lady, a twin to the first, blocking the path behind. “We’ve been waiting for you,” she confirmed as she drew an ebony blade with one hand from a sheath strapped to her back. With the other hand she sent out a hex in the form of a black cloud that enveloped them in the grip of a tight fitting glove. Each member of the team froze in place as if time had stopped, and with the knife held firmly in her grip, the witch floated over to the paralyzed lineup of agents and firmly pressed the ebony blade once into the forearms of Pound, Seth, Sherry, and Dr. Tatum. The blade did not break the skin of any of the four, yet each felt as if something had been taken from within them. When she arrived at Phil, she stroked his cheek with one of her long fingernails and blew him a kiss. The witch then turned and walked along the fog-covered brick pavers to the nearest maple tree. She proceeded to carve an ‘X’ into the smooth surface of the bark which began to smoke with the burn of evil. She repeated this ritual on the next three trees before waving her arms in a final incantation upon the four elder shade trees.
Unable to move or even to speak, the team watched as the bark rippled and cracked, the lower limbs tensed and shook as the tree roots shot out of the ground beneath the maples. One by one the bewitched trees stood bark-to-face with Sherry, Seth, Pound, and Dr. Tatum, and the bark of each of the trees shimmered to form a reflection of an agent. The wooden faces stared back into their eyes with haunting tales of despair. At the witch’s command, the trees stomped off, each in a different direction and heading for dissimilar parts of the city. The havoc they would wreak was written in their bark, and each would commit destruction with the face of an agent of the DAM.
Pound, who most of all empathized with the pain experienced by the trees, was filled with anger at the botanical abominations that had been cursed for destructive purposes. Although he could not move his body, the witches could not prevent him from free thought, and he reached out to the other trees that he could sense in the nearby cemetery. These trees were juniper and willow trees, trees which were gnarled and bent from the sadness and melancholy of the many funerals of the countless men and women who had passed peacefully from one life to the next over the numerous decades. Their sap became infused with human attributes by the remerging of life with the earth, a process that had occurred all too frequently in this particular graveyard. This recombination gave human attributes to the wood, and understanding and comprehension flowed throughout the limbs and branches. Pound requested their help, and he waited patiently alongside his friends for their response.
“Sister, which of the rebels shall we take back with us to the other side?” said one twin hag to the other as she strolled by the paralyzed group and examined each with a piercing gaze. She passed by Phil, ignoring him completely, and stopped to stare into Sherry’s eyes. Sherry met the stare with a stern eye. “I know you, my pet,” she growled at the young lady.
Inside a fire burned within Sherry, and though she could not move her feet and hands, she managed to close her eyelids. When her lids rose again, her eyes saw a very different sight than they had before. One second, two evil witches were standing guard before her, and at the blink of an eye, two sad little girls were lost and crying deep in a forest. They were abandoned, cold, and hungry, and darkness had settled in to fill the void within their souls as time passed quickly by in the woods.
When they had reached adolescence, the sisters showed signs of dominance and resilience in the wild, and the ragged trees of the deep forest bowed to their whims. Dark secrets of ages past were whispered between the girls and the forest, and soon they were marked with the disease of neglect. The hatred of all human civilization settled within their bones, and they stole whatever they liked under the cover of night. As the marching torches of the self-righteous witch hunters burned the wicked forest to the ground, the sisters were smoked out into the open, very much like angry hornets driven from their hive. The wickedness of the sisters was brought to an end, and they paid the ultimate price for their deeds at the hands of the hunters, as all such mortals surely do.
With the next blink, the images from the past faded, and the two malignant and tumorous spirits of the deceased sisters once again faced Sherry and the others. Unfortunately for Sherry, they had taken notice of her blinking.
“Sister,” said one to the other. “I sense that this is the one we have been looking for.” Holding out a crooked finger and resting it on Sherry’s cheek, the witch shuddered for an instant, and as if she were burned by a holy fire, she quickly withdrew her scorched hand.
“Oh yes, ‘tis the one,” said the other from behind. “Discovered so quickly? The master will be pleased.” Sherry felt a sharp point stab her in the spine, followed by a painful twist that made her wince but still did not break her skin.
Though she knew that they had some vindictive purpose planned for her, Sherry still felt compassion for these two lost souls. In the instant before the sisters could weave a transportation spell, Sherry’s arms and legs were miraculously freed from their enchantment. Sherry whirled around, and with her good arm, she snatched the object that had been agonizingly sticking in her spine only to find that it was indeed a wand. The witch screamed in fury and lunged at Sherry as she held the wand in her grasp, fighting tooth and nail for possession of the wooden implement.
Then something happened that no one could have expected. As they rolled on the ground in the thick fog struggling with one another, the witch pinned Sherry to the pavers with her knees and forced her to release the wand. The witch grabbed the magical item and raised the recovered wand above her head in an incantation, and the wooden tip sparked at her command. Suddenly a giant leafed limb wrapped around the witch’s arm and threw her across the street into her sister, knocking both of the witches into the dense fog. A great willow tree loomed over Sherry, and its branched arms slowly bent down to gently lift her from the ground to her feet where she stood beside her friends. They had all been released from the spell and could move freely. Without hesitation, Dr. Tatum pressed Sherry, and they ran up the steps to the front door of the church. Pulling on the handle, they found the doors locked.
“What now!” panicked Sherry.
“There!” exclaimed Dr. Tatum as she pointed to a metal trash can in the corner of the porch.
“The keys are in the trash?” asked Sherry, confused and not realizing what Dr. Tatum was seeing.
“No, silly,” answered Dr. Tatum as she lifted the trash can and launched it through the stain glass window. Fragments of yellow, red, and blue coated the floor of the foyer as Dr. Tatum and Sherry Lance climbed through the window into the dimly lit sanctuary. With a glint in her eye, Dr. Tatum rushed to the front of the altar where she stood for a moment in wonder. Just behind the pulpit and draped around the rugged cross, the Quilt of Blessings lay undisturbed by the storm that raged outside.
“Is that what we came here to borrow?” asked Sherry.
“That’s it,” replied Dr. Tatum. “It seems a shame we have to remove such a delicate antiquity.” Dr. Tatum inched closer to the front pew of the sanctuary, and she bowed down in silence for a moment before motioning for Sherry to join her. For the first time since she had known Dr. Tatum, Sherry detected a real sense of moral hesitation from the leader of the DAM.
“Now that we are here, I don’t feel that I should touch the Quilt, let alone take it,” whispered Dr. Tatum.
“I know,” agreed Sherry. “The colors . . . the patterns . . . the Quilt itself feels as if it has a life of its own, though I cannot believe that is the case,” agreed Sherry. Outside
they heard shouts from their friends, and they both knew that they could waver no longer. As the seconds passed, her skin began to prickle with goose bumps as she looked upon the fabric. If there was going to be a decisive move, Sherry had to make it.
“We must do something, I know. We must act quickly as it were. Yet there is some power that stays my movement,” said Dr. Tatum as she turned to gaze at Sherry. “I feel that I cannot touch the Quilt nor even hope to take it from the cross. It is blasphemy.” Dr. Tatum’s eyes had glazed over and become hollow as if she were in an induced state of sleep, and Sherry felt in her heart that if they were to be of any help to their friends, she would have to make the move soon. One foot at a time she stepped closer, ever closer, to the altar, past the pulpit, and then finally she stood alone at the cross mounted on the back wall. With her eyes shut she reached out her hand to touch the fabric, and when her fingers first felt the ruffle of the Quilt, a surge of life pumped through her uninjured arm. Falling backward, she gripped the Quilt tightly in her fist. As she braced for the hard landing on the floor, the landing never came. She stood alone on the altar staring at the cross on the wall. Her hands were empty, Dr. Tatum had disappeared, and there was no Quilt on the rugged cross.
“The pain is gone,” Sherry thought to herself as she looked down at her arms, and the injuries that she had received in Durham had faded. As she ambled to the rear of the sanctuary, she wondered where Dr. Tatum had gone and why the stain glass window that had been broken was now intact.
“May I help you, my lady?” asked a voice behind her. Sherry spun around in surprise at the male voice to find a reverend garbed in drab black robes and wearing a white wig. He was standing at the altar with his hands folded together.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“My name is Minister Drakthos,” he replied as he walked down the center aisle toward her. “Is there anything that I can help you with?”
“No, no,” she blurted out. “I was just leaving.”
“Are you sure?”
“Oh, yes,” she answered as she tried to open the front door. Shaking it fiercely, it refused to budge.
“You are very familiar to me,” he added as he came closer. “Have we met before?”
“No!” she exclaimed still pulling on the handle to no avail. A firm hand lay on her shoulder, cold as ice and heavy as steel.
“Please, my lady. Do not open that door yet. I keep it locked during the day. The sunlight, you see, it burns my skin,” he said pulling his sleeve up to reveal the coal black charring of his forearm.
Closing her eyes, Sherry prayed once again and when she opened her eyes, Dr. Tatum was standing next to her, holding her arms. The Quilt of Blessings was once again in her grasp, as if she had never let go of it.
“What’s wrong, Sherry?” asked Dr. Tatum. “You can tell me.”
“Nothing,” she whispered as the pain returned to her arm once again. “Nothing,” she said again with a half-smile while tugging on the door handles. The church doors refused to open, and their only exit was through the shattered stain glass window. Before they could get to the window, footsteps sounded from the porch, crunching the broken glass, and a hand appeared on the window frame. Uncertain of who was there, Dr. Tatum and Sherry hid behind a pew and waited to see who would appear. The rays of daylight outlined the head and shoulders, and they instantly recognized Phil as he stood outside waiting.
“Phil!” called Dr. Tatum. “Come inside!”
“Doc, I think you should see what’s happening out here,” he replied and waved for them to follow.
“We found the Quilt,” said Dr. Tatum as she rushed for the window.
“Bring it with you,” he answered. They hurriedly handed the Quilt out the window to Phil and clambered through the busted glass, all the while being careful of the sharp edges. Once through the glass, they found that the witches had overtaken Seth and were now battling Pound. Riding the treetop of the great willow tree, Pound swayed to and fro with the onslaught of their combined hexes.
“Thank you,” said Phil as he held the bundled patchwork. “Now there is nothing to stop Drakthos’ return,” he added with a smirk as he folded the Quilt and stuffed it into a backpack.
“What do you mean?” asked Sherry in confusion. Phil slung the backpack over his shoulder and broke into a run through the fog. Sherry and Dr. Tatum watched as one of the evil sisters swooped down from the darkened sky, latched onto Phil’s upraised arm, and together they soared high into the sky. Their final destination appeared to be the peak of a nearby skyscraper.
“This just keeps getting stranger all the time,” Dr. Tatum voiced in despair.
“Doc! I think you better see this!” exclaimed Sherry.
When Dr. Tatum spun around to see what was wrong, it occurred to her for an instant that she should have accepted that quiet position with the military. The empty church that had been standing there seconds earlier was now ripped from its foundations, hovering ten feet in the air above the low lying fog. The stained glass windows squinted in anger, and the gaze of the church was focused downward on Dr. Tatum and Sherry. When the church bell rang, they knew that the service had started.
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Next Issue
Join our heroes at the DAM as they continue their adventure into the unknown! Bat Jackson resurfaces and faces a new threat! Crush is pursued on his quest to retrieve the Staff of Helios! Will they survive?!!!
About the Author
Christopher Carter is an engineer by day, and transforms into a writer and artist by night. He lives with his wife and two cats in central North Carolina.
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