Witch Island Read online

  “Make that two rings,” the sheriff said, holding his hand out for them to see. He slid the ring off and tossed it to Gwen.

  “What about you?” Gwen asked. “Don’t you need it?”

  “I’ve feared this bitch for a very long time. Let my son down. Got him killed. If it wasn’t the witch, it would’ve been something else, but since it was her, she’s got to pay. Now I have a chance to make this right and avenge my son’s death.” The sheriff removed his gun belt and tossed it away, then spoke to a stunned Jim and Gwen.

  “Listen closely,” he said. “I’m going to call her and allow her to possess me. I’m the only one left on the island besides you two, and you both have rings. She wants off of this island, so she’s going to come. You two will be safe from her control as long as you have those rings on, but she can still hurt you by using me.” The sheriff held up his arms, indicating he was unarmed. “Hence why I got rid of the gun belt, got it?”

  They both nodded, and the sheriff continued.

  “She won’t want to, but she’ll have to deal with the both of you, as you’re the only ones preventing her from leaving the island.” He held up his finger to emphasize his next point and shook his head. “Don’t touch her with the ring unless you absolutely have to, like if your life is in danger. All you’ll do is exorcise her, and then we’ll have to do this all over again.”

  “We got it, Sheriff,” Jim said, “but what’s your part in all this?”

  He pulled a small flask from his pocket, unscrewed the top and took a long swig, then put it back. “I’m going to die.”

  Silence filled the air for a moment. There were no bullfrog calls or chirping crickets, simply nothing but still air. A warm breeze swept through the area. Jim flinched, thinking it was the witch, then realized it was nothing. His mouth had gone dry, and he wished he had a bottle of water.

  “Come again?” Gwen said.

  “Jim, you’re going to take that machete and cut off my head.”

  Jim’s mouth hung open and the machete nearly slipped from his grip. “I’m not killing you, Sheriff.”

  “Yeah, that’s crazy,” Gwen said.

  The sheriff stepped up to him and grabbed him by the collar. “You will or I’m going to wind up slaughtering your girl here, then you. She’ll want you to watch, to suffer. You’re an original of the town. She’ll do it without a second’s hesitation, so make sure you get me before I get you.” He let go of Jim and stepped back. “It’s the only way to trap her.”

  “Trap her?” Jim asked, feeling weak in the knees.

  “This is nuts,” Gwen said, pacing. “We can’t kill the sheriff. There has to be another way.”

  “Damn it,” the sheriff said, harshly. “There’s no time for this shit. You don’t do this, and she escapes, she’ll kill a lot more people. Hell, she’ll wipe out the entire town, then move on from there to the next for all I know. I’m done with this world, you hear me? And the witch needs to be stopped.”

  “There’s got to be another way,” Gwen said.

  The sheriff shook his head. He looked defeated. “There isn’t, and if there is, I sure as hell don’t know it.” He paused, then looked Jim in the eyes. “Are you with me?”

  Jim nodded. “We’re both with you, Sheriff, don’t worry.”

  “Good, because she might be here any minute and I need you to be ready.”

  Gwen stopped pacing. “Fuck it. Whatever. You want to die, then so be it. Go on, what do we have to do?”

  “Once I’m possessed, you’ll have to cut off my head. My soul will be released, and the body will be a temporary prison, but not for long. You’ll need to move fast. She’s killed recently, which means she’s powerful. She’ll break free eventually, but you should have time to complete the task.”

  “You’ll then put one of the rings inside my mouth and leave it there, this will severely weaken her and keep her imprisoned, but make sure you place the ring inside without touching the outside flesh or you’ll expel her.”

  “How do you know this will work?” Gwen asked. “I mean you could be wrong, right?”

  “Nothing’s for certain, but this is what I’ve been told. As a boy, I took the tales as truth, memorized them.”

  “Why wasn’t this done before?” Jim asked.

  “My guess—no one wanted to volunteer to dig her up, let alone have their head removed. The witch was supposedly imprisoned, and no one really came out here.” The sheriff reached out and grabbed them both. His face was a scowl. “Are you ready to do this? There can’t be any hesitation. Get mean and nasty if you have to.” He shoved them.

  Gwen started to cry.

  “Jim hugged her, then said, “We’ll do it. Just call the bitch.”

  The sheriff took a few steps back, then called out, “Margaret Rivers, come to me! I’m here for the taking. You cannot resist my flesh. I am the great grandson of your executioner. An original member of the community that murdered you, and I’m your only way off the island. He held out his arms, inviting her, and continued to call to her.

  Jim stood ready. The machete was gripped tightly in his hand. His heart was pounding, skin lined with a cold sweat.

  He stared at the sheriff, imagining how it would go down. He told himself over and over that he could do it—cut off the man’s head. He wouldn’t be murdering someone. He would be saving a town, and doing right by the man he was about to behead.

  He removed himself from the situation, and made himself the star of a movie, where good must overcome evil. It wasn’t going to be easy, nor pretty, but then again, fighting evil never was. In the end, everything would work out. He was an action hero trapped in a horror movie.

  Of course, those types of characters were made out to be tough, and the moviegoer never got to see what happened after the film was over—like if the hero became permanently screwed up in the head or went and saw a shrink for the rest of his life because the character was haunted by what he had done.

  Thinking about what he was going to have to do, Jim imagined that he would probably need to see someone, but how the hell would he go about explaining it? He couldn’t. The whole island mess needed to be a secret or he and Gwen would have some really difficult things to explain. Come to think of it—how would they explain it all?

  Damn it, he was thinking too much. Thinking at a time like this might cause him to hesitate, which might get them all killed. He could not afford a misstep.

  The witch was pure evil. She had killed his friends, people he loved and cared about. People whose families would miss them, want answers to their deaths. But would there be any bodies to discover? He’d seen what happened to Shay, the vines sucking the life from her, dissolving her. Having no bodies lying around might be a good thing. The families would never get true peace, would want to know what happened to their loved ones, but at least he and Gwen would have an easier time with the authorities.

  Jim cleared his head. He couldn’t worry about all that now. First things first. He focused on the sheriff, who was still himself. Jim started to worry that the witch wouldn’t come, but then the sheriff’s body stiffened.

  “She’s here,” he said.

  Jim’s body tensed. He raised the machete, waited. Gwen squeezed his other arm, and he ushered her behind him. “Don’t look, Gwen.”

  The sheriff’s face contorted. He was clearly in pain. “She’s strong…so much heat, pain…” The man bent over, then jerked upright. His arms spasmed. He was fighting her. “She’s almost got me completely… Do it now.”

  Jim brought the machete back. He didn’t move. Shit, he was hesitating.

  “Can’t…hold her much…” the sheriff said.

  “Do it!” Gwen shouted. “Cut his fucking head off!”

  She sounded like a crazed madwoman, but it was just what Jim needed to break his frozen state. He cried out, all his focus on the sheriff. He rushed forward, ready to swing the weapon and sever the man’s head from his body.

  He heard a new voice. Someone else was on th
e island. They were shouting something, but he couldn’t make it out. He was concentrating too much on the task at hand. No matter what, he couldn’t stop. He had to see this through. Hesitation would be his downfall. Then, like a delayed reaction, he thought he heard what the voice had said—“Freeze, police.”

  That couldn’t be right, he thought. The only cop on the island was the sheriff. He didn’t see the man moving his lips to say such a thing. It must be the witch. She was messing with him, trying to get him to stop. Fuck that, he was going full steam ahead, ending the bitch.

  Then Jim felt immense pressure in his chest, as if he’d run into a brick wall. His forward progress was halted, and he was shoved backward by a powerful force. His feet flew out from under him. The breath was gone from his lungs. He crashed to the ground.

  Jim couldn’t move. He coughed up blood, the coppery-tasting fluid filling his palate. Something had gone terribly wrong. Pain was now radiating through him. He wanted to get up, but it felt like a car had been dropped on him.

  Maybe the witch had done something, gotten through the ring’s defense. Was she inside him? He didn’t feel the heat like Darren and Melinda had. In fact, he felt the opposite—cold. It was summer, and warm out. So why did it feel like air-conditioning?

  Staring up at the night sky, he saw a face come into view. It was one of the sheriff’s deputies. Jim’s mind sorted through the possibilities of what had gone wrong, and then he knew. He’d been shot. He didn’t know how badly, but it was sure getting colder by the second. He hoped Gwen was okay.

  And then he knew no more.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Gwen heard the cop’s voice before he came into view. She turned and saw not one, but two deputies. Both had their guns drawn and pointed at Jim. They seemed to have come out of nowhere, like wraiths from the darkness.

  Jim didn’t stop. He kept charging toward the sheriff. She had no idea if he had heard them or not, but he was going to finish the job. They were going to protect their boss. She screamed at Jim to stop.

  The sound of gunfire erupted. Muzzle flashes lit the area like bolts of lightning. Jim’s shirt fluttered. His body jerked with each bullet. Red flowers bloomed across his chest, and then he fell backward.

  Gwen ran toward him, but one of the cops jumped in her way and pointed his gun at her. He ordered her to get down. Her mind quickly computed the results of her not listening, and she hit the ground.

  She craned her neck and saw the other cop approach Jim. She felt a knee in her back as the officer pinned her down and cuffed her. “Help him, please,” she cried.

  Jim wasn’t moving. She called to him, but he just lay there. His head turned a little and she saw the vacant look in his eyes, and knew he was dead.

  No, it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. They had a plan. The sheriff was supposed to die. Gwen stiffened when she saw the sheriff talking to the deputy who had shot Jim. No, not the sheriff, the witch!

  Gwen scrambled to her feet, knocked into the deputy at her side, and took off at a run for the sheriff. Pure rage had taken over. The man needed to die. She didn’t make it more than a few feet before the deputy tackled her. With a clunk to her head, she was knocked out.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Gwen sat in the worn leather chair of the common room, staring out one of the mesh-covered windows of the Hill-Mead Psychiatric Hospital. The property was garden-like on the outside, with a neatly trimmed lawn and beautiful maple and oak trees. A cobblestone walkway wound around the yard, wooden plank benches set along it. Gwen focused on nothing in particular.

  A game show blared from the television that hung in the far corner of the common room. The large hall was filled with tables and chairs, where patients could sit and draw or play board games or drool.

  The monotonous sound of a ping-pong ball bouncing back and forth echoed in Gwen’s ears as people played. She wished she could stuff cotton in her ears or go over to the television and turn the volume way up, but the thing was locked in a mesh cage. Burly-looking guards in white uniforms stood by the main doors, keeping a watchful eye on the patients of the hospital.

  Gwen had been here for a little over two months. She was first bound to a bed, given a high dose of tranquilizers and other drugs to keep her stable and quiet. Eventually, she was allowed to have a room and joined the more stable residents, the ones she was around now.

  Gwen closed her eyes, feeling the sun’s warmth on her face. She was wearing a thin, white gown with bra and panties underneath. Tan slippers covered her feet. She was quite comfortable physically, but emotionally she was a wreck. She knew what had happened on the island, but of course no one believed her. Because of her state of mind, her ramblings about a witch, her lunatic-like state, the judge had ordered her to the psychiatric hospital until it could be determined that she was able to stand trial for her part in the disappearances of her friends—the bodies never found—and her part in the attempted murder of Sheriff Montgomery.

  No one had listened to her, writing her off as a druggie, but when no narcotics were found in her system, she was deemed unstable. She and Jim had killed their friends and hidden their bodies. She was questioned for hours initially, but her story remained the same—that the witch had killed them all and absorbed their bodies.

  Gwen still couldn’t believe this had all happened, and on some level, was waiting to wake from the nightmare. The drugs she was currently taking helped with keeping her calm. Her head was a little foggy at times, but she welcomed the whole experience. She was trapped where she was, unable to leave. And depending on what happened when she was fit to stand trial, she might never see the outside world again. Her lawyer told her that they had no bodies, which was a good thing. Fucking lawyers, she had thought.

  “Gwen?” a tender voice said from behind her, breaking her from her thoughts. She turned and saw the nurse, with her pushcart of goodies, coming toward her. “Time for your meds.” She held out a small, clear plastic cup filled with blue, green and red pills of varying shapes and sizes. They looked so pretty.

  The plump woman held out the cup for Gwen to take.

  Gwen reached out, and took the pills, wanting them, for they made her troubles seem much less upsetting. A news report came over the television. She paused as the plastic rim of the cup touched her bottom lip.

  It was being reported that a number of Salisbury Mills residents had been found murdered, shot to death. Others were missing from their homes. Sheriff Frank Montgomery’s body was found in one of the houses, dead from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. It was being speculated that he was involved in the murders.

  Gwen stared at the television screen, mouth agape. Her heart pounded, her adrenaline overpowering the meds she’d taken two hours earlier, still coursing through her system. She lowered her hand that was holding the cup of pills and two spilled out and bounced across the cold tile floor.

  “Dear,” the nurse said, “you dropped your pills.” She huffed, and looked to see what Gwen was staring at, then waved a hand in front of Gwen’s face. “Hello?”

  Gwen ignored her and glanced down at the cup in her hand. She shook her head, cringed, then tossed the cup away.

  The nurse scowled, putting her hands on her hips and said, “That wasn’t very nice, now was it?”

  Gwen sprang from her seated position and shoved the woman aside. “I was right,” she shouted, pointing at the television. “You see? I was fucking right! It was the witch! She killed them all. She’s real, as real as you and me!” Gwen ran around the room, twirling with glee, shouting over and over that she was right, and that the witch was real.

  She kicked over tables and chairs, trays with food and medication on them. Along with the two men guarding the doors, more entered, and quickly brought Gwen to a stop. She kicked and screamed, demanding she be let free. She was right and they were wrong, and they looked more foolish than ever.

  But all Gwen received was a needle in the arm.

  Gwen came to in a small, padd
ed white room. She knew the place well, having spent time here when she first arrived and her meds were still getting sorted out. The rubber room, as some called it. Her arms were tightly strapped in and wrapped around her mid-section, courtesy of the straightjacket she was wearing. Regardless, she was able to sit up and lean against the cushiony wall. She’d spent hours struggling against the binds when she had first been introduced to the jacket, now realizing it was useless to do so. She hated the thing, but didn’t mind the room so much. If only they’d thrown her inside it without the jacket. As a kid, she would have loved the place, and bounced around endlessly in it until she was tired and fell asleep.

  Sitting against the wall, she grinned. The room was bright, quiet and peaceful, but more than that, everyone would have to believe her now. She had told them the sheriff was possessed. They’d say he had simply gone off the deep end, flipped out. That’s what they’d say, but in the back of their minds, they’d hear Gwen’s words, remember the legend and wonder if it was true. “Maybe that crazy girl was right,” they’d say.

  Now, they’d want to talk to her about the island. They’d come to her for help, and listen to her story, as she had wanted to tell it. She would like to tell them to go screw themselves, and give them the finger, but she wouldn’t do any of that, at least not initially. Because more than rubbing it in their faces, she wanted to leave this hellhole and be free, so she saw herself cooperating fully.

  The door to the room opened, and Doctor Goldman entered. He was a thin man, with circular spectacles and graying hair.

  “Hello, Gwen,” he said, and shut the door behind him. He stared at her for a moment, smiling, but it wasn’t a kind expression.

  Gwen felt her skin crawl. She’d had numerous visitations with the man since her arrival, and had always felt fine. So why was her internal warning system going off? She was anxious. There was something odd about the way the man was looking at her, almost predatory. He tilted his head like a dog watching its owner cook up a steak.