Oct 10 - Antagonist's Backstory

The woods were the source of legend, rumor, and ghost stories, especially to the children who lived near it. Every summer, a group of teenagers would assemble in a clearing, called “The Witches’ Church,” and by a bonfire tell beer and pot fueled stories their parents and grandparents told them on cold October nights.

Jackson Lawrence III, Trey to all who knew him, found a spot on the grass nearest to the girl he had eyes for, a blonde named Katherine Mack. He met her when his family moved to town last year, and he had an immediate crush on her. He couldn’t say what first drew him to her, whether it was her deep, placid blue eyes or her warm, welcoming smile. Though new to the area – his parents purchased a small vegetable farm and orchard – he ingratiated himself into the school. A natural athlete, he became a starter on the football and baseball teams. This allowed him to be part of the “in crowd:” the jocks, cheerleaders, and whose family owned businesses.

Now that summer had arrived, Trey received an invitation to the season’s first beer bash. This would be his first time hearing the legends.

When seemingly everyone found a seat and a beer, an older teen stood. Trey knew this was the older brother of his team’s quarterback. Michael Randolph was another athlete who used an academic scholarship to attend the University of North Carolina at Charlotte then walk onto the school’s baseball team.

Randolph took a sip from his red plastic cup before speaking. “As most of you know, the Witches’ Church has been here since the 1700s when a coven of witches made a clearing and practiced their religion.” This comment sparked a few catcalls, whistles, and laughter. He looked at the newcomer and smiled. He nodded his head before continuing.

“Before dawn on July 11, before the dew has a chance to form, a mist appears in the center before slowly spreading to cover the entire area.”

“We know this,” someone on the other side of the fire said. Several others spoke their agreement. The college student raised his hand, causing the noise to end.

“I know, but we do have a few new people, and they might not.”

Trey looked away, an effort to hide his being one of those who don’t know the legend. His eyes caught Mack’s blues and his stomach filled with butterflies, his legs trembled slightly, causing him to thank God he was sitting and not standing. She noticed his gaze and smiled before she demurred away. He sighed like the love-struck teen he was and hoped no one heard him. He looked back to the fire and the speaker.

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” Randolph continued. “The entire clearing, the Church, is covered in a mist. Out of the mist ghostly specters appear, some dressed in dark hoods, some wearing clothing from the Revolutionary War, others dressed in gangster suits and flapper dresses. If you see this, you best run away before you’re noticed, or you’ll never be seen again.”

Trey looked around and heard no one comment, no one more their gaze from Randolph. He thought they were waiting for a new story.

“I know this is a fact. One of my great-aunts once came to the clearing on July 11, to test this. She told my grandmother, who begged her not to do it, but Aunt Peggy didn’t listen. She snuck out of the house a few hours before dawn and walked here.

“That was the last time grandma ever saw of her. She has told us all, all 15 of us grandkids never to test this. She doesn’t want to lose one of her babies.”

Trey snuck a peek at Katherine and saw her with a hand over her mouth. She believed the story. He returned his attention to Randolph who asked if anyone had another story to tell.

A young woman raised her hand. “Stand up and tell us,” Randolph said. She stood and began.



The fire began to die, the beer began to run out, and the crowd was thinning when Trey found Katherine alone. He walked up and sat. “Interesting stories,” he began.

“It’s what we have around here,” she answered without turning her head.

“Do you have any?”

She smirked and looked at him. “Of course I do. All the families who’ve been in this valley since the 1800s have at least one.”

“What’s yours?”

She shook her head. “I’ll tell you sometime later. I need to get home. I promised my mom I’d be back before dawn.”

Seizing an opportunity, he said, “You could tell me as I walk you home.”

She sighed heavily. Trey’s heart sank. She was going to blow him off.

Katherine shook her head and said, “No, I can’t. It’s too long of a story and the walk is short.” She stood and smiled. “But you can walk me home.”

He smiled broadly. “I can do that.”

*****

Jackson Lawrence III, Trey to all who knew him, never thought he would return to the Schoharie Valley, never dreamed that he would be back at the “Witches’ Church.” He left after graduating to pursue a degree in Engineering, but an elective class in American Legends ended that. He switched to dual majors in American History and Folklore, the chance to bring history and mythology to people greatly interested him.

He could have down his thesis on this place, should have done it, but decided against it. It would have meant remembering her, the girl he felt got away from him.

While back in town, he did make a few queries about her. Informed she was working at the State Museum since her graduation from SUNY, he smiled. He recently received and accepted a job offer from the State University of New York at Beverwyck to work in the American History department, specifically, to work with the state’s unofficial folklorist. This position would allow him to be 15 miles from her job, allow him to drive down and perhaps spark the relationship they never had in high school.

He looked at his watch: Dawn would be in a few hours. He hoped the legend was correct and a mist would develop in the middle of the clearing. Trey wanted to see the ghostly phantoms, wanted to believe in it.

The early morning was hot and humid, but suddenly he felt an Autumnal chill. Looking towards the center of the “Church,” he saw something strange. It was not a mist: A cloak-wearing person appeared.

“You seek the Witch?” the person asked.

Stunned, Trey did not know how to answer.

“Do you seek the Witch?” the specter repeated.

Summoning his strength, he answered. “Yes.”

The ghost lowered his hood. He saw a smile come to the apparition’s face. He blinked and it was next to him. Trey jumped.

“She will be pleased.” A human’s hand reached out and took the man’s elbow. “Come with me,” it said before both disappeared from the clearing and appeared deep within a cavern, in front of an iron door.

“No one can open this,” the phantom said. “But we can speak with her.”

Trey should have been terrified, should have been running away. Something inside of him, however, made him calm.

“Welcome,” a female voice spoke, echoed all around him, from a source he could not sense.

“The Mistress is here,” the specter said with pleasure.