Three Weird Sisters--Chapter 1

Chapter1-From Out of the Dark Storm



         The man drove slowly past the cranberry bogs. About an hour ago, he had driven past Boston, a place that he knew almost nothing about except that it was the home of the Red Sox, but now he was approaching Middleboro, a town that he knew even less about except that it was the home of two extremely important people. If anyone had asked him how he knew that these two particular people were in this particular town, he would have been hard-pressed to explain it, at least to anyone who did not know about witchcraft, but then he doubted that anyone would ask.

         He fiddled with the tuning knob on the radio surfing through something about the Red Sox, light jazz, some dance music, more about the Red Sox, until he finally found something that sounded interesting. It was strange, because the music actually sounded like Heavy Metal, but when he listened to it carefully, the singer was talking about Jesus dying on the cross for sins.

          Puzzled, he listened to the end of the song, when an obnoxious D.J. came on and identified the station as WCHI, New England's home of Christian Rock and Roll. He groaned, because he thought that "Christian Rock and Roll" was one of the biggest oxymorons in the English language.

          For some reason, thinking about this, made him think of the two people which he had come to Middleboro to find: The White One and The Black One.

          He wondered if the White One listened to WCHI. He highly doubted that the dark one did.

* * *

          In a driveway in Middleboro, a portable stereo was tuned to WCHI while a girl, fifteen years old, dribbled her basketball in front of her house. She was a tall girl for her age with blonde hair which she usually kept tied in a ponytail. On the porch of the house, another girl one year younger was not paying attention to her older sister. She was sitting in a folding chair with her feet up, and a copy of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare open on her lap. After studying the small print for a while, she stood up, and walked over to where her older sister was still shooting the basketball. She walked over so silently, that her older sister failed to notice her at first, and was a little bit startled when she sudddenly started to recite, "Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps by at its petty pace. . ."

          "Tracy," said the older one, "don't sneak up on people like that."

          "Life is but a poor player that struts and frets its hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot", Tracy paused and scrunched up her face. ¨It is a tale told by an idiot. . .Darn," she said breaking out of character.

         "That's great, Tracy. If you´re going to sneak up on people, at least have the decency to get your lines right."

          "Ha-ha, Amanda," said Tracy. "You should have that one printed on a t-shirt," but she smiled in spite of herself. "Aside from that, how was I?"

          "As obnoxious as ever," said Amanda. "Now do you mind? I need to get back to my game."

         "Don't call me obnoxious. This isn't as easy as it looks."

          "Who says you make it look easy? What do you see in that silly Shakespeare stuff anyway?"

          "Calling Shakespeare 'silly'? You'd better watch out. I might mistake you for Sheila."

          "Now that's an insult. For one thing, I'm taller than her." Both girls giggled.


          Tracy went back to the porch and picked up her book. She was about to try memorizing the passage from Macbeth again when she noticed the figure of a small girl in torn black jeans and a white shirt trying to sneak by into the house. "Hold it," she said. She turned to look at the scowling girl. She sniffed the girl's hair. "Sheila, have you been smoking?"

         At first, Sheila almost looked nervous, but then she seemed to consciously replace the nervous expression with an even angrier scowl. "What's it to you?" she sulked.

         "Good question," said Tracy. "Let's get another opinion. Hey Amanda!" she called. "Come over here for a minute."

          "What's up?" said Amanda.

          "Our little sister," said Tracy, "is slowly destroying her lungs. Do you think that we should be concerned?

          "Oh," said Amanda. "Tracy, you need to understand something about Sheila. She is a very sophisticated young woman who does not get worried about little things like lungs. So, we're just going to have to think of something that does worry her. Like, for example, if she keeps smoking, we just might have to tell her Mummy and Daddy."

         At that, a look of genuine alarm crossed Sheila's face, and she bolted into the house.

          "Nicely done," said Tracy.

         "Thanks." The two girls high-fived.

         Amanda looked at the sky. "You know," she said. "I think it might be going to rain."

         "Cool!" said Tracy.

          "Tracy, don't start that," said Amanda with a sigh. "When it rains, we should get inside."

          "Why?" asked Tracy philosophically.

         "So we don't get wet."

          "Explain," said Tracy. "I mean, you shower on a daily basis, an activity which cannot be done without getting wet. Furthermore, you are a strong swimmer, so you shouldn´t be afraid of drowning. Not to mention that you have been baptized. Why then, do you not want to get wet?"

          Amanda paused for a moment, as if trying to think of an answer. Finally, she let out a loud cry and sent a Karate punch to her sister's chest.

          "Ow!" said Tracy grabbing herself. "What was that for?"

         "Oh, I'm sorry," said Amanda with false sweetness. "I felt sure you could block that one."

          "Why is it," said Tracy, "that your judgement about such things always gets remarkably bad when you're about to lose an argument?"

          By now, the first drops were starting to fall. "Are you coming in or not?" asked Amanda. "If nothing else, there's the fact that Mom and Dad won't like you getting soaked in the rain anymore then they like Sheila smoking."

         Tracy put her finger in the air. "Now that is a decent argument. You might have tried making it before you sucker-punched me. But all the same, I think I'll take my chances."

          "All right," sighed Amanda grabbing her basketball and her radio, "but don't stay out too long." She went inside.

          Tracy smiled, stuck out her hand and felt the raindrops. When the rain started coming down even harder, she kicked off her sneakers and her socks, and dashed onto the front lawn. She let the rain stream down her hair, the back of her t-shirt and felt it splash between her toes. She felt very happy, but she couldn't help thinking that it would be more fun if she could drag one of her sisters out into this. Either one of them deserves it, she thought. Sheila needed someone to straighten her out, and Amanda was sweet, but sometimes she was just too, well "boring" was the wrong word. "Uncool" was more like it. Yes, Amanda was just a little too "uncool".

          Tracy was so lost in these thoughts that she almost didn't notice the gray Lincoln town car pull up on the opposite side of the street, and the man get out. He was not a particularly pleasant-looking person. He was skinny with a beard that was starting to turn gray. He was dressed in camouflage pants and a white T-shirt as if he wanted to be seen as some kind of soldier. When he first got out of the car, he extended his hand in Tracy's direction and stared as if he was somehow studying her.

         When Tracy saw him, she felt a mixture of embarrassment and apprehension, but being the friendly person that she was, she smiled nervously, and said, "Can I help you?"

          The man lowered his arm and smiled in a satisfied way. "Perhaps," he said with a Southern drawl. "I am looking for something."

          "Hmm," said Tracy, "Do you mean that you are looking for something like the bank or the Post Office or do you mean that you are looking for something like your wallet or your keys?"

          "I am looking for some people. People with great power."

          "Power?"

         "Yes, one has the power of the Creator. . ."

         Tracy was puzzled. "Happy Sweet Sixteen WDC!Do you mean God? If that's what you're after, you might want to go up the street. The Central Baptist Church is there and Pastor Rogers would like to talk to you. He's a real nice man."

         This caused the man to laugh in a nasty way. "God is not what I had in mind at all. And I certainly do not have any interest in talking to a Pastor. Although, he may hear from me, before I'm through." He paused and smiled. "Would you believe that you are the person that I´m talking about?"

          "Excuse me?"

          "I have trouble believing it myself," admitted the man, "but that appears to be the case. Foolish white witches!"

          "White witches?" said Tracy. "You're not even making sense now. This is Middleboro, not Salem. There are no witches around here."

          "But there will be soon enough."

          Before Tracy could think of an answer to that, the front door opened and Sheila came out. "What's going on out here?"

          The man immediately raised his hand and smiled. "There's the other one!" he cried triumphantly. "You are the one with the power to destroy."

          "Is he talking to me?" asked Sheila. Tracy shrugged.

          The man smiled again. "You'll have to pardon my manners. I am Private J.R. Beale, formerly of the United States Marines, but that is not important now. I am actually a witch if you believe in that sort of thing--and trust me, you will eventually--but right now I have a present for the one with the power to destroy."

         Sheila's ears perked up. "You do mean me."

         "She's not allowed to take presents from strangers," said Tracy and immediately realized her mistake. Pointing out something like that to Sheila was almost a surefire way to make her take the present.

         Sure enough, Sheila bolted across the street to the car without any thought for the rain. Beale leered at her and handed her a small brown parcel wrapped with string. "Do not open it now," he said. "In fact, you must never expose it to sunlight."

         "What is it?" asked Sheila. "A miniature vampire?"

         Beale laughed. "Not a bad guess, but wrong. Just take it inside and open it tonight after dark. You will find the instructions inside." He looked up at Tracy. "I'm afraid I do not have anything for you. White witches are not really my specialty, but maybe I can give you some. . .advice." He paused. "In the next few days, you will witness some extremely remarkable events. Do not involve yourself with them. If you do, the results will be very. . .how can I put this?. . .unhealthy both for yourself and the people around you. You see, you have the power to create, and while that is a great strength, it is not nearly as strong as the power to destroy."

          "Now, just a minute, Mr. Beale--," Tracy did not understand most of what this guy was talking about, but any implication that the power to create was weaker then the power to destroy so fundamentally opposed her beliefs that she had to say something.

          But before she could, Beale laughed. " Of course, I expected my advice to fall on deaf ears. Silly white witches. Never met one with any common sense." He turned back to Sheila. "Remember what I said about not exposing it to daylight." Then, he got into his car and drove off.

          Tracy and Sheila were both silent as they stepped back into the house. Tracy was too confused to know what to say. Then, Amanda, who had been sitting in the livingroom reading a magazine looked up and said, "What happened out there? Sheila, you're almost as soaked as Tracy."

          "Who's soaked?" called another familiar voice. Tracy gulped as she saw her mother coming up from the basement. "Not again," she said as she looked at the two girls with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. "How many times have I told you girls not to play in the rain like that?"

         "2,501?" asked Tracy.

          "I think it's more like 16,553,126," said Sheila in one of her more cheerful voices.

         "That'll do!" said Mother. "Upstairs both of you. I want you both changed by dinner."

         Tracy decided that it was time for a comeback. She gave a falsetto sigh, opened her arms and said, "I love you, Mommy," in her best sweet little girl voice.

         "Don't," said Mrs. Wake, when she realized what Tracy was up to. But by then, Tracy had already run up to her mother and given her a soaking wet bear hug.

         "That wasn't funny! Upstairs!"

         Then Mother noticed that Amanda was trying hard not to giggle. "Don't you have some homework to do?"

          "Homework is my life," said Amanda with a sigh.

          "Then, I suggest you start living."

          As Tracy and Sheila were heading upstairs. Tracy noticed that Sheila almost looked pleased. (She always seemed to like it when Tracy pulled stunts that annoyed their mother.) She dared to ask. "Could I see the present?"

         The question immediately brought the old Sheila back. "No way," she said. "Besides it's too early to open it."

          "Oh come on." Tracy grabbed the parcel from Sheila's hands.

         Immediately, she dropped it, because the minute she touched it, a painful feeling, almost like an electric shock passed through her body.

         "There," said Sheila. "You see that? You're not supposed to touch it." Then she picked it up from the floor without any effort and carried it to her room.