Wake the Witch

By TW Brown

May December Publications proudly presents: WAKE THE WITCH. Charity Anthology

Prepare to have a spell cast over you by this collection of bewitching tales; each one cast out by well-trained sorcerer or sorceress with a heart of gold. These charms and incantations were offered gratis as a spell of protection and assistance for people around the world suffering from tragedy and heartbreak. By reading this tome, you will be helping a stranger, a neighbor, or perhaps even yourself.

We thank each and every author that donated their stories for this charity anthology: Adam Millard, Bennie Newsome, Chantal Boudreau, CW LaSart, DA Chaney, David Landrum, Elizabeth Butler, Geoffery Crescent, Ken Goldman, Kristi Petersen Schoonover, Marius Dicomites, Mark Jones, Michael Frissore, Todd Brown and Walter Campbell

All author proceeds go to the Red Cross

• Language: English
• Publisher: May December Publications
• Release date: Jun 4, 2012
• ISBN: 9781936730940

Book preview

Wake the Witch

Edited by TW Brown

Cover Art and Design by Michael Rouse

Wake the Witch

©2012 May December Publications LLC

SMASHWORDS EDITION

The split-tree logo is a registered trademark of May December Publications LLC.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living, dead, or otherwise, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author or May December Publications LLC.

Introduction

May December Publications is proud to present to you this little anthology of witch-themed stories. It should be noted that everything you are holding was donated by the artists. None of the contributors to this anthology received so much as a contributor's copy for the work included in these pages. The reason is simple: we want every penny of proceeds to go to the Red Cross. 2011 was a year many would like to forget. From devastating floods, tornadoes, and earthquakes, to a tsunami that caused a nuclear event that will have lingering effects on the people of Japan.

It seems that every year there are terrible events in the news that kill and displace thousands. The sad truth is that the public consciousness only lasts for the few days that the images are on their television screens. Yet, for the victims of disaster, the story continues long after the cameras pack up and head for the next event. To that end, May December Publications wants to offer the proceeds from this anthology to the Red Cross in quarterly checks in the name of all who contributed. It may not be much, but as the saying goes, every little bit helps.

I urge you all to remember that the need for your help does not end simply because nobody is talking about the problem. Thank you for purchasing this book. You have unwittingly (or maybe wittingly) helped a person in need.

TW Brown

Editor, May December Publications

Dedication

Dedication: To the Red Cross and those who are ever in need of their services.

Contents

Vanity

Timmy and Ginny

Mercy Hathaway is a witch

Your Next Appointment

Wheather Girl

Homicidal Rage

360 Degrees

Trevor Talks

A Wise Womans Revenge

Born Again

Generational Curse

Of Cucumbers and Curses

Witching Well Hag

The Conduit

The Strange Case of Melinda Zumwiaiter

Vanity

By Chantal Boudreau

Pride does not wish to owe and vanity does not wish to pay. - François de la Rochefoucauld

Are you sure this is a good idea? Arlene said. The petite redheaded young woman moved nervously, her hand trembling slightly as she reached for her cigarettes. My parents would kill me if they knew that I was going anywhere near someone who practices voodoo. They don’t want me having anything to do with the occult.

Ellie, platinum blond and statuesque, shot her a smug look. Oh sure, and they’d be just peachy if someone let them know about your recent nude photo shoot, or about your latest tattoo. What your parents don’t know won’t hurt them. Besides, this is only fun and games—nothing serious.

Oh no, Marina corrected her, her chocolate-skinned hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. This is completely serious. Madame Carvery is the real deal—no joke. Her witchcraft can help us. I’ve gone to her before, when my mother was sick. The Madame worked her magic and my mother got better. It was costly, but it was worth every penny. It will be worth it this time, too. This will kick-start our careers, I guarantee it.

All three girls were aspiring models with ambitions for an acting career as well. Ellie had the most working for her, the tallest of the three and a classic beauty, but she had been just as unsuccessful as her two roommates so far. She had chosen the two carefully when looking for others to share her space and expenses. She did not want to be living with her direct competition. Marina had a dark, sensual, exotic look, a different style altogether, and Arlene was far too short for traditional modelling. She had been featured in the petite section of a catalogue, but other than that, she had her hopes pinned on acting. With the way things had been going, she was headed for the erotic film industry, despite having come from a good Christian family. Desperation sometimes trumps values.

Costly? Arlene squawked as she lit her cigarette with shaky fingers. I’m dead broke, Marina. I’ll be digging loose change out of the couch just to make rent this month. I can’t afford anything costly.

I’m not much better off, hun, Ellie insisted. I still have some money left from the car show, but it won’t last. She did not exactly have anything to fall back on either. The only things she owned of any value were a fairly new TV and her very expensive breast implants, a gift from a former doctor boyfriend. I’m hardly going to blow what’s left on some voodoo mumbo jumbo.

Ellie! Marina chided.

Marina worked as a waitress in an Ethiopian restaurant, and hunted for modelling jobs on the side, so she had some money to spare, but not much.

I keep telling you, this is legit. She’ll take credit for now. If her spell does work, and it will, you’ll have plenty of money to pay her. If it bombs, then you can stiff her for making false claims, right? So, why not take a chance on her.

Beggars can’t be choosers, Arlene coughed. I know Mom and Dad would have me crucified for this, but I’m running out of ideas, and prayer hasn’t worked.

You could try quitting the cigarettes, Ellie insisted, in her holier-than-thou voice. You want to talk about wasting money. You stink of smoke on the best of days, and it won’t be long before your skin starts paying for that bad habit. That will kill your modelling or acting career.

I need it for my nerves, which aren’t getting any better without a job. I’ll quit when things are looking up for me, and I can afford to go on the patch, the smaller young woman replied testily.

Ladies, we are almost at the Abitasyon, so please stop with the bickering. Madame Carvery will demand respect, and that means remaining silent. She does the talking—we listen, Marina said, as they approached the parking lot of the small building that the witch called home, business and church. She pulled in enthusiastically, and hopped out of the car. Her two roommates followed.

Stepping through the small weather-beaten wooden door was like stepping into an alternate universe. The air swam with the zesty aroma of Creole cooking, including a variety of heady spices. The space immediately inside the door was dimly lit and cluttered. The decor looked like something out of a seventies vintage store, although Ellie suspected that nobody had bothered renovating in decades.

In addition to the beaded curtains and macramé rugs, the walls were lined with shelves and candleholders. The flickering candlelight made the contents of the shelves appear quite ominous. There were eerie carved wooden masks, a variety of dolls, skulls and animal statuettes, a selection of feathers, teeth and claws, a series of pottery jars, and a few glass ones with odd-looking contents. Arlene’s nervousness instantly intensified, and she looked like she was about ready to jump out of her skin.

Marina, I don’t like this. I want to go, she said, chewing at her nails. Ellie snickered, mocking her discomfort and Marina shook her head.

If the Madame sees you leaving now, she will take it as an affront, Marina hissed, going to great effort to keep the volume of her voice low. I would not do anything to offend her if I were you. She believes strongly in seeking vengeance if she is wronged.

The beaded curtain rattled and a stout woman with coffee coloured skin shuffled through it. Her head was wrapped with vibrantly-coloured fabric, and her squat body was also swathed with a rainbow of shades. Madame Carvery bore a series of talismans and amulets draped around her neck. She stared at the three young women with bloodshot eyes, giving them all the once over before focussing on Marina.

Are these the girls you spoke of, cheri? The woman spoke with a thick breathy accent and a hint of a wheeze.

This is Arlene and Ellie, Marina confirmed. We’re all very excited about doing business with you.

You have explained how payment for my services works then? They understand that if they cannot pay my price now, they must pay what I demand in future, when success finds them?

Yes, Madame. Marina bowed her head.

And they know if they refuse to pay once they have benefitted from my craft, their lives will be forfeit—the Alè Moun Mouri?

The what? Arlene whispered, gripping Marina’s arm.

The Alè Moun Mouri—the life toll, Marina replied in a hushed voice. But that’s only if you won’t pay, and you both agreed that you would if her spells work. Souls are worth as much to her as money, and they’re easy enough for her to take if you renege on the agreement.

Ellie stifled a laugh behind her hand, always the sceptic. Madame Carvery eyed her with distaste.

They are willing to pay and accept your terms of credit, as am I, Marina assured the stout, dark woman. We really need your help…our careers are going nowhere. My friends are running out of money, and I don’t want to be a waitress for the rest of my life.

Then you must make a San Fè Sèman, a blood oath, Madame Carvery stated, as she started to pluck some of the items from the shelves that surrounded them. After which I must combine the components that I need, the Pwosperite, the Anvi and the Selèb tokens, with a hint of Akrèk to secure things and improve the blend. She glanced back at Ellie specifically when she said this. The blond woman gave her a dry look in return.

When the Creole witch disappeared through the beaded curtain with her gathered objects, Arlene dug her fingernails into Marina’s arm.

You didn’t say anything about life tolls or blood oaths, she hissed through clenched teeth. This was supposed to be a little charm, not some satanic ritual. I’m not staying. You’ll just have to apologize to the Madame for me.

The dark-skinned beauty’s face dropped and she snagged Arlene’s wrist before she could manage to escape.

If you stay, I’ll make up the difference in your rent this month. I know you don’t have enough. I really meant it when I said that you can’t leave now. It would create problems for all three of us. You were committed to this as soon as you walked through that door. It’s not satanic—it’s voodoo, and it has its roots in Christianity, so just stop your whining and loosen up a little.

Arlene scowled, trembling in Marina’s grasp.

Okay, as long as you promise to spot me on the rent, I’ll do this. But I won’t like it, and it better not take long. I need a smoke now more than ever.

The Creole witch thrust her head through the strands of crystalline beads.

Everything is all set for the ceremony. Join me in here, and we will begin.

The three young women shuffled into the back room, trying their best to avoid a myriad of obstacles resting on the floor in their path. Ellie almost knocked over a clay bowl, piled high with chickens" feet, and Arlene squealed.

The room beyond the curtain was mostly free of clutter. There was a small alter at the far end decorated with religious symbols and figurines, and bearing a container that looked like it had been constructed from bone and holding what looked suspiciously like bloodied animal entrails of some sort. Ellie wrinkled her nose in disgust and Arlene swallowed hard, her eyes wide.

There was a table laid out before them with a deep platter and four earthenware vessels containing the components that Madame Carvery had fetched from the other room. There was also an empty pewter goblet ornamented with skulls next to a very sharp-looking knife.

What’s that sound, Arlene murmured, cowering close to Ellie.

The statuesque blond woman listened attentively, and could barely make out the quiet clucking of a chicken. Possibly, the animal would be part of the ritual.

You don’t want to know, Ellie insisted.

Sit, Madame Carvery instructed, and once they were in the chairs, she began to chant. She snatched the goblet off of the table and left the room briefly. There was a loud panicky squawking sound coming from some unseen space, and then silence. Arlene cringed and shuddered, looking like she were close to a mental break-down. Marina shifted in her seat with anticipation. Ellie crossed her arms and rolled her eyes.

This is ridiculous, she sighed.

She did not believe in witchcraft and she would not have tagged along if she had had anything better to do. She was convinced that Madame Carvery’s spell would have no bearing on her future success.

The stout woman returned, goblet in hand. It was now filled with a viscous red liquid that had no doubt come from the noisy fowl. Arlene saw the crimson droplets rolling off of its rim and recoiled, her face a picture of revulsion. Madame Carvery placed it down on the table before them and handed Marina an odd pin, topped with a grinning death mask.

Lespri a Mò, she told the young woman who had organized this encounter. You must use it to prick your finger and add a drop of your blood to the cup, for the San Fè Sèman. The spirit will watch over the agreement, and take the Alè Moun Mouri, if required. Then Madame Carvery began to chant again.

Marina was hesitant at first, nor because she had any reservations about participating in the ritual, but because she disliked pain and seeing her own blood. Tensing, she closed her eyes and jabbed at her finger with the point. Blood began to well up from the pinprick immediately. Hissing from the sting, she passed the strange pin on to Ellie.

The blond girl was much more blasé about the whole affair and stuck herself without any apprehension, as Marina allowed the blood to drip off the end of her finger into the goblet. Ellie passed the pin to a very reluctant Arlene, who took it warily, and then the cynical young woman added her blood to the mix. Arlene stared at the pin, mortified.

I can’t do this, she said hoarsely. I faint at the sight of my own blood.

Lean into me while you do it. If you pass out, I’ll make sure it goes into the cup, her svelte roommate suggested.

Arlene’s hand shook violently as she made the first attempt, but the prod was half-hearted, without enough force to pierce the outer layer. On the second go, she was a little more firm, but barely managed to break skin. When the slightest hint of blood trickled from the wound, she proved that she had not been exaggerating; she went ghostly pale and limp against Ellie’s side.

Grumbling, Ellie propped the petite redhead up and held her drooping hand over the goblet, keeping it there until some of the slowly pooling blood dripped into the vessel.

It’s done, she told Madame Carvery. She gave Arlene a shake to try and revive her, once they had bandaged her finger. The smaller woman stirred and blinked groggily, remaining relaxed until she recognized where she was. At that point, she tensed immediately.

Madame Carvery’s chants intensified and were now accompanied by jerking gestures. She rolled her eyes back, clicking her tongue and convulsing gently. The display was bizarre enough to unnerve even an unbeliever like Ellie, who found herself gripping the table’s edge tightly with clenched fingers. Eventually, the stout women stood, shaking her hands and making loud guttural noises. She then steadied herself and placed each of the components into the platter. With a whispered incantation, she poured the blood over the works. There was a flash of flame, a cloud of smoke and when the haze cleared the platter lay empty.

No, Madame Carvery said. Now it is done.

She escorted the trio back to the door.

I will see you all in a few months, and be prepared to pay. Otherwise the Lespri a Mò will come to collect your soul, she warned.

They stepped out into the chilled night again, shivering, but not from the cold.

~*~*~

Ellie awoke to the sound of her phone ringing. She could ignore it, but nobody else would be there to answer it, at least not until her personal assistant made an appearance that morning. Marina had gone overseas, to work in Europe, in Milan, and Arlene had headed to California, but Ellie certainly did not need roommates any longer—at least, not for financial reasons. She now lived in a penthouse apartment by herself, a rather luxurious one, and she could afford every square inch of it.

Dammit!

She grabbed for the phone, still slightly hung over from the glitzy soiree she had been required to attend for PR purposes. The caller display did not show a number that she recognized, but her line was unlisted, and she worried it might be someone from the agency, trying to get in touch with her. She made an effort to hide her post-party malaise, clearing her throat as she flipped it open.

Hey, she said, suppressing a yawn.

It is time, a familiar accented voice stated. I demand payment now, Ms. Ellie. You have collected on my end of the agreement—you have prosperity, desirability and celebrity—now you must fulfill your end. Ms. Marina has already done so. I will have no need to call in the life toll with her. There’s just you...

Just me? Is this Madame Carvery? How did you get my number, you old hag? Did Marina give it to you? This is a restricted line, only for those in my inner circle. You shouldn’t be bothering me. I don’t owe you anything.

She had never believed that the witch’s spell was responsible for her success. Ellie was convinced that she had made it as a top-end model because of her great beauty, her ambition and an iron will. She gazed at her image in the mirror by the bed. She was stunning, even with no makeup, no styling and suffering from a hangover. Some crazy Creole woman had nothing to do with it. All she had needed was a break, and that would have come eventually with or without Madame Carvery’s influence. Then Ellie considered the second thing that the gold-digger had said.

You said Marina paid, but what about Arlene? Ellie demanded. If she didn’t pay, why do I have to?

Ms. Arlene chose a different path, before I came to collect. She made good on the deal in another way. I don’t think you would want to finish things like that, the old woman told her. I’m only going to offer you this once, Ms. Ellie. I am willing to accept ten percent of you earnings as a model going forward—a tithe to my church. Refuse and I will be forced to use a Nan Pope to send the Lespri a Mò to collect the alternate toll.

Ten percent? You greedy bitch! I’m not paying you one red cent, no matter how much you threaten me, Ellie yelled into the phone. I don’t believe in your voodoo mumbo jumbo and you aren’t going get anything from me. I earn everything I make because I’m beautiful; I work hard and people love me, and none of it is thanks to you. I don’t want to be associated in any way with some voodoo cultist. That would be career suicide. I don’t owe you anything!

The money would not go to me directly, Ms. Ellie. It will be going to help the people of Haiti, Madame Carvery explained. It would be a charitable donation and it would improve your image in the eyes of the public. It would actually benefit you. And you do owe me, Moun Sòt. You took the blood oath.

I won’t let you blackmail me! Ellie was now screaming into the phone, her heart pounding wildly and her hands shaking. If you try to come near me, I’ll have security on your fat black ass so fast that you won’t know what hit you. Better yet, I’ll bring my lawyers into this and I’ll sue you for stalking and harassment. No judge will recognize our agreement or your supposed services. You’d be laughed out of court. So go bother someone who gives a shit!

Suit yourself... Madame Carvery began, but Ellie did not allow the witch to finish. She hung up the phone abruptly, and then quickly call blocked her tormentor’s number.

After gathering her wits again, and steadying her trembling fingers, she dialled Marina’s number. It would be later in the day in Milan. Ellie held her breath until her former roommate answered.

Hey! Ellie! I was wondering when I might hear from you again.

Marina, your cultist friend called. She said that you agreed to meet her ridiculous demands. How could you do that? It’s extortion! Ellie exclaimed.

I couldn’t refuse, Ellie. We had a deal, sealed with our blood. It seemed like a small price to pay, considering how we benefitted, and I’d rather give her money that my soul. The money’s going to a good cause. Don’t tell me that you refused her price?

Ellie did not answer this question.

She said that Arlene chose a different path—that she had already collected from her. What did she mean by that?

Marina was dead quiet for a few seconds.

I would have thought that you would have heard by now. It’s all over the tabloids. She committed suicide, Ellie, after her last movie. It was a drug overdose, I wouldn’t have expected anything harsher from our little friend, but she left a note. It rambled on about the fact that she had already damned her soul and that the Devil was going to take her no matter what she did. It said that she couldn’t live with the guilt, and she ended with a lengthy apology to her parents. By killing herself, she paid the Alè Moun Mouri ahead of time. It’s ironic, but in taking her own life, she voluntarily gave up her soul to the spirit of death.

Ellie felt her eyes tear up and her stomach churn, and not just because of the nausea from her hangover. She had purposefully avoided the tabloids, since the trash mags usually cast a dark cloud over her day, and she preferred staying positive. She also had not kept up with the latest news via regular circuits because she had just completed a very demanding series of photo shoots, one tied to the marketing of the upcoming release of the new Ellie fashion doll, a perfect miniature in plastic of the popular super-model.

She could not believe that Arlene had done that to herself. She had not particularly liked the young woman, but Ellie would not have wished that fate upon her, nevertheless.

The witch said something about a Nan Pope, Ellie said hoarsely. What did she mean by that?

Marina drew in a

Reviews for Wake the Witch

[selinalynn69 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

In this book we get to see that it's not all hack and slash in a post-apocalyptic world. Many times that there is a break in the action. In these times people tend to reflect on what they have lost, or where they are going. This can be good and bad at the same time. The zombies have presented a great distraction to dealing with your inner thoughts, but you can only run from them so much.
This book takes a look at how the different groups of people are dealing with life after a year. The world is still in shambles and the threat of zombies are still around, but plans for long-term survival and a chance at some sort of order is weighing on the survivors. Reborn brings you closer to the emotional needs of a tired and worn world. T.W. Brown has shown throughout this series that he is in touch with the entire scope of humanity, not just the exciting parts. As always, I wait impatiently for the next book slated for January 2014.