Spook Rock

By Pasquale J Morrone

In the seventeenth century, Salem Massachusetts had a terrible secret. Now, over three hundred years later in upstate New York, BRAD BANNING, a new and inexperienced filmmaker unwittingly discovers that secret. It had escaped the tyranny of the witch hunters and made its home in Spook Rock, a tiny backwoods commune, its throat held in a death grip by an evil force more powerful than time itself.
When Banning intrudes too far into the lives of the witches, power-mad Lorianna casts him and his crew into the Abyss populated with ancient monsters, as well as incongruous beacons of purity. Along the way, Banning and his companions, whom he dubs his crew, discover truths about themselves and others, which are deeper and as real as the Hell they find themselves in, and the Heaven with whose help they hope to escape.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Apr 20, 2004
• ISBN: 9780595759798

Pasquale J Morrone

Pasquale J Morrone lives in Southern Maryland on the Chesapeake Bay with his wife Kathleen. He is currently with the United States Secret Service and works in Washington, DC. He is the author of numerous short stories, both online and in print.

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Contents

Prologue

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Epilogue

Prologue  

Spook Rock—1693

Adam Corey held his head in his hands, closing his eyes for a moment. Pressing his fingers hard into his scalp, he looked at his reflection in the pond. He couldn’t think straight for some reason. The face he stared at, the reflection in the pond was something other than his own features.

Corey backed up and watched the shadow of the thing move away. Slowly, he moved toward the bank of the pond. This time he could see his reflection and the dead look in the eyes that stared back. It was true what they said: He looked like John Hobbs. He looked around for Hobbs but he was nowhere in sight. Probably with her again. Always with her these days. Corey’s thoughts made his head hurt right along with his stomach.

Lorna, he said in a whisper. If she was with Hobbs, it was probably because she wanted him to do something. She used to come to me. Witch. Hobbs was a lady chaser and a buffoon as far as Corey was concerned. Let him have Lorna if he wanted to be her miserable…What? What would he be? His head ached again, pounding now, harder than it had been when he first sat at the edge of the pond. His thoughts only lasted a few seconds and they were gone.

His face in the water was replaced once again by an animal with three heads. It looked like it could be a dog of some kind, but most of all it looked hungry. The creature snapped at him, but to no avail. Although it appeared to be all-powerful, it also seemed to be confined to the depths of the pond. No, maybe not confined to the pond, but very near it.

One day Corey thought his reflection looked like a bull. Was he losing his mind in this place? This new place that had so many secrets to tell, but gave up none. He looked over at the great boulder and saw the agonized face. Her name was Enid Bathe and she was tricked somehow, tricked into believing she was casting white magic spells, when the truth was—the black arts. Witch. Corey grabbed his head. No, the magistrates only thought that.

John!

Corey turned to see her standing behind him. Lorna Cloyce, the shadow woman, as she was known throughout the commune.

No, it’s Adam, not John, Corey answered. I don’t know where John is. I thought he was with you again.

Lorna’s puzzled expression faded into a wry smile. No matter. It is time you started your new job. I have several Indian squaws with child. I will show you what has to be done. From this day forward, you will be the keeper of the one who guards the Island of the Dead.

Corey stared at her. She was beautiful, with her long dark hair spilling over her upper body. He never before noticed her oval eyes, staring and unblinking. The eyes of a demon cat.

1  

There are times when one can’t help but think back. Once again, he let himself slip back in his memories. His mind felt like a cassette recorder kept on rewind. Even as a young man, there were still both the good days and the bad. The worst, of course, as so many other sorry-ass slobs would attest, were always the ones where he wished he had never gotten out of bed. But Fate—that word every human being knew in one form or another had changed his life. Like a telegram, it often brought sadness as well as happiness. His had been a mixture, but ultimately he was grateful. Like the end of winter outside his window, Brad Banning felt his life was finally softening into spring.

It was a beautiful day for traveling; the breeze from the open window was cool and gentle. Things had changed in his life, and he was trying like hell to cope. He was suddenly closing in on everything he had ever dreamed of doing or having in his thirty-two years of life. For the first time in his life he felt damn good.

It had taken time for him to sort it out. He understood that things could have been far worse than they actually had been. His sense of dissatisfaction with life, his life, was being replaced with what could only be called hope. Hell, even the jobs he didn’t like were jobs that most people only dreamed of doing: disc jockey, best boy, and even bit parts acting in the soaps. But, like most things that are new, once the glitter faded they were just jobs. He would wake up every morning and go home every evening feeling disappointed. That he didn’t do well at all these things wasn’t the problem. The problem was boredom and a feeling of emptiness when the workday ended. He had coined a phrase for it one day on the radio: Occupational Redundancy.

When the news came to him of his father’s death in a private jet crash, he knew there would be changes that would affect his entire life. His father, Jacob Banning, was a multimillionaire computer designer and corporation owner. On both the East Coast and the West Coast, J. Banning Corporation was a powerful force. He’d watched his father build the business up from his basement in Hoboken, New Jersey, starting out with fixing word processors. Jacob had once told him that few people ever got rich when they took too long trying to find themselves.

Brad knew who he was now. He got up and walked to the door of his private quarters and looked out. Gazing through the windshield of the specially designed bus, he could see the tractor and modified trailer just ahead. It was filled with equipment needed to do the job, including the remainder of his personnel. The words printed on the sides and back of the box trailer read: BBP—Bradford Banning Productions, his very own production company out of grand old New York City. He smiled in satisfaction. This was a product of the will left by his late father.

He could still see the look on the corporate vice president’s face when that portion of the will was read. Their look had said clearly: Jacob Banning may have been of sound mind and body, but he was completely blind. Brad had also overheard one of the attorneys whispering to another: Banning’s kid sort of looks like an over-dressed gigolo. Banning’s kid had just smiled. After all, $17.5 million would definitely fill a lot of empty spaces in his life. In anyone’s life, for that matter.

Brad didn’t feel the least bit uncomfortable about receiving easy money. His father had had to die for him to gain this windfall and he regretted that deeply. Never one to jump into the lap of luxury, he felt he earned his diploma from the school of hard knocks. It wasn’t like he’d been sitting on his ass all these years; it just wasn’t his nature to sit behind a desk all day. So, since he was never around to work with his father in the business, the corporation went to his mother, Laura, and his sister, Amanda. He’d showed no interest in it when his father was alive, so how could he be the least bit judgmental, or even surprised about the decision? What was surprising was his father bequeathing him such a large amount of money. Brad felt that anything gained beyond his inheritance would be his doing and his alone.

Brad returned to his captain’s chair and leaned back, tapping out the rest of the details regarding the planned documentary about Spook Rock on his laptop. He would fax any other details back to the office from the bus. He’d made sure the bus had everything that would make him comfortable, especially on long rides. He designed most of the interior himself. A kitchen, beds, phone, a head with a shower, even its own generator built into the belly. Bradford Banning was ready for the world this time. Or so he thought.

Hey Brad!

He looked up to see his assistant, Heather Fielder, closing his door and bouncing toward him. A smile started at the corners of his mouth as he noticed that it wasn’t only her stride that was bouncy. Heather’s ample breasts were joyfully bobbling in their haltertop.

Yes, Heather?

We’re coming up on that fork in the road. To the right the sign says Hollowville. She leaned against the captain’s chair adjacent his.

Heather filled a pair of jeans like Oscar Mayer filled frankfurters. He let his eyes trail down her curves and rest on her firm thighs, then suddenly realizing he had been caught staring. She gave a small grin and crossed her ankles. Brad quickly looked away with a boyish smile, catching her ghost-like reflection in the window. Her strawberry blonde hair was loosely curled and made a beautiful outline around her liquid green eyes and tanned complexion.

He picked up a hand-drawn map from his briefcase. That’s what we’re looking for. There are fields on either side of the road and you’ll see that Hollowville is actually not much more than a small two-way road and a trailer park. Then, just past the park, there’s a small hill as the road curves to the right. About a third of a mile down should be where the Spook Rock road sign is. It’s a right turn, by the way.

Heather nodded and spun on her heels. Good show. I’ll tell Ben.

He watched her for a second as she departed. He noticed that Heather’s backside was just as happy as her boobs. Damn nice back pockets, he thought out loud, but not too loud.

Hollowville seemed like any other small place he had seen. The village itself was basically just a road with various types of dwellings, all on the left side. The map he had didn’t show it, but there was a general store, a post office, and a gin mill. The sign on the saloon said Duffy’s Bar & Grill. There were few cars in the trailer park and the only person he saw was an old black woman shaking out a rug. She stopped in mid-shake to watch the small convoy pass by. She didn’t look very happy.

Yo, Brad! The intercom popped on with Ben Riley’s voice.

Yo, Ben!

Cliff says at least we have a place to quaff a few in our spare time.

Brad shook his head and grinned. Yeah! Cliff must have found a few good brain cells left to kill that he didn’t know about.

The intercom popped back on with Riley’s steady laugh.

Ben Riley had driven for a major bus line. During the few years that Brad worked on the soaps out of New York, he had been a passenger on Riley’s bus for a few trips north and south on I-95. They eventually struck up a number of conversations about each other, usually at various bus stops along the New Jersey Turnpike. One of the great conversations was why Bradford Banning, the son of a well-known multimillionaire, was taking the bus. Brad would only give him an enigmatic smile and tell him that sometimes you made your own way in life. Soon after forming BBP, he approached Riley regarding a job. Brad couldn’t help but smile, even laugh out loud for a second. He remembered the look on Ben’s face when he told him about the tricked-out bus he would be driving.

Brad stared out the window lost in thought, not really seeing anything his brain could identify. As he gazed into space, he remembered Heather as he had seen her on his occasional trips to his dad’s office, when she was working as Jacob Banning’s private secretary. Her intelligence, pleasant attitude with clientele, and keen interest in the corporation earned her numerous business trips with him, both abroad and throughout the United States. Jacob Banning loved how she could stand comfortably before more than a dozen powerful military and civilian clients and give detailed PowerPoint presentations while making them feel like they were at the World Series.

Brad knew his father also loved giving people the best of everything, especially his wife, Laura. A ten million-dollar home in Beverly Hills, a luxurious condominium in Manhattan, and a yacht named after her. He called it: Laura 1-N-Only, which had gone with the Banning estate.

Brad’s thoughts wandered more, shifting into a disturbing area. Springtime scenery passed by his window but he didn’t see it. Instead, he frowned, thinking about his mother, who is convinced her husband was having an affair with Heather Fielder. Her mistake was confiding this suspicion to her daughter, Amanda.

Heather and Amanda had been college friends, sharing some of the same classes and, occasionally, apartments. During the times they would get together to socialize, Amanda never mentioned any of her mother’s suspicions to her friend. She knew Heather was a hard worker, even in college, and would never stoop so low as to embarrass either of their families.

Not long after the reading of their father’s will, Amanda met Brad at a coffee shop. She told him what had gone on at home, including their mother’s suspicions about Heather. She also told him about the revised will, which included an inheritance for Heather Fielder. His thoughts suddenly became real, and he could hear them clearly.

What? Brad blinked in surprise.

Amanda told him how she had gone into the den and found their father’s attaché case open on his desk. It looked like the same case that had been given to Laura Banning by his attorneys upon her husband’s death. She detailed the contents, which included a fat manila envelope, its clasp open.

I couldn’t help it, Brad. All this stuff was Daddy’s and I wanted to touch a part of him again.

You mean you were being nosy, Brad said, frowning at her.

Okay, so I was nosy.

The manila envelope contained a revised will, which must have been one of the reasons for his business trip upstate, to get it filed. Most of it was mumbo-jumbo legalese to Amanda, but her eyes had alighted on Heather’s name.

She was supposed to get half a million dollars! Daddy had said it was for a ‘job well done’ and I know she deserved it, Brad. Our inheritances remained the same and so did Mom’s. The money came from what ultimately went back into the corporation.

Brad furrowed his brow. Then why…?

Amanda interrupted him. Guess what else I saw?

She told him about the letter she had found on the computer’s printer, written by their mother to the corporation’s vice-president, Frank Maristoni. The letter had stated the facts clearly: The first order of business is to reassign Heather Fielder to the secretarial pool. I neither need nor want her as my personal secretary. You know as well as I do that with such a drastic cut in pay she won’t be able to accommodate her lavish lifestyle and will, of course, soon quit. Then J. Banning Corporation will be well rid of her. I’m certain she is smart enough to realize that when a corporation changes hands there are always staff reassignments. She’ll have no recourse to file a suit against us.

Christ, Brad muttered in disgust.

I know, Amanda agreed.

So where’s this revised will now?

It’s gone.

Gone?

Yeah, gone—kaput. Mom shredded it. Amanda glared down at her latte.

She didn’t!

Well, what else would you expect her to do? She thought Daddy was fooling around with Heather! There was an edge of defensiveness in Amanda’s voice.

Okay, okay. Calm down, Brad said, biting his lip in thought. How do you know Mom shredded it?

Amanda had noticed the clear plastic bag under the shredder had been empty when she’d left the den. Later that evening she went back to the den to fetch her mother for dinner. Before she knocked at the door, she thought her mother was on the phone because she heard her mutter, I’ll bet. She’d tapped softly on the door and entered, only to find her sitting at their father’s desk, sipping a glass of wine. The shredder’s bag was full of white and manila paper.

You’re a regular little Columbo, aren’t you? Brad smiled grimly at her.

Yeah, well…. Amanda’s look was equally grim. Brad, I know I share equal parts of J. Banning Corporation with Mom, but I don’t want to start this business relationship off on the wrong foot. Heather’s my friend and I know I should confront Mom about this, but I just—can’t. I’m so ashamed.

Brad patted her hand. Look, I understand. If you told Heather it would only hurt her feelings. I know she cared a lot for Dad, but I sincerely doubt they were having an affair. And her lifestyle is anything but lavish! Amanda, I’m sorry you’ve been put in this position. It’s not easy for you.

Amanda sighed. Thanks.

Just remember I love you. I love Mom, too, even though sometimes she can be sort of reactionary.

No kidding! She grinned at him.

Amanda, why didn’t you mention this to me before? His eyes searched hers.

What was the point? I know you like Heather, and you would have confronted Mom before the reading, and that would only have caused trouble for everyone!

Brad nodded in a silent agreement.

Amanda mused a moment. You know what’s really puzzling? All of a sudden I keep trying to remember stuff. Things I haven’t thought about in years.

What stuff? Brad sipped his cooling coffee.

Well, like when Daddy took us with him on business trips upstate when we were young. He and Frank would go off to see an attorney or something and leave us to play in the hotel’s swimming pool.

What about it?

When we got older, we didn’t go with them, of course, but I seem to remember Frank acting…funny. I don’t know, just the way he looked when Mom was along that one time. Like he didn’t want her to hear about the business part, I guess. Remember how Daddy sort of muttered comments to Frank in the front seat of the car? It sounded like Greek to me. And Mom leaned forward in the back seat and asked questions. She shrugged. I can’t remember details. This just sticks in my mind for some reason.

Brad chuckled. Mom was always as nosy as you are.

Very funny.

She probably just wanted to know about the corporation, Amanda. So what? She had a right to know—it was her company, too. Frank’s always been one of those guys who holds his cards close to his chest. You can bet he’s loving every minute of this now, getting to be Mom’s guiding hand. He couldn’t help the snort of derision that escaped him.

Maybe so, but, the way I remember it, the way Frank and Daddy acted on those trips just didn’t seem right at the time. For instance, that woman that Daddy would talk to a lot. She was there every time we went upstate, every time, except the time Mom went with us. Do you remember?

Brad shook his head and made a face. I always thought she was the attorney.

I remember how Frank used to scoot us away to the pool or the tennis court when Daddy went off with her. He always brought his briefcase and kissed her hand. I just…. Amanda leaned forward and touched her brother’s hand. You weren’t even listening, were you?

I dunno. Brad shrugged. I’m sorry. I’m pissed off about this deal with Heather. Maybe there’s something I can do for her.

Amanda smiled quietly into her coffee.

Another large truck passed them, horn blaring in salute at their little convoy. Brad blinked and shook his head to clear his mind. He remained troubled by his mother’s actions, but he was happy he’d been able to convince Heather he needed her as his own personal assistant for his new venture. She had eagerly accepted, delighted to be away from Mrs. Jacob Banning. While she consented to be moved to the secretarial pool, it was not without resentment. Heather wasn’t a stupid young woman. She could sense there was something unpleasant underlying the meticulously businesslike attitude Laura displayed towards her.

Once again the springtime scenery of upstate New York faded from Brad’s window to be replaced by the scenes his sister had described, except this time in his mind, it played like a mini soap opera.

Three days after her husband’s jet had crashed, Laura Banning was handed an aluminum briefcase by one of his attorneys., with twords J. Banning Corporation was engraved written along the top. Other than his charred body, this had been the only tangible evidence of Jacob Banning’s existence left from the accident. It bore a long copper-colored scorch mark along one side and a few dents but, otherwise, was intact. Inside was a few CDs, several forms and handouts regarding the shareholders trade information, a thick white envelope marked L. Clower & Associates, and a thick manila envelope containing the revised version of his last will and testament. What the hell did she know about shareholders, trading, and handouts? She had given everything over to Frank Maristoni, who Banning had named to be the corporation’s vice-president. The man who was now keeping her afloat and saving her from appearing to be a complete imbecile while handling the day-to-day business of her company. She had given him everything. Everything, that is, except the will.

Once home in Los Angeles, Laura Banning sat in her husband’s den, running her fingers over the thick envelope before opening it. The senior Banning had been traveling from Los Angeles to New York State to finalize and validate the new will. The only change was that Heather was to receive the sum of five hundred thousand dollars, should she survive his death. It was also noted that should Heather Fielder precede him in death, the money would go to her immediate family. In bold letters he had written: For a job well done, and requested that these words be spoken aloud at the reading.

Laura Banning sipped a glass of Sangiovese and smiled as she slowly ran page by page through the shredder. When the last page had passed through the thin, sharp blades, she muttered, I’ll bet.

Brad sighed sadly. The details were only conjecture on his part but he believed what Amanda had told him. He knew what his mother was like. He saw it all vividly in his mind’s eye, as if it were real and he had been there. And there was something else in his mind’s eye. Something watching him from a distance. But it couldn’t possibly watch him. It had no eyes. It had no face at all.

The air brakes caused a sudden light jolt, finally bringing Brad back fully to the present. The bus turned right onto a crudely paved road, pocked with an inordinate array of potholes, dead limbs, and other debris. Thick woods and foliage adorned both sides of the road. Although it was late spring, nearly every tree or bush was naked of any greenery, their limbs a dead grey. As displeasing to the eye as it was, Banning found it to be somewhat beguiling. A green elongated sign riddled with bullet holes drifted past his window. In white letters the sign boldly announced: Spook Rock.

The woods finally ebbed into high brown grasses and they, in turn, gave way to a dark wet ground. A boulder the size of a small cottage rested beside a fair-sized pond, which, according to the realtors in the area, everyone called Death Lake. To the left, a steep incline of rock and broken foliage angrily displayed smaller jagged boulders that jutted out from the grass, clearly delineating the route the boulder had taken to the water’s edge.

Cliff Sommers found a dry patch of ground cluttered with crushed rock to park the rig. He was good at what he did, and Brad knew that he was a hard worker, althought thick headed at times, but would always bend over backwards to get the job done.

Cliff had been a struggling independent truck driver with a new rig that was about to be lost to foreclosure. It was getting to the point where gypsy truckers were more and more frowned upon, and the lack of a union pretty much meant no one gave a rat’s fat ass about them. The Peterbilt cost him nearly eighty-five grand and, at $975.00 a month, Cliff was in well over his head. It was thanks to Ben Riley that Brad heard about Cliff. Riley and Sommers were high school buddies who had stayed in touch with each other off and on over the years. Ben Riley pointed out to Brad that Cliff occasionally made deliveries for his dad’s business. So, on Riley’s good word, Banning called Cliff and made him an offer.

Ben followed Cliff’s lead with the bus, both drivers carefully keeping the vehicles from being bogged down in the soggy ground. In the distance, smoke from what appeared to be chimneys zig-zagged lazily into the clear sky. The only greenery to be seen was a cluster of pine trees, which successfully concealed the lodgings of whomever found shelter there.

Brad opened the door to his private quarters and made his way to the front of the bus. Several people looked up with weak smiles. Heather was busy making copies of a computer-drawn map, revealing the layout of the area. Susan Zebano, a stout young woman, was passing them out to the crew. She changed her expression to a wry grin as he approached. Susan had a secret, but she kept it to herself. She needed to wait for the right time.

Brad stopped and opened his arms wide. You folks look so bleak. This is God’s country—upstate New York. Smile, my friends, we’re about to make our first documentary!

Lou Halpern, a tall, thin man who everyone called Stringbean, shook his head and handed Brad a copy of the story of the local legend. I think He was on vacation and forgot to come back to this place when He finished His holiday. He gave a broad smile, showing long white teeth. You’ve read that already, he gave a deliberate nod for emphasis, so you know exactly what I mean.

Brad rolled the paper into a hollow tube and stuffed it into his inside jacket pocket. Yep! I’m one up on you, Stringbean. He tapped the pocket lightly, rattling the paper against his chest. That’s why we’re here. I read about the legend of Spook Rock a few weeks ago. I was afraid with all the hype about all the new documentaries coming out, someone would catch wind of this place soon, so I chose now to make my move. He edged toward the door.

Stringbean stood his full six-foot-six-inch frame up slowly. You believe it?

Brad turned with a smile. Print the legend when the fact becomes visible, he said smiling. I think Jimmy Stewart said something similar to that in ‘The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance.’ He turned back to the door and met Cliff Sommers head-on.

I’m hungry, Sommers said, tapping his stomach.

Damn, Cliff! You done filled up both those legs at the rest stop on the Jersey Turnpike. Try putting some of the food in your gut for a change.

The entire bus broke out in laughter, drowning out Cliff’s reply.

The trailer doors swung open revealing the rest of his entourage. Inside, they had the best facilities that could be constructed on an eighteen-wheeler. The trailer itself was modified to hold a small dark room, camera equipment, beds, TV, a restroom, and a freestanding space heater run by propane, vented out the roof. Thick safety glass windows were built into the sides for viewing whatever scenery they were passing by. A new Jeep Cherokee was anchored in the back, near a lift for getting equipment in and out of the body of the trailer.

Brad stepped down and made an announcement. Okay, listen up! I want to get everyone in the trailer for breakfast around 11:30. By that time the rentals should be here and we can go over the maps and the rest of the details over breakfast. Brad smacked Cliff on the arm in a friendly gesture. Look for an apple tree, that’ll tide you over.

Cliff said, apple tree? Shit! The only thing that grows around here is moss and goddamn pine trees. He looked at Ben behind the wheel.

Pine nuts? Ben offered with a sly grin.

Cliff twisted his mouth and stalked away. Fuck that! He headed towards the Peterbilt, mumbling. Pine nuts. The hell I look like, Euel Gibbons?

Something watching them from not too far away slithered down a huge boulder and disappeared beneath the surface of the water.

2  

Brad’s vehicle crew drove in an hour later with a Jeep and a large van. They went to the trailer where breakfast was set up and took their seats. Those who didn’t know each other introduced themselves and, in a matter of minutes, were chatting away like old friends.

Hey, make sure you pass the grub counterclockwise. Sommers gets it first the rest of us will go hungry. Ben winked at Brad.

Oh, screw you, Riley. Cliff quickly grabbed a biscuit and bit it in half.

The low murmuring conversation was mostly about equipment and supplies. It didn’t take long before anything edible was devoured, with the exception of a few biscuits. Brad pulled out the paper Stringbean had given him earlier and nonchalantly tossed it in front of him.

Okay! I think everybody knows what we’re doing here. This is a documentary regarding the legend of Spook Rock. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s that big rock out there next to the pond.

All eyes and ears were on Brad as he spoke. He had a way of capturing an audience quite easily. On the set of the soaps he would do the same. Charming the studio audience with his rugged good looks and a voice they would crave more of. That was the one thing the senior Banning secretly regretted; he never had his son as a spokesman for the company. Brad found himself remembering his sister and mother mentioning this to him. For some reason he just wasn’t interested. Brad often wondered if in the back of his mind, somewhere, there was a spot that entertained unconscious thoughts of contempt for his father; and why.

Brad gave an embarrassed grin as he came back to the present. I want to take a stroll up there around the pines and get a closer look. I think we should introduce ourselves as soon as possible. Whoever is up there is going to want to know who we are and what we’re up to. I think the candid approach is the best way to go.

What if they ain’t too talkative? Cliff asked.

Brad rested his chin on clasped hands. As long as we let them know we’re not out to disturb anything, or make them feel foolish and dimwitted, we should be okay. He lifted the paper and shook it. I have whatever Stringbean and I could get on the Internet here, but there may be some things that weren’t discussed. Maybe some of these folks know more about the legend, like names and places for instance. Some of these folks may be actual descendants of the people who once lived here. Now if that’s the case, these people may not want to talk. You have to remember you’re dealing with a lot of diverse personalities when you’re in this line of business. Don’t push the matter, because, if you push, we may end up not welcome.

Heather was quick to break in. We want to basically verify what’s actually true and what’s not, since we really don’t know from what source the writers for the Internet obtained their material. And that also goes for what we have from the universities and libraries. Make sense, Brad?

Brad nodded. "Heather’s exactly right. At this point, we really are at the mercy of hearsay, and somone else’s notes. I’ve read plenty of books on the matter, but you still have to think about the people who helped the author and, for that matter, from what source they got their information. Let’s try to find out if it’s possible that certain things happened differently, or not at all. That way they’ll know we’re not the types who believe all of what we read or hear. The judgmental type, if you will. I’m talking that yellow journalism bullshit."

Cliff grabbed another biscuit. What happened here anyway?

Brad took a deep breath. "For all of you who haven’t had a chance to read the leaflet about this place, here’s the scoop. Around the late sixteen hundreds a group of men and women fled Salem and other areas of Massachusetts, because of the witch trials. It was said that they were able to hire a ship to take them to New York. Supposedly some of them had friends and relatives living in the area. According to what I have here, most if not all of them were those who escaped being arrested and possibly executed around the year sixteen ninety-two. Some of them were witness to the hangings that took place. Sarah Good, for instance, was asked questions about evil spirits she was familiar with, and if she had made contact with the devil? Things like that.

You also have to remember that some of them were fleeing from finger pointers. If you pissed anyone off in the neighborhood, all they had to do in order to get even was to point and accuse. Those magistrates were serious people when it came to this subject, and they were just as serious with those falsifying reports.

Brad looked over the document for parts he thought he might be able to skip. Instead, he continued with it in its entirety.

Some that settled here thought that they were probably soon to be under suspicion of lying to the court of Oyer and Terminer, which was a court established by a Governor named Phibs to investigate witchcraft. It was comprised of nine individuals who would interrogate the so-called suspects, and even examine their bodies for what they called—unnatural marks. God help anyone that had a strange birthmark. Anyway, some of these people were afraid arrested for false accusations, which resulted in the deaths of innocent people. How and why they chose this place no one really knows.

Cliff jumped in before Brad could continue. How the hell could those people actually believe in witches and sending your spirit out of your body? I mean, shit, that stuff is right out of storybooks. If you confessed, you were saved. If you denied it, you were hanged. What I don’t understand is, why didn’t they ask them to perform some kind of magic?

Brad shrugged. They were a simple people, Cliff, in a young land. The same as what we may well be dealing with right up there in the pines. That’s why I want everyone to be careful about what you say and how you say it. And, furthermore, if you were dabbling in the black arts, Cliff, would you perform magic tricks to show you were for real? If you confessed, the entire community shunned you because they feared persecution themselves—just by association.

Cliff shook his head. Fuck ’em! With friends like that who needs enemies? I wouldn’t need them assholes talking to me anyhow.

Ben reached across the table. Here, have another biscuit. You’re shunned.

Cliff waved him off through another round of laughter.

Brad waited until they quieted down. "Anyway, they found their way here and stayed in this area. As time went by they