Prepare to Follow Me: The Legend of Mary Jane

By David Johanek

A new version of the legend of Mary Jane and the Loon Lake witches.

 

Historical records state that Mary Jane Terwillegar died of diphtheria in Cherokee, Iowa in 1880. But death was just the beginning of her story.

 

1879—

 

The three Atlantean witches returned to Earth with the Estherville meteorite. But a 10,000-year imprisonment in space did nothing to quell their evil ambitions.

 

Only a young Mary Jane can stop them, but first she must learn to control her fledgling powers and defeat the Atlanteans' murderous minions.

 

1989—

 

On the day he almost died, Rudy saw again what he had come to believe had been only a childish dream—Mary Jane—the ghost of Loon Lake Cemetery. Can he and his friends help save her bones from trophy-hunting Satanists?

And can Mary Jane find a way to channel her natural powers through her spectral form to prepare for her final battle with the Atlantean witches?

Time is running out, and the witches are stronger, angrier, and more evil than ever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Johanek
• Release date: Aug 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393201786

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

PAIN KNIFED THROUGH Rudy’s shoulder and streaked through his chest and back. His face felt numb, but a dull, throbbing sensation pulsed through his nose, coursed through his face, and reverberated throughout his head like a low, droning drumbeat. Opening his eyes, he saw blood smeared across the back of the front passenger seat headrest. Suddenly, blood poured from his nose and flowed over his lips, chin, and soaked his shirt down to his stomach. A muffled, gurgling sound came from the driver’s seat. What had happened? The last thing he remembered was his mother’s scream mixing with the screeching brakes as both pierced his ears. Then a sudden rush of movement propelled him forward. His blurred vision focused on the mangled interior of his dad’s LTD. His dad had always joked that the car was built like a tank, but now it probably looked like the inside of a crushed aluminum can. Looking around the side of the headrest, he noticed the front seat was pushed forward to the dashboard. Or was the dashboard pushed back to the seat? He tried to look over the headrest, but his entire body rocked with a spasm of agony.

Dad...Mom, he mumbled.

No response.

He knew he shouldn’t move too much and possibly make his injuries worse, but his parents should have answered. They might be hurt. As he took a deep breath and prepared to look, a creeping feeling of dread told him he might not want to see over the seat. Ignoring the agony, he pushed himself up and looked over the headrest. His father was bent forward and smashed over the steering wheel. Bubbly blood flowed from his mouth and pooled over the dashboard. Larger bubbles popped in his gaping mouth, reminding Rudy of the little round bubble blowers he used to play with as a kid. His heart skipped a beat, and a sickening feeling settled in his gut like a ball of lead. He wanted to cry, but he still needed to find Mom.

The shattered windshield stretched across the scrunched hood. Small glass fragments glinted in the sun like bluish diamonds. A crimson streak was smeared across the windshield. He traced the direction of the streak to the oak tree into which the car had crashed. Steam rose from the radiator, obscuring his view. Focusing, he noticed the pulpy mass of twisted limbs—broken bones poking through flesh—splattered against the bark. His mother’s blonde hair blew in the slight breeze, still attached to the remnants of her skull—now embedded in the tree along with jellied globs of brain. He felt as if a sledgehammer slammed into his stomach, and he screamed.

Everybody OK in there? A voice said from outside.

Rudy gathered himself enough to stop screaming as he watched a fat man stumbling through the ditch, approaching the wreck. The fat man tripped and steadied himself against the LTD’s trunk before inching toward Rudy. The man stuck his head inside the car, moving closer to Rudy until his face was only inches away. A powerful stench of whiskey and beer assaulted Rudy’s nose. The man was drunk. Had he caused the accident? Please...help...get an ambulance, Rudy mumbled.

Oh fuck, the man said. I was never here. He spun around and ran from the ditch. Rudy couldn’t see his vehicle, but he heard the screeching tires and smelled the burning rubber as the man fled. The man must have caused the accident, only hadn’t known he had killed two people. Maybe three if he didn’t get to a hospital, Rudy thought.

Rudy’s peripheral vision darkened as if staring down a tunnel. The tunnel walls started closing in until all he saw was blackness.

It will be all right.

The voice was soft, sweet, instantly calming Rudy. It sounded so familiar. Rudy opened his eyes. He was no longer in the wreck. The pain was gone. In fact, the surroundings didn’t seem real. This felt more like a dream. He stood on a hill overlooking a prairie. A trail cut through the tall grass, and thick woods stretched along the edge of the prairie. Looking left, he saw a small lake and a road stretching beyond it. Wait. This was the Loon Lake Cemetery. The main body of the lake and the campground would be through the trees at the other end of the trail. His family used to camp there two or three times a year, but they hadn’t since he was thirteen—not since meeting Mary Jane. His friends and family had thought he was nuts after he told them about the girl—the ghost girl.

I’ve missed you, the voice said.

Sure enough, it was the same voice he had heard years ago, the voice of Mary Jane. Slowly, he turned around. She stood several feet behind him, looking just as she had looked before. She had long brown hair, deep brown eyes, and wore a blue flower-pattern dress. He had told his friends that she dressed like the Ingalls girls on Little House on the Prairie. His brother had given him shit every time they watched reruns of the show, asking him whether his dead girlfriend looked more like Laura or Mary. Even his friends had given him shit about his ghost girlfriend, joking that she had cast a spell on him. Legend said Mary Jane had been a witch murdered by angry villagers. Even then he had known that was bullshit, just some stupid legend told by the kids going to her grave to get drunk and smoke Mary Jane with Mary Jane.

She smiled. I knew I’d see you again.

He panicked as he remembered the epitaph on her tombstone:

Kind friends beware as you pass by.

As you are now, so once was I:

As I am now, so you must be.

Prepare, therefore to follow me.

For the first time since arriving at the cemetery, he realized something was strange about him. It didn’t feel like his feet were touching the ground. Looking down, he realized they were, but he couldn’t feel it. It was as if he had no weight. He swallowed hard. Am I dead?

No. But you are gravely hurt. Your soul lingers between here and the hereafter. We may speak freely while you are in this state. Do you remember what I told you when first we met?

Rudy thought back. Seeing a ghost had shocked him enough that he remembered little of their short conversation. But he recalled that she might need his help someday, and his family had something she would need. Unless she could find another stone or something, she would need theirs.

You need me for something?

Mary Jane nodded.

I don’t remember exactly what you said.

Your grandmother has a ring. The stone set upon it comes from an ancient land. From there it was sent into space along with the three evil ones. I faced them once. She looked down and sighed. The encounter proved too much for me to bear. I was still weakened and could not recover from the illness that claimed me months later.

Three evil ones? They say there were three witches...that you were one. They say they chopped your heads off at Petersburg.

Mary Jane turned away and seemed to wipe away a tear. She faced him again with tear-filled eyes. I hear the things they say about me, how truths have been twisted into cruel lies. It breaks my heart when I watch those who come here to defile the sanctity of this hallowed ground. I watch them... She looked down and appeared to blush before a look of anger came over her face as she clenched her fists. Piss on my grave. I’m Sorry. I know that’s not a proper thing to say, but it gets me riled up. Sometimes they do things a young lady shouldn’t see, things that should be saved for the marriage bed, but I have little choice but to watch. It hurts my soul to watch them desecrate the graves. How can people be so cruel?

Rudy looked around at all the toppled, broken headstones. The cemetery had always suffered from vandalism, but the place was almost unrecognizable after only a few years. Several stones still rose from the tall grass and weeds, but Rudy wondered how long it would be before no traces remained that people were buried there. People are just assholes. Er...sorry. I don’t suppose I should swear around you. I mean...it’s not proper.

No. You are right. People do seem to be assholes in this time. I hear how they talk. Even young girls use words that adult men rarely spoke in my time. But the lies hurt most. How they jump over my grave to test some tale that my curse will kill them. I never cursed a living soul. She looked at the numerous tall pine trees spread across the cemetery and glanced skyward. How can I make you understand? Wait...I think you can. Yes, sometimes my soul can see through another’s eyes. In your present state, I may be able to help you see memories through my eyes from when I lived. I have even watched the memories of others from that time. Do you wish to witness the events of the past from which these legends—these lies—have arisen?

Do I have a choice?

My friend, you always have a choice, but seeing through my eyes and those of other witnesses will help you to understand.

Something in Mary Jane’s eyes seemed to beg him to accept. She looked scared—no—terrified. However, Rudy also saw an inner strength in her. He remembered stories his dad told him about Vietnam, how frightened soldiers would put on a brave face to carry on. They still had a job to do, no matter how terrifying it was. Mary Jane didn’t seem to look forward to reliving the past or anxious to face this evil again. But she didn’t have a choice, and sadly, she was all alone. And Rudy was in no hurry to return to his injured, possibly dying, body.

OK. I’ll do it.

Mary Jane smiled and extended her hand.

CHAPTER TWO

RUDY FELT A JOLT AS the scenery changed from the Loon Lake Cemetery to a dirt road stretching through tall prairie grass. He tried to look down and around, but he had no control over the vision. You can only see through the eyes of another. No matter how hard you try, you cannot control them. Be warned, some things you will witness will terrify you, Mary Jane’s voice said. She was there, too. Although he could not see her, he felt her presence in this other person’s mind.

Two horses pulled an open wagon, reminding Rudy of the covered ones he saw in old westerns. Wooden bows were arched over the wagon bed that could hold a canvas in place. Three girls and an older woman sat in the wagon bed. Was she the girls’ mother? Reins clenched tightly in his gloved hands, a bearded man sat on a wooden seat, urging the team onward with a flick of his wrists. Open your mind to the man’s, Mary Jane said. While you are in his mind, you will know what he knows. We will jump from person to person, and you may even jump into me. Be prepared, for it may be sudden.

Rudy concentrated on the sights and people around him and tried to access the thoughts in the man’s mind. Suddenly, everything rushed into Rudy’s mind like a tidal wave of knowledge. The man’s name was Peter Taylor. Susan was his wife, and the three daughters were Sophia, the oldest at seventeen; Beth, the middle girl at fourteen; and Emily, the youngest at twelve. The wife and daughters all had long dark hair. Susan’s head was covered with a bonnet, and the younger girls’ hair blew in the gentle breeze. The family sat among crates and chests, the family’s belongings. They were headed west, where the men planned on getting work in Oregon as lumberjacks. The date was May 10, 1879. Why did that date sound familiar? Did it have some meaning?

Three other wagons followed. The families of Peter’s two brothers rode in the first two, and the third carried an unmarried cousin and his friend. They were all recent immigrants who had worked as foresters in England. Well-oiled axes, saws, and other lumbering equipment stood in a rack just behind the wagon seat. Longer saws hung along the sides of the wagon.

Peter slowed the horses as he looked into the distance. A dark storm cloud loomed on the horizon, rolling across the sky like a gigantic wave. Susan, roll out the bonnet. Weather is going to get rough.

Susan looked over her shoulder. Oh dear Lord. Sophia, help me with the canvas. Beth, keep an eye on Emily.

I’m scared, Mum, Emily cried.

Just stay close to Beth until we get the bonnet up, Susan said.

Peter pulled back the reins, stopping the horses. They fidgeted when the bright, sunny sky darkened as the cloud rolled in, descending the prairie into a tenebrous forebodingness. He saw nowhere to shelter. Jumping down, Peter swallowed hard, trying to hide his growing fear from his family. He rushed forward and worked to free the team from the harness. If the storm grew as bad as Peter feared it would, they’d have to huddle under the wagons for shelter, and a hitched team might bolt, injuring someone under a rolling wagon wheel or leaving the whole family exposed. The other drivers pulled their wagons alongside, dropped to the ground, and raced to unhitch the teams while the passengers struggled to roll the canvas tarps over the bows as the wind suddenly intensified.

Thunder rumbled and rolled, but along with it came another sound, louder, like the entire contents of the ocean rolling onto land. Suddenly, the uppermost portion of the rising thunderhead brightened into a brilliant white light more intense than the sun. The light burst through the cloud, dragging a roiling section of the cloud along with it. Flashing forward at an unbelievable speed, the light, now a luminous orb leaving a glowing white tail of flame in its wake, passed only miles to the north. An explosion rocked the area as the orb burst with a deafening boom and broke into three portions. The three portions spread out, leaving vaporous trails of smoke emitting from the now three separate tails as the pieces flew onward. Three more explosions followed as, one by one, each piece struck the earth. Dirt belched skyward as the nearest piece struck, and the ground rumbled from the impact.

Of course, May 10, 1879, the date of the Estherville meteorite. Rudy’s grandmother told him about it often. She even had a necklace made from a piece.

That is how they returned, Mary Jane said. In their ancient land, they were sentenced to travel amongst the stars. They were imprisoned in iron and nickel infused with a precious metal known only in the ancient land. If only I knew more about it in life, my story may have had a better ending.

I think they call it Esthervillite. There’s a piece on display at the library. Grandma has a necklace.

And that necklace is what I need, Mary Jane said. We captured them in a container sealed within stone, but their souls are too powerful to be imprisoned much longer. The metal in your grandmother’s necklace can hold them for eternity.

Then why did they escape from the meteorite? Rudy asked.

Because their sentence was over. They were supposed to return to their land, but it is no more. Had their countrymen recovered them and found them unrepentant and still a threat, they would have been sent back for another circuit. Come, there is nothing more of importance here. Let us go several hours ahead.

Rudy’s vision through Peter’s eyes blurred and refocused. Peter now pushed the horses at a faster pace toward the direction where the largest piece of the meteorite had fallen. Steady rain pummeled Peter’s face, and lightning flashed around him. At the sight of a gaping crater in the recently tilled ground of someone’s field, Peter pulled back the reins, set the brake, and jumped down from the seat. Clomping through the mud of the freshly disturbed earth, he approached the hole and peered into it. Is it safe? Susan asked from the wagon.

Shielding his eyes from the pelting rain with the brim of his hat, Peter stared deeper into the hole, a bowl-shaped depression in the field, probably thirteen to fifteen feet deep. Water flowed into the muddy crater. He could not make out the shape of the fallen star through the murky water. No sense in bringing the girls out in the rain. It’s under the water. This is someone’s private field anyway. Even if we could get it, it wouldn’t be ours to take.

Clomping footsteps approached from behind. Peter turned to see his two brothers, Paul and Richard. Peter’s cousin, Ben, and his friend, Colin, had just caught up and stopped their rig next to the others. Paul’s wife, Annabelle, stayed in their wagon. Richard’s wife, Lucinda, peeked out around their wagon’s bonnet. Head covered with a blanket, Sophia clambered out of the wagon and knelt on the seat. Emily wants to see the star, she said.

Peter shook his head. No sense in catching pneumonia in this chilly rain. There’s nothing to see but a big hole. The star’s underwater.

Sophia pulled the blanket closer over her head, climbed down, and splashed through the mud to Peter’s side. Sorry, Father, I just had to see.

Perhaps we can climb down and feel around when the rain is done, Paul said. I think someone would pay dearly for a heavenly star.

Maybe the landowner would share any profits if we helped him dig it out, Richard said.

Possibly, Peter said. But where would one sell such a thing? We have a great distance to travel, and digging out a star might not be worth the time.

Keep an eye on the water, Mary Jane said. Peter does not see it. If only I could warn him, but all has already come to pass.

Peter’s head was turned slightly away from the crater, but Rudy could just make out movement in the man’s peripheral vision. Froth bubbled in the puddle at the center of the crater, followed by a small form snaking through the water. Barely visible among the falling raindrops, it appeared no larger than a worm as it twisted back and forth. He lost sight of it when it reached the mud, but then he noticed a red shape, about three inches long, inching through the mud and flowing water as it crawled up the side of the crater.

Mary Jane, why does it look like a worm?

Their souls were forced from their bodies and placed into those creatures. Their bodies were to be preserved for their return, but they were destroyed long ago. Come, let us move to the girl’s mind.

Rudy felt a sudden pull, and his vision changed to Sophia’s eyes. She looked back at her sisters, who watched from the wagon with their mother. There was a slight tickle along Sophia’s leg that the girl did not notice. The only reason Rudy felt it through her senses was because he knew it was there. The tickle quickly moved up her leg, slid over her hip, crawled along her lower back, and finally stopped at the base of her spine, where it paused.

Come back to the wagon. Your blanket is soaked through, Susan said.

Yes, Mother.

Sophia trudged back through the mud, but as she walked, the tickle crawled up her spine. Sophia even noticed it now, and she tried to scratch her back. As she clambered up the rain-slicked wagon, something changed in her mind when she reached the seat. Darkness clouded her vision. Panic raced through the girl’s thoughts as another consciousness gripped the edges of her mind. The tickle turned to a sharp pain as the creature bit and burrowed into the base of her skull. Come, we must go, Mary Jane said, Before it feels us in her mind. I don’t know what would happen.

When Rudy and Mary Jane left Sophia, the last thing Rudy felt of Sophia’s thoughts was intense fear changing to an evil satisfaction as Sophia’s mind disintegrated into another consciousness claiming control of its new home. What happened? Rudy asked. Is she possessed?

Sadly, no, Mary Jane said. Her soul was consumed. All that was Sophia Taylor was destroyed and absorbed by the evil witch named Alyasha. Her sisters, Kabelios and Zatalaya, each still imprisoned in one of the two remaining larger pieces of the fallen star, will steal the bodies of Beth and Emily. Remember that these events already happened. We can do nothing to change them. Now I will send you into my body. I will not join you, for I cannot relive the past events or my death. I am sorry, but I cannot bear it. While in my body, you will have no thoughts of your own. It will be similar to dreaming that you are another person. You will witness all as I lived it and will learn my story and secrets.

MAY 10, 1879. NEAR Loon Lake, Minnesota

MARY JANE TERWILLEGAR strolled along the trail cut through the marshy prairie south of Loon Lake. Removing her bonnet, she let the soft breeze blow through her long brown hair as she watched the far end of the trail. Glancing back toward Spirit Lake, she wondered if she had already ventured too far. She squinted when she glanced at the sun. It was only a little after eleven, but her father expected her home by four. Why did she have to live so far from Charles? He lived near Loon Lake, and she lived near Spirit Lake. With miles separating them, their visits were too brief. Especially since Father would wonder why her walks had been growing longer and longer. Deep down, Mary Jane suspected her parents knew about the blossoming romance, but neither had said anything. It wasn’t as if anything improper was happening, but John Terwillegar was a staunch Baptist who would not approve of his daughter seeing a Lutheran.

Her heart skipped a beat when she heard the plodding of galloping hooves along the trail. After a moment, she saw Charles’ hat and soon his head bouncing above the prairie grass. As he came closer, he slowed his mount and waved. Waving back, Mary Jane ran toward him as he dropped from his saddle. She wanted to throw herself into his arms, but what if someone saw? Some of the ladies who lived near Loon Lake liked to walk the paths. With the Loon Lake settlers doing most of their business in Spirit Lake, gossip spread quickly among the older women. Sooner or later, word of her budding romance would get back to her father, but word of anything improper would surely make it sooner. She could see Charles’ yearning in his eyes as well, but he quickly looked down and removed his hat.

He cleared his throat, glancing up and down the trail. I borrowed Pa’s horse. I figured we could ride back part way to your house. It would give us more time.

But what if someone sees?

I don’t rightly care much anymore. Getting married would end this creeping about. Maybe I could talk to your pa?

Mary Jane shook her head. In time. Just let me talk to my mother first.

I was hoping we could be married by fall.

I’d like that, too, but I think next spring would be better.

Charles slapped his hat against his leg. That’s about another whole year.

Mary Jane sighed. I know, but I’ve already promised to spend next winter at my brother’s.

In Cherokee? But we won’t see each other at all, not even at Christmas.

Things would be better for us in Cherokee. You said you don’t want to work your father’s farm. There are more jobs there. We could save for our plans sooner.

Charles nodded. Pa knows I’m not interested in farming. He sees I’m not happy, but it will hurt him if I move away. I’ll be happy anywhere as long as I’ll be with you. I could always move to Cherokee after the harvest.

You could. But wouldn’t your father be happier if you didn’t leave him alone over winter? I think it best that we tell our families our intentions and make a formal engagement in the fall. Then we can start our lives together in the spring. We’re young. We don’t need to rush into things...and things will be better if our families support our decision.

Yeah, I reckon you’re right. It’s just so hard. Charles stepped toward her and wrapped her in his arms. Mary Jane did not try to pull away, even as his head moved toward hers. 

Well, I say, an old, shrill voice yelled from down the path.

Mary Jane pulled away, and Charles spun around. It was Hortencia Williams. At least eighty-five, Hortencia was one of the older people living in the area. Her cruel demeanor and big mouth meant that Hortencia would spread this gossip like the plague. Mrs. Williams, Mary Jane said, but her mind ran blank.

Mary Jane Terwillegar, I always thought you were a harlot. But using your wiles to entice a good boy such as Charles to sin is an ungodly thing. Witch. I can always tell a witch when I see one.

Charles stepped forward. Mrs. Williams. I do not care what you say about me, but I will not stand by and listen to you insult Mary Jane.

Hortencia pointed her cane at Mary Jane. "Of course you cannot. Your bewitched eyes cannot see reason through her wicked enchantment. I feel that she has the power."

What power? Mary Jane asked.

You know your power. The power bestowed upon you by the devil. I feel the same thing about Mary Jane Dickinson and Clarinda Allen. How many others are in your coven?

What was she talking about? Everyone knew that Hortencia was insane. Even Mary Jane’s father, religious as he was, said Hortencia was a zealot. She always carried her Bible and knew it by heart, but she perverted the scriptures into something that only a twisted mind could dream up.

I’ll tell your parents what you’ve been doing. Repent, repent in the eyes of the Lord. Hortencia waved her cane and trudged away through the tall grass.

Come on, Charles said. There is nothing we can do about it now. How often does she get to Spirit Lake or see your folks? Let’s not let it spoil today.

You’d be surprised how easily she gets around. But you are right; we shouldn’t let it ruin this lovely day. I suppose, in some ways, meeting Hortencia was advantageous. She’s caused me to remember receiving a message the other day that Mary Jane Dickinson wanted to see me. She usually has tea with Clarinda Allen every Saturday. I’ve just had so much on my mind that I forgot.

And now we’ve got more to worry about, thanks to old Hortencia. How dare she call you a witch. If anyone around here is a witch, she is. Charles climbed into the saddle and pulled Mary Jane up into his arms. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing her head against his shoulder. Perhaps it was a relief that Hortencia knew. At least they wouldn’t have to keep things secret anymore.

MARY JANE LEFT CHARLES to water his horse, walking the short distance to Mary Jane Dickinson’s house. A large log cabin stood in the distance, but it was not a home. During the week, it served as the Loon Lake schoolhouse, and on Sunday both the Baptist and Methodist congregations shared it for church services. Although the services were held at different times, both congregations usually met at the lake afterward to picnic and visit. She paused, watching the white gulls gathering on the smaller of two islands on Loon Lake. She could not see the big island from where she stood, but several children were probably collecting eggs from the numerous black loon nests that dotted the big island’s steep-hilled terrain. After crossing a small wooden bridge spanning a stream draining from Loon Lake and flowing into the marshy area to the south, Mary Jane continued along the path until she saw the Dickinson’s small house, its dull brown facade standing out from the freshly plowed earth surrounding it.

Near a knoll rising from the prairie, Salmon Dickinson cultivated the soil with a plow pulled by two oxen. In a few areas atop the knoll, Mary Jane could make out tiny pine trees through thin spots in the tall prairie grass. Planted as seedlings only two years earlier, volunteers had watered the pine seedlings with buckets of water collected from a nearby pond. Salmon, the other Mary Jane’s husband, had donated the knoll for the locals to use as a cemetery two years earlier after the death of their son, John. The thought of a new cemetery sent a shiver creeping up Mary Jane’s spine. Only a handful of burials