Witch's Moon

By Ralph E. Horner

Joe Hillery meets Diehla Thorne, the ghost of a witch who's curse has haunted his family for three-hundred years. On a life and death wager, she sends Joe back to her time of 1680 New Hampshire. There he has only two days to find a person brave enough to touch the ring on the living witch's finger.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613091142

Book preview

What They Are Saying About

Witches Moon

RALPH E HORNER’S latest book, WITCH’S MOON is a gentle Gothic Horror. It is a cleverly written Time Travel, where the modern-day Joe Hillery is determined to go back in time to alter the outcome of a witch’s curse against all of Judge Jeremiah Hillery’s descendants. Joe is the last in the bloodline unless he can find a way to break the curse. Once you begin, you’ll not want to set this book down. I highly recommend it.

JoEllen Conger

Conger Books Reviews

WITCH’S MOON

Ralph E. Horner

A Wings ePress, Inc.

Gothic Time Travel Novel

Edited by: Jeanne R. Smith

Copy Edited by: Joan C. Powell

Senior Editor: Jeanne R. Smith

Executive Editor: Marilyn Kapp

Cover Artist: Pat Evams

All rights reserved

NAMES, CHARACTERS AND incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Copyright © 2012 by Ralph E. Horner

ISBN: 978-1-61309-114-2

Published by Wings ePress, Inc.

Published In the United States Of America

Wings ePress Inc.

3000 N. Rock Road

Newton, KS  67114

Dedication

To my sister Nancy who has always supported and encouraged my writing.

Prologue

The Curse

1680

Diehla Thorne, wouldst thee now stand for the verdict? Judge Hillery said in monotone. He looked over his spectacles at the raven-haired woman sitting in the front row of the shadowy courtroom.

The people were silent as Diehla slowly rose.

For the acts in alliance with Satan for which thou hast been accused, this court finds thee guilty as charged.

Nay! she gasped, her heart pounding.

Judge Hillery cleared his throat, then continued, For such acts of sorcery and witchcraft against the people of Willstown, I sentence you to be hanged from a tree until dead.

Her eyes grew large, horror registered on her face. Nay! Nay! Thou canst not do this to me. D'ye remember not who I be? Hath thy judgment been eroded since the year last when I was acquitted here?

Silence, prisoner. There is but more to hear.

Diehla fell silent.

Diehla Thorne, for such despicable acts of witchery, I now pass a sentence I've n'er passed before. I sentence thee to be hanged this very day. Before this night is over, thee and thy black heart shall be no more. And may God have mercy on thy soul.

Diehla's eyes were slits, her teeth clenched. She took a step toward the judge, rage etched on her pale face. She extended her right hand, revealing a colorful pentagram ring. She cast an evil eye upon the judge, pointing her ring directly at him.

Jeremiah Hillery, just as I've been sentenced to die before the age of forty, I now curse all thy male descendants who follow thee and bear thy name, that none shall live to see the age.

Judge Hillery's heart pounded with fear. He knew full well what powers this woman possessed.

Diehla's dark eyes darted about the drab wooden courtroom at the silent spectators in their Puritan grey.

Hark'ee all here this day, to witness that what I say now shall come to pass.

With a trembling hand, Judge Hillery wiped his brow, almost jarring the long gray wig from his head. Guards, remove the devil's ring from the prisoner's finger at once.

They grabbed Diehla. As each man touched her ring, sparks flew and they yelled out in pain.

You fools. Diehla laughed. You cannot stop my curse now.

Both guards stood back as if spectators.

Raising her voice louder with each word, she continued, Let it be written for all thy male descendants to know and fear! So shall it be in every generation!

Pry the ring from her, Judge Hillery ordered.

The smaller sentinel pleaded, But m’lord, her ring hath a fire to't!

Diehla turned to face the crowd. When three hundred years hath passed and the moon is again the exact full moon 'tis this night, I shall rise from the dead to deal with Judge Hillery's male descendants, if any are living.

Bring me that ring! the judge shouted.

The guards didn’t move as they watched her raise her right hand upward. Diehla closed her eyes and yelled, By the power of this ring, so let it be!

A lightning bolt shot from her ring to the ceiling. Panic spread among the throng of villagers crowding the courtroom. Women screamed and some fainted. Others crossed their hearts while still others fled the courtroom in fear. Diehla turned to face the two officers who backed away at her glare. At that moment she started toward the door. The burly guard grabbed her.

Judge Hillery pounded his gavel. Order! Guards, ye art in contempt of this court if ye don't bring me the prisoner's ring at once!

The man holding Diehla tried again to force her ring off. The other sentinel watched and trembled.

Sever the finger from her if need be, the judge demanded, but bring me that ring!

Diehla tried to bite the officer's hand as he grasped and pulled at her sparking ring. She couldn’t break free so she scratched his arm. When he finally removed the ring, Diehla spat in his face. He gave it to the smaller guard, who took it to the judge.

Held in the grasp of the burly man, Diehla said, It matters not. The die is cast.

Guards, Judge Hillery pointed. Remove the prisoner. Take her now to be executed, at once!

While the officers pushed Diehla out of the courtroom, she continued to yell, Remember, after three hundred years, on this date, I shall return!

Her voice faded into the hallway.

In his chambers, Judge Hillery eagerly, but fearfully, examined Diehla's ring. The beautiful multi-colored gemstones were aligned in the shape of a star across a band of gold. He put the ring away for safekeeping to inspect closer at a later time.

The red, darkening sky turned to dusk as the guards forced Diehla to the execution grounds.

She hissed out threats while they headed north, followed by a mob.

An eerie, dense fog lay on the ground and hung ominously in the old church yard. When Diehla and the officers passed through, the fog swirled around their legs, clinging like ghostly arms. Then it dissipated into the crisp autumn air.

In a valley just north of the court house, Diehla's hands and feet were bound with rope to a solitary tree.

Diehla peered at the guard. Why've you tied me here?

So's you won't escape, witch.

The executioner surrounded the bottom of the tree and Diehla's feet with hay. Curious onlookers continued to assemble.

Diehla watched the executioner. Wh—what are you doing? Did you hear the judge's orders not? 'Tis not a burning.

If thou art a witch, thou should have the foresight to see thou were t’be burned, not hanged. The executioner laughed. Thou wilt burn in hell either way, witch.

Thou art going to burn me alive! Diehla’s scream echoed through the valley. Thou shalt be punished surely for this act contrary to the judge's orders.

Alas, the executioner replied, "'twas he who chose thy fate, not I."

With that, Diehla gazed into the crowd. Jeremiah Hillery, as thou have secretly decreed me to burn, I now curse thy life. Just as mine shall end before the hour of twelve, so too shall yours! Then she whispered something under her breath to complete her spell.

Two of Diehla's disciples watched unnoticed among the villagers. Tall, dark and thin, her sorcerer lover wore a black vest and three-cornered hat. Watching in silence, he stroked his long face in a contemplative manner.

A young blonde-haired woman in a green hooded cloak, folded her hands in front of her. Her big eyes stared at Diehla as if in a trance.

The fog grew thicker. It slunk and crept through the valley, as if death itself.

Nightfall was upon the land as the executioner lowered his flaming torch to light the hay around Diehla.

She gazed up toward the sky. The moon is full and bright. So too shall it be upon my return! And for burning me, I'll turn the moon to fire!

The villagers looked up and saw the moon had taken on an unusual orange color. A murmur went through the crowd.

Diehla’s final words could scarcely be heard over the crackling blaze that engulfed her. Fools! You think you can destroy me by fire? My body ay, but my spirit and curse shall live on!

Most of the villagers silently watched Diehla in the inferno, while she shrieked in agony. Gripped in fear, some crossed their hearts, while weaker-stomached souls had to turn away. Still a few others chanted, Burn, witch, burn.

The small guard folded his hands in prayer, in fear he'd been hexed. The other guard and executioner laughed and mocked her as she burned.

Soon the valley was saturated with the sickening smell of burning flesh. When the flames were extinguished, all that was left to bury were Diehla's charred bones.

THAT EVENING, JUDGE Hillery attended a small party held in his honor at the Willstown Hall.

The celebration was for his ridding the town of Diehla. During the festivities, word got back to him that the witch had cursed him to die before midnight for having her burned.

'Tis merely the babbling of a dying woman, nothing more. The judge smiled and sipped his wine.

However, the guests could tell he was subdued by the news for the rest of the evening, as his mind seemed to be someplace else.

By eleven o'clock, the party was ending and most of the guests had gone. When the judge announced he was leaving, the local tailor, worried about the judge’s safety, said he'd leave with him. Judge Hillery and the tailor lived in opposite directions, so the judge assured him he would be fine.

I've walked home from here more times than I can remember. I'm not afraid of the fog.

Some of the guests watching him walk out the door into the dense, gloomy vapor had a dark, foreboding feeling.

By midnight, when the judge hadn't returned home, his wife grew worried. Being ill herself, she summoned a neighbor to fetch her husband from the party. But the man returned and told Mrs. Hillery the gathering was over and the judge had left more than an hour before.

A few friends were immediately summoned and retraced the judge's path. After hours of wandering, they had to give up for the night.

The next morning, a search party was formed. People living in the vicinity of the judge’s route were questioned. One man, who had been tending to his horses just after eleven, said he heard a man's cry but couldn't see who it was because of the fog.

No clues could be found that day or in the weeks that followed. The search was finally abandoned and Judge Hillery was never seen or heard from again.

One

Joe’s Dilemma

Joe's heart pounded as he paced his large living room. His dark brown hair was moist with perspiration and his breathing was shallow. He kept a close eye on the old clock ticking on the wall.

In his mid-twenties, Joe was in excellent health. The doctors told him he should live to be ninety, but the doctors didn't know what Joe knew. He felt certain he had only five days to live.

Finally came the knock at the front door for which he had desperately been waiting. Joe stopped and held his breath in anticipation of the person he hoped would save his life.

Moments later, the maid entered with a distinguished-looking man dressed in a charcoal gray business suit. He stood six feet tall with broad shoulders, his brown hair graying at the temples.

Joe hurried over to him and pumped his hand. Brad Heins, I'm so glad you could make it.

Joe Hillery? Brad frowned.

Yes. The last of the Hillerys.

Joe’s boyish good looks came as a surprise to Brad, since he had conjured up the image of a man nearing forty.

I got an urgent message from your attorney that you needed my help. What's this about you having less than a week to live?

Joe shut his eyes and cringed. This story is going to sound so unbelievable.

He sauntered over to a portrait gallery which hung to the left of the antique clock. Joe stopped and looked at a portrait of a man with short, dark brown hair, who appeared to be in his late thirties.

An ancestor? Brad asked.

Joe turned to him. Yes, they all are. This is the portrait of my Uncle George, the former, most recent resident of Hillery mansion. I moved here after his death, just three months ago. That one is Samuel Hillery. Joe pointed. He was a writer by trade. Here's Henry Hillery. Because of the curse, he never married. He died from a shotgun blast fired by his lover’s husband, shortly after this portrait was done. This one is my grandfather, Theodore. And this one... Joe gazed up at a portrait of a maturing man with a stern scowl, wearing an ancient judicial wig and robe, ...was Judge Jeremiah Hillery. He disappeared one night in sixteen-eighty. His body was never found. Some say he got lost in the fog on his way home from a party. Others say he disappeared because of a witch's curse.

Go on, Brad scoffed.

That's what the legend says.

Brad stepped closer to examine the Hillery portraits. He noticed they were all youthful, not a grey hair in the lot. No one appeared a day over forty.

Your ancestors all look so young. Did they make a pact with the devil for eternal youth?

That's just it. No male Hillery has seen the age of forty since the witch cursed the judge and his descendants three hundred years ago. These are portraits of all the judge's descendants who have lived here in Hillery mansion since it was built in sixteen-sixty-nine. Generation after generation of Hillerys have lived and died in this house.

How did they die?

Various ways. Accidents, disease, even murders. But they all had one thing in common, not one of them lived to the ripe old age of forty. Not even one, for three centuries!

If the curse is to die before forty, why are you so worried now? You don't even look thirty.

Actually I just turned twenty-five. Joe took a deep breath. This part is going to sound fantastic to Brad. Would you like to know the whole story?

That's why I'm here.

Joe left the room and returned a few minutes later with a sheaf of crumbling parchment tied together with a faded ribbon.

This is the Hillery family legend. Joe handed it to Brad.

Brad squinted at the faded script on the cover. He put on his reading glasses. Good lord, you expect me to read this?

Come over to the end table. Joe motioned with his head. The light is better there.

What is this, some sort of old ghost story? Brad set the book on the small table and turned the wilted cover. He sucked on his pipe and read the entire legend without saying a word. After about fifteen minutes, he closed the back binding.

Well, what do you think? Joe leaned forward and peered at him.

Brad smiled It was very entertaining.

Entertaining? Joe put a hand over his eyes and shook his head.

There are many folk tales here in New England.

You're saying you don't believe it? Joe’s heart was in his throat; was he going to lose Brad’s support?

Well, it might have some initial truth. You believe all of it?

Every word. I've always been told the legend was written by a reliable source, someone who knew those accounts first hand.

You mean you actually believe a colonial witch is responsible for your family's early deaths?

How would you explain it?

Brad paused, then added, Well, life expectancies were much shorter than ours today. Indians, disease— small pox alone...

You're wrong, Joe interrupted. You read the part about Diehla returning?

You actually believe that? Is that why I'm here? Is this Delia...

It's Diehla.

Whatever. Brad waved his hand. Is she supposed to come back this week? Is that it?

Yes, that's why I summoned you. Before you say anything else, think about this. Everything Diehla said has come to pass, from the judge's disappearance to all the Hillerys dying before the age of forty. Do you know what the odds of that happening by sheer chance would be? I'm desperate for your help. If for no other reason, take my offer for the money alone. I'm prepared to give you up to half my inheritance if need be.

It's not the money I'm concerned about, but the nature of the case itself. What do you expect me to do?

The dread of having to face Diehla alone crept back into Joe’s heart. All I want is for you to be with me at the tree where Diehla was burned, on the night of her promised return. As a parapsychologist, I want you to speak on my behalf.

The tree is still standing?

Joe nodded. It's become somewhat of a tourist attraction.

Why did you choose me?

I've been following your paranormal research in the papers and magazines for years, ever since you wrote that article on clairvoyance. Recently I found out you were doing research on telepathy and psychic energy.

Yes, I am currently involved with ESP and even out of body experiences.

That’s why I feel you would know how to deal with an entity like Diehla Thorne.

I see the connection you're trying to make, but I’m involved with the quick, not the dead. As I just mentioned, I work with psychic phenomenon of the mind. I’m not a ghost hunter.

Joe had to say something that would make his argument more plausible. Do you believe in ghosts?

Well, yes.

Have you ever seen one yourself? Joe peered at Brad in anticipation.

Brad hesitated. I have, but most of the research I’ve done with the dead is based on spectral evidence. Joe, when a person dies and then haunts a place, the events are continual. Sometimes the soul remains trapped, or Earth-bound. I’ve never heard of someone returning from the dead after three centuries. Brad shook his head.