Salem: The Awakening

By Michelle Poe

Salem Gardner Montgomery is just a teenager when her mom dies an unnatural and brutal death that triggers the discovery of her family’s supernatural legacy. She must quickly learn how to control her newly discovered magical powers if she is to dethrone the planet’s most evil witch - one who just happens to want her dead! Fortunately, she has the help of some peculiar cousins she’s never met, a friend from school, and a mysterious new boy that she also happens to be falling in love with. 

As she embarks on her journey, Salem has very little to go on with the exception of a letter that her mom wrote just before she died. The story moves backward and forward in time from when Salem was a baby to the present day and takes place in Massachusetts as well as in several foreign locations. Salem must navigate a treacherous path as she endeavors to learn about her family and its role in the supernatural realm.  Along the way, she discovers that she had a twin sister who died shortly after they were born and that her (very much alive) aunt has been following her own evil agenda ever since that terrible day. This tale involves anthropological adventures, a powerful shaman and his vengeful daughter, a magical tiger, a power-hungry college professor, and a battle with corpses at the local cemetary.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Dec 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9781665749541

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Copyright © 2023 Michelle Poe.

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ISBN: 978-1-6657-4953-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-4954-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023916593

Archway Publishing rev. date: 11/10/2023

CONTENTS

PART 1

PROLOGUE

ONE DANVERS, MASSACHUSETTS

TWO DANVERS, MASSACHUSETTS

THREE DANVERS, MASSACHUSETTS

4 DANVERS, MASSACHUSETTS

5 DANVERS, MASSACHUSETTS

6 DANVERS, MASSACHUSETTS

7 DANVERS, MASSACHUSETTS

PART II

8 DANVERS, MASSACHUSETTS

9 NANTUCKET, MASSACHUSETTS

10 DANVERS, MASSACHUSETTS

11 DANVERS, MASSACHUSETTS AND SOUTHEAST ASIA

12 FEBRUARY 2023

13 JANUARY 2007

14 DANVERS, MASSACHUSETTS

15 JANUARY, 2007

16 DANVERS, MASSACHUSETTS

17 SOUTHEAST ASIA

PART III

18 FEBRUARY, 2023

19 SOUTHEAST ASIA

20 DANVERS, MASSACHUSETTS

21 SOUTHEAST ASIA

22 DANVERS, MASSACHUSETTS

23 SOUTHEAST ASIA

24 DANVERS, MASSACHUSETTS

25 SINGAPORE

26 DANVERS, MASSACHUSETTS

27 NEW YORK, NEW YORK

28 DANVERS, MASSACHUSETTS

For Mark, Max, and Sam

I love you

PART 1

PROLOGUE

DANVERS, MASSACHUSETTS

NOVEMBER 2022

SALEM

S alem Gardner Montgomery sat at her desk, staring out the window into a driving rainstorm. The branches of a one - h undred - y ear -o ld oak gently grazed the ancient glass panes in the familiar rhythmic fashion she had known her entire life. Whenever she awakened from a bad dream or couldn’t fall asleep, she had always preferred the soothing lullaby of the branches to any other form of comfort. The moon used to shine brightly through a second window over her bed, providing her with a peaceful lunar glow at night, but now that it was boarded up, she had only the view of her beloved old tree.

When she wasn’t at school, the attic bedroom was where Salem spent nearly all of her time these days. It had been the setting for virtually every important moment of her sixteen years, beginning with her violent entry into the world. In fact, the old oaken floorboards still bore evidence of Salem’s untimely birth in the form of a large, faded blood stain. Her mother, Ophelia, tried in vain to remove the mark for several months after her arrival, but her efforts had been unsuccessful, and eventually, she gave up, deciding that it might make for a good story one day. The old wood had soaked up the blood like a sponge and refused to relinquish it despite any amount of elbow grease expended against it. Over the years, the discoloration had faded to a dull carmine hue and, as her mother had foretold, become part of the family’s folklore. For the first several years of Salem’s life, those deemed worthy would be paraded upstairs to view Ophelia’s badge of honor.

When Salem was old enough to understand the genesis of the stain, she became upset, more precisely, embarrassed to the point of covering it with a rug. Lookie-loos were scorned, and eventually, the pale crimson blotch was all but forgotten. After Ophelia died, Salem removed the rug. She felt her mother’s presence when she stared at the ruddy smear. Her lifelong disdain for it had morphed into a fear that it would fade now that it was exposed all the time.

She missed her mother. It had been just the two of them for Salem’s entire life until three weeks ago when Ophelia died unexpectedly. The coroner had questioned Salem about the circumstances of her mother’s death, and she knew that her answers hadn’t been helpful. One thing she was certain of, however, was that Ophelia’s departure from this world was unnatural, and because of this, Salem had kept several startling facts about the heinous ordeal to herself. She instinctively knew that revealing everything would make her more vulnerable to the unholy forces that had taken her mom’s life.

Odd things had been happening for several weeks prior to her mother falling ill. For starters, Ophelia became fixated on the idea of leaving Danvers. She was strangely tight-lipped about her all-consuming desire to relocate, flatly refusing to divulge her reasons for it to her daughter. This behavior was markedly uncharacteristic and deeply troubling to Salem. They shared everything with each other, so her mother’s secretiveness left Salem feeling hurt and confused. Ophelia remained utterly preoccupied with her quest to move until the rapid onset of her illness, which, within two days, had taken her life.

* * * * *

Salem walked home from school under an angry charcoal sky on the Friday that everything changed. She entered the front door to discover that her mom wasn’t feeling well. Ophelia told Salem not to be concerned—it was probably just a virus. She’d been lying on the sofa all day and was optimistic that she’d feel better with some more rest. Later, when Salem was doing her homework, Ophelia appeared in her doorway to announce that she was taking to her bed to sweat it out. She smiled when she said it, but Salem detected a tone of foreboding in her voice and insisted her mom stay in the room with her while she worked on a history essay. Too weak to argue with her headstrong daughter, Ophelia climbed into Salem’s bed and immediately fell into a deep slumber. The skies outside were pitch black now, threatening to drench the landscape. Every few minutes, Salem glanced over at her mom. The bright light from the desk lamp was unforgiving, causing Ophelia’s skin to appear sallow and mottled. Her eyes scampered actively beneath her lids in reaction to a vivid dream, but otherwise, she was calm.

She slept soundly through the night, but by the next afternoon, Ophelia still hadn’t awakened and was hot with a fever. Her sleep had become increasingly agitated, so Salem called Sam and Maxine Buckley. Also known as Papa Sam and Nana Max, the elderly couple were surrogate grandparents to Salem. Having no children of their own, they had adopted her and Ophelia after becoming acquainted with them at the park one day. Spotting the pretty young mother crying on a bench, they approached to see if she needed help. Between pitiful sobs, Ophelia spontaneously blurted out her life story to the unwitting couple as Salem napped in her stroller. The chance encounter resulted in them instantly developing protective feelings for Ophelia and her baby girl.

Ever since that first meeting, they had celebrated birthdays, holidays, and special occasions together. Serving as each other’s extended family, their lives became deeply entwined, so when Salem called about Ophelia’s worsening condition, they came over right away to check on her. When they arrived, Sam flopped down on the sofa and turned on the television while Maxine followed Salem upstairs to assess the situation. As they stood over her sleeping form, Ophelia twitched involuntarily and occasionally muttered something incomprehensible. Maxine touched Ophelia’s damp temple and agreed that she felt warm but wasn’t alarmed at her condition.

"She’s caught a little bug. It is that time of the year. Just let her sleep. That’s the best thing for her right now. Your mom is strong. She’ll be fine, honey. Don’t fret," Nana said confidently, wrapping a comforting arm around the worried teenager. She advised Salem to place a cool cloth on Ophelia’s forehead from time to time and to give her something that would bring the fever down when she woke up. At that point, they could decide if she needed a trip to the doctor. The Buckleys had brought along a cheese pizza, which the three of them ate together in front of the television. After dinner, they were putting the dishes away when Maxine offered to stay the night.

No, no, it’s ok. I can look after her, Salem replied, feeling a bit better after Nana’s earlier assessment. I’m sure you’re right. It’s just a little bug. She’ll be ok in the morning.

Maxine hung the dish towel up to dry and looked at her watch. All right then. I think she’s probably through the worst of it by now. We’re only a phone call away. You should get some sleep now too, sweetie. She hugged Salem affectionately, then followed Sam out to the car.

Salem closed the door behind them and walked up to the attic, where Ophelia was now sleeping peacefully. It was early yet, but she curled up in her comfy threadbare yellow chair for the second night in a row and dozed off. Sometime later, she was awakened from a deep sleep by the sound of her mother’s plaintive moans. Salem opened her eyes slowly, disoriented. Her head was foggy, and it took a moment to focus. As she got her bearings, she became aware that her mom was sitting upright in the bed, her back as straight as an arrow.

Mom! What’s wrong?!? Are you ok?? Ophelia didn’t respond, continuing instead with her mournful wails. Salem remembered something she’d read in a magazine about intense dreams called night terrors and wondered if the fever was causing her mother to experience one now. Salem sprung from her chair and hurtled toward the bed, where her mom vibrated in a state of fear. Ophelia’s expression was one of profound dread. She appeared transfixed by something ominous—her eyes wide as saucers.

Salem was still trying to wake her mother when suddenly, the whites of Ophelia’s eyes turned the color of egg yolks! Almost immediately, they started to bulge freakishly in their sockets. Her breathing became labored and wet—a throat draped in phlegm. She struggled for air, gurgling occasionally as though she were drowning. Her fearfulness was illuminated by the light of the full moon, which now streamed through an attic window covered in water droplets. A storm had come and gone while they slept. Ophelia’s swollen, jaundiced orbs were fixed to a spot on the wall, watching something intently. She shook her head back and forth, and her body quivered with fear as she repeatedly mouthed the words no, and please, as if negotiating with an attacker.

Salem grabbed Ophelia’s face and looked directly into her eyes, hoping it would snap her out of her delusion. Mom! Wake up! Wake up!!

Ophelia didn’t respond, still riveted to something only she could see. Salem looked in the direction of Ophelia’s deranged stare again but detected nothing. She squeezed her mother’s hot, trembling hands. Sweating profusely now, Ophelia fought through each ragged breath. Her ghastly expression became more exaggerated with every passing second. She was burning up—an incinerator fueled by an aberrant form of internal combustion.

Mom!! It’s Salem! I’m here!!

Trembling violently now, her mother continued grappling with her unseen assailant. Mustering her strength, she appeared to break free of it briefly and tried to speak, but the only sound that emerged was a guttural yowl. Ophelia’s eyes were locked on Salem as she wrestled for control of her faculties. Foamy spit trails flowed urgently from the corners of her mouth.

Salem...You must protect yourself! She sputtered with extreme difficulty as she persevered mightily against the malevolent force that gripped her.

Mom! What are you talking about?!? Are you ok?!? Mom!!?

Panicking, Salem tried to think of anything that might help her mother. She grabbed the glass of water sitting on the bedside table and poured some of it on Ophelia’s forehead. A sizzling sound erupted, and bursts of steam rose from where the cool liquid made contact with her skin. Suddenly, several large, ugly blisters pushed up like a chain of tiny volcanos near her hairline! Salem was stupefied. Rallying against the restraint of her fiendish tormenter, Ophelia grabbed her daughter tightly by the shoulders. Viscous stalactites of frothy spittle swung about her chin. She resembled a rabid dog, suffering and desperate.

"Salem...The Darkness! You must fight it!!" she shrieked.

"What are you talking about?? The darkness?? What??!? Mom?!?!" Salem was hysterical now.

Ophelia’s eyes darted crazily about the room. She battled valiantly to get her words out, still clutching Salem’s shoulders with surprising strength. The heat that emanated from her grasp was searing. Salem could feel her mother’s handprints branding themselves onto her skin.

"The Gift..." Ophelia managed as her attention was forced back towards the hostile specter that controlled her. Terrified, Salem watched as Ophelia’s tremors crescendoed to a series of intense seizures. Her beautiful face transformed into a portrait of physical and psychological turmoil, contorting and spasming grotesquely until she became a mutant version of herself. Her body temperature rose to an agonizing level, and her grasp on Salem’s shoulders tightened like a pair of vice grips. White hot heat radiated down Salem’s arms.

Mom! Stay with me!!! Oh my God!! What’s happening?!? Salem screamed, swinging her arms furiously in a last-ditch effort to break the sinister apparition’s hold over her mother.

A few seconds later, the hidden menace’s supercharged energy seemed to vanish. Was the spell finally broken?!? Liberated at last from her mother’s painful clasp, Salem watched in horror as Ophelia’s fingers curled backward on themselves like something from a horror movie. Then she went completely limp and fell back onto the pillow, soaked with perspiration. The hideous expression on her face slackened, and for a moment, she was frighteningly still. Salem was frantic. As she leaned in to get a closer look at her mother’s face, Ophelia’s mustard-colored eyes sprung open. Staring into the void, zombie-like, she bared her teeth, growled viciously like a feral animal, and began convulsing violently again. Salem struggled in vain to soothe her. Angry red welts appeared all over her skin. They abruptly transformed into the same pustules that covered her forehead, some of which had broken open, their contents streaming down her face and bubbling like butter in a frying pan.

Writhing wildly, Ophelia’s body began to rise slowly from the bed! Instinctively, Salem reached up in an effort to pull her back down but was thrown to the floor by the imperceptible demon. She watched helplessly from beneath an invisible forcefield as her mother, still supine, floated several feet above the bed. Ophelia howled in response to the unspeakable pain that coursed through her body.

Cowering powerlessly in the corner, Salem bawled as Ophelia campaigned heroically against the sadistic force that inhabited her, but she was no match for it in her weakened state. The sinewy veins on her face and neck were rope-like and pulsating, distorting her features even more. Her limbs gnarled, bending unnaturally at the joints as she levitated halfway between the bed and ceiling.

Sickening cracking sounds reverberated as Ophelia’s bones shattered under the wraith’s brutal fury. A vicious wind suddenly tore through the room and spun around it violently, causing the window over the bed to explode. It left behind a frame of jagged shards. Then, there was a momentary sensation of being inside of a vacuum or tornado. The force of it knocked the wind out of Salem as it threw her to the floor once again. Objects flew off her desk and shelves, along with her schoolwork. Desperate for air, she struggled to catch her breath and watched in disbelief as the gale-force vortex transformed into a bright red miniature cyclone and drilled down through the bloodstained patch on the floor, disappearing inside of it. Ophelia’s anguished body, still suspended in mid-air, suddenly plummeted to the floor like a rag doll, landing heavily atop the scarlet stain. She yelped pathetically upon impact, her arms and legs twisting away from her torso at gruesome angles. The hostile energy that had pinned Salem to the floor finally relented, and she threw herself over her mother protectively as her body thrashed about in a final death rattle. At last, Ophelia was still. Then silence.

Salem’s wail shattered the quiet. NOOOOOOO!!!

She rocked back and forth, sobbing deliriously as she cradled her mother’s dented, misshapen head in her lap. Ophelia’s deformed body, still overheated from its horrifying ordeal, began to change quickly. Salem could feel muscles and joints hardening under her skin as she tried to arrange the wreckage of her mother’s battered and broken extremities back into something resembling a human body. As Salem repositioned Ophelia’s right arm, she felt it dislocate from its bony hollow. The damage she sustained during the crusade against her slayer had resulted in limbs of disparate length—mismatched sets of bruised and bloated arms and legs. Almost immediately, rigor mortis began to set in. Her mouth was agape, still dripping with bubbly saliva. The pus-filled craters covering her death mask continued to poach sickeningly, manifesting the infernal temperature of her corpse. Most devastating was that Ophelia’s crowning feature—her stunning azure eyes—had gone completely opaque, fading to the color of dull carbon. In death, her mother stared straight through her with greasy black eel eyes.

* * * * *

SAM AND MAXINE

The Buckleys were at home watching television when they decided to check on Salem and Ophelia once more before going to bed. When the phone call went unanswered, they jumped into the car and drove back to the Gardner house. As they approached the front door, they heard Salem’s blood-curdling scream. Maxine fumbled for the key, unlocked the deadbolt, and threw it open. They raced upstairs to find the girl sobbing over her mother’s lifeless body.

Ophelia’s physical condition was unlike anything the elderly couple had ever seen. Upon entering the room, they were assaulted by the repulsive stench of stomach bile and rotting flesh, which caused them to flinch and gag. Maxine tried to find Ophelia’s pulse as Sam fell to his knees to begin CPR. He clumsily laced his palsied fingers together, placed the butt of his left palm on her sternum, and administered a series of quick chest compressions in an effort to get her heart going. Oddly, the expected bounce back from her rib cage didn’t occur, and each time he pushed, his hands sunk deeper into her spongy thoracic cavity as though it were collapsing in on itself. After a couple more attempts, a peculiar expression came over his face, and he stopped. He looked at his hands in disbelief. They dripped with sticky lymphatic secretions that had soaked through Ophelia’s bedclothes. A confused expression came over his face.

What are you doing, Sam?!? Keep going! insisted Maxine.

He looked puzzled and spoke quietly. She’s already getting mushy. Sam looked stunned and had a realization. It’s happening, he said ominously.

What are you talking about?!? yelled Maxine over Salem’s bawling.

She’s starting to decompose already, he said, under his breath, hoping that Salem wouldn’t hear. He looked at Maxine with an ominous expression. Do you think…? But Maxine cut him off before he could finish.

We have to keep trying!! bellowed Maxine.

I can’t! It’s like her skin isn’t attached to her anymore. Maxine looked at him with dread. She’s gone, he said, very quietly.

KEEP TRYING DAMMIT! Maxine ordered, desperation in her voice.

Exasperated, Sam pinched Ophelia’s nose, put his mouth to hers, and blew as hard as he could. The fetid odor of decay that wafted back out of her made him heave. Ophelia’s porcelain skin had turned gray, revealing a roadmap of dark, busted capillaries. At last, perceiving their efforts were futile, Maxine brought a hand to her mouth, stifling a cry. She reached over and closed Ophelia’s eyes, which looked like charred lumps of coal, and then went to sit on the bed next to a catatonic Salem.

* * * * *

SALEM

Maxine escorted the traumatized girl downstairs and dialed 911. She and Sam handled everything as Salem watched the macabre proceedings through a mind-numbing fog. The next several hours were a blur. The loss of her mother was incomprehensible. All these years, it had been just the two of them. Her father had disappeared when she was just a baby, and she was aware of an estranged aunt, but that was it. Where did this leave her?

With Salem having no blood relatives to speak of, Maxine and Sam, who most closely resembled next of kin, moved in with her until they could figure things out. A neighbor down the block who was a detective with the local police department offered to help locate her lost relatives, but Maxine brushed him off, assuring him she could handle it with the help of a former colleague who still worked at the Danvers Hall of Records.

Salem’s whole life had changed instantaneously. The possibility of her mother dying from what had begun as a relatively minor illness had never occurred to her. She was not prepared for whatever her future held now.

Sitting at her desk, Salem watched her branches scrape against the window and tried to remember what life had been like before her mom had died. She contemplated her bleak circumstances and wondered if Nana would ever find either of her two known family members. She didn’t want to leave the only home she had ever known. This room was her sole source of comfort now. She turned her gaze to the faded discoloration on the floor. Salem had been born on that spot, and her mother had died on it. Her eyes welled up with tears as she stared at the once despised blemish that now served as one of the few tangible connections she still felt with her mother.

ONE

DANVERS, MASSACHUSETTS

JANUARY 2023

SALEM

T he Buckleys had been doing everything they could think of to ease Salem’s grief during the months following her mom’s death. They hadn’t exactly celebrated Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s, but had appropriately acknowledged each occasion with the obligatory turkey and cranberry sauce, noble fir and stuffed stockings, and sparkling cider and televised celebration in Times Square. Along with the perfunctorily performed traditions, the Buckleys offered cautious optimism, unyielding support, and gentle encouragement that they hoped would carry Salem into the new year.

She was truly grateful for their efforts, especially since they were simultaneously nursing their own grief over Ophelia. Nearly three months had passed, but it still seemed as though it had happened yesterday. Salem could instantly put herself in any moment of that fateful day and vividly relive every lurid detail of it. Over the last few weeks, she’d been writing her feelings down and found it to be very cathartic. Though she still felt intense loss, she found that putting pen to paper was helpful in some small way.

Salem was lying in bed writing when she heard the tapping this time. For the third day in a row, she looked out her window to see a beautiful large bird pecking on a branch of her tree. Several times annually, new lodgers would appear to roost in it. In fact, her bulletin board was covered with pictures she had taken of them over the years. Each one was beautiful, displaying its unique habits just for her as it forged out a life on the other side of her looking glass. Her own personal aviary. She enjoyed researching her seasonal tenants, and as such, each visitor’s photo was accompanied by its scientific name and an index card containing the most interesting information she could discover about the species. It was a pastime her mom had enjoyed as well. Each time she thought she’d seen them all, a new variety would show up and surprise her. Such was the case with this latest arrival. She knew that it was a falcon or hawk based on the curvature of its beak and its large mean looking talons. A bird of prey. Its breast was covered in alternating patches of chestnut brown and white downy, resembling something of a checkerboard pattern. This, in conjunction with the bright yellow smudge over its beak and the shock of black and gray striped tail feathers that gracefully jettisoned away from its body, resulted in a graphic quality that was nothing short of stunning. She picked up her cell phone to snap a picture of it, but the bird seemed to know it was being watched and turned to gaze at her with its bright vermillion eyes. It flew away as she zoomed in for a close-up.

She sat back down on the bed and hit the home button, revealing her screen saver—a photo of her and Ophelia right before she got sick. It went out of focus as Salem’s eyes filled with tears. She was rudderless without her mom. The Buckleys were doing their level best to provide some sense of normalcy, but the pain caused by her loss rarely subsided. She scrolled through several more pictures of the two of them together and was about to give in to one of her extended crying jags when the screen on her phone cracked spontaneously, resulting in a thick spiderweb of broken glass. The photo was obscured almost beyond recognition now.

She was trying to figure out what had caused it to shatter when she heard the doorbell ring. Nana and Papa were running errands, so she wiped her eyes and headed downstairs. Just as she thought things couldn’t get any worse, she peeked through the curtains and saw a black van sitting outside. Griffin Mortuary Services was painted in fancy silver script across every visible surface of the vehicle. The sight of it there shocked her, and she fought the impulse to run back upstairs and hide in her room. Knowing she’d have to face it eventually, she took several deep breaths and opened the door. Cecily Griffin was standing there holding a cardboard box. She was acquainted with Cecily. They’d been friendly their whole lives but had always run in different social circles. She was a very sweet-natured and outgoing girl. Tall and trim, with umber curls that nearly reached her waist, Cecily’s face was dotted in such a perfectly balanced constellation of freckles that it looked like she’d painted them on one at a time. She peered back at Salem with velvety brown, almond-shaped eyes that blinked nervously behind fashionable tortoise shell frames. Cecily’s family owned the only funeral parlor in town. Over the years, Salem had seen the black van parked in front of many homes but never expected to find it in her own driveway. It was everything she could do to keep her knees from buckling underneath her.

Cecily proceeded cautiously. Hi, Salem. How are you? I’m very sorry for your loss.

Salem couldn’t bring herself to speak. She just stood there, silently staring at the package that Cecily was holding.

This took a bit longer than usual. The container you selected was on back order. Sorry.

She continued awkwardly when Salem didn’t respond.

I..um...I hope that you enjoyed your mom’s service...I mean...I hope you were happy...Oh shoot, I’m so sorry. I’m really screwing this up. I don’t normally make deliveries, but I wanted to this time because my uncle, who usually does it, really is ‘that creepy funeral home guy,’ and I thought that it might be less awful somehow if it was someone you knew. I’m doubting that now. Jeez. I’m so sorry. I should have stayed back at the office and let Uncle Ronald do this. Cecily was flustered. Salem was still mute. Do you...want me to put this somewhere for you?

Salem snapped out of her trance, grateful to have avoided a meltdown on her front porch. No, it’s ok. I’ll take it. Thank you for coming. I appreciate it. It was very thoughtful of you. She managed something of a smile and reached out for the box. She was surprised at how heavy it was.

Cecily stood there, ill at ease. I’m sorry...this is so awkward. Can I just get you to initial this? Then I’ll be off.

Sure...yes, of course. Salem carefully placed the box on the entry table and signed the delivery receipt.

Cecily handed her a copy and turned to leave but hesitated for a moment as if trying to decide if she should say what was on her mind. Salem, I know that you have lots of friends, but most of them probably still have their mothers. I lost my mom when I was five...so I know what it’s like....if you ever want to talk...

Oh...I didn’t know. I’m so sorry, said Salem.

"Yeah, most people don’t. My dad remarried pretty quickly, and everyone assumes she’s my mom, which she totally is...I mean, she’s great. It’s just... you never really get over a loss like that, you know? It dulls over time, but you never completely recover from it. Anyway...I’ll see you at school." She started back towards the van.

Salem was about to close the door but stopped mid-action and called out to Cecily, who turned around with a hopeful look in her eyes.

Thank you…I mean...for sparing me creepy Uncle Ronald and everything...

Cecily gave her a little smile and a wave before climbing into the van. Salem watched as she backed out and then closed the front door. She took the box, walked upstairs, and sat it on her desk. The large bird had returned to the tree, busy now with something inside one of its hollows. She’d lost interest in determining whether it was a hawk or a falcon but hoped it would be a polite neighbor if it was planning to take up residence there. She sat down at the desk and used a pair of scissors to cut through several layers of packing tape that held the sturdy cardboard box closed. Once open, she removed another box. This one, constructed of raw cherry wood, was simple but elegant—befitting her mother. She took the lid off and braced herself to view its contents.

Inside was a heavy clear plastic bag filled with something akin to gravel. A printed sticker held the bag closed. It said: Cremains of Ophelia Gardner Montgomery. It was unexpectedly comforting. Carefully, she removed the sticker and unfolded the top of the plastic bag. Reaching inside, she scooped up a small portion of its contents. It was the color of ashes but didn’t resemble those of a cigarette or a bonfire. It was all more or less the same shade of matte grey, but the texture ranged from powder-fine particles to pea-sized granules. She scooped up a handful and let it run through her fingers. Then she worked her hand down into the bag. It felt dense, like being encased in concrete. She extended her fingers and wiggled them around for a minute before removing her hand. It was coated in a fine layer of pewter-colored dust—a mixture of her mother’s skin, hair, eyes, and heart. She rubbed her hands together, hoping, somehow, to become imbued with her spirit.

She closed the plastic bag, replaced the sticker, and fit the cherry lid back on snugly. When she picked up the cardboard box to throw it away, something fell out onto the floor. It was a tiny drawstring bag made of aquamarine-colored velvet. The shade reminded her of Ophelia’s eyes. She opened it and poured the contents into her hand. Her mother’s necklace. It was a tiny gold heart covered in dainty filigree work that hung on a delicate chain. Salem had never seen her mom without it. She knew that her father, Clive, had presented it to her mother on their wedding day, declaring her the official keeper of his heart.

Her father was a cultural anthropologist and professor. Having no memories of her own, Salem knew him only through photographs and her mother’s stories. Shortly after her birth, he departed for an overseas expedition and was never seen again. Her mom tried but was unable to discover whether he’d made it out of the jungle alive—or had even gotten there safely in the first place. She knew her mother suspected that he had abandoned them, but she never vocalized it. Ophelia had done her best to paint him in a positive light. Over the years, she shared stories about him, but they were only together for a short time prior to his departure, so her repertoire was fairly limited.

Salem walked over to the mirror and put on the necklace. She looked vastly different from both of her parents. She had her mom’s fair complexion, but that’s where the similarities ended. Evidently, her long copper waves and emerald eyes were more reminiscent of her aunt Georgina, who was persona non grata number two as far as family members were concerned. Nana had been scouring the Internet for clues that would reveal the whereabouts of her father and aunt but hadn’t come across any useful information yet. And what would happen if she did locate one or even both of them? Would they have any interest in her? It seemed unlikely after all this time. Surely, if either of them was alive, they would have made contact by now. Maybe someday she would find out about her father and Georgina, but until then, she had more important issues to deal with. Salem didn’t know why her mom had died in the inhumane manner she had, but she was determined to figure it out.

Salem felt a combination of empowerment and tranquility now that Ophelia was home. She initially argued against cremating her mother, but it had been undeniably stipulated in her will. Maybe one day she would spread her ashes somewhere special, but for now, it was comforting to have her nearby. She placed the box on the window sill so she could gaze at it when she looked at her tree, and at that very moment, she resolved to honor her mother’s memory by remaining strong and trying to be happy. It would be difficult, but she knew it was what her mom would want. She had merely been going through the motions of life since Ophelia’s passing—scraping her way through each day, completely unengaged, hoping that the next might be even a tiny fraction better. Her close friends had been supportive, but none of them could truly empathize with her, and she hadn’t exactly made it easy by withdrawing so completely. Cecily was right. Some of her friends came from divorced families, but no one she knew had ever lost a parent—let alone in such a disturbing fashion. She decided that she would allow herself to feel sad, but not all the time. She would devote herself to uncovering what had caused her mother’s unorthodox demise, and perhaps when she finally got to the bottom of what happened that terrible night, she would find some peace...

As Salem gazed back at herself from the mirror, she was confronted with the possibility that she hadn’t known her mom very well after all. So many curious and unsettling incidents had preceded her death, and Ophelia’s secretiveness about them had been unyielding. What was the purpose of her secrecy? Salem grasped, right then and there, that she would never understand the mystery of her mother’s death until she had unraveled the secrets of her life.

TWO

DANVERS, MASSACHUSETTS

MAY 2006

OPHELIA

L ike her mother before her, Ophelia Gardner Montgomery was expecting twin daughters. Filled with joy and anticipation, she spent the months leading up to their birth preparing the attic bedroom they would eventually share. She envisioned spending many happy hours in there playing, reading, and indulging their every interest and passion. With that in mind, she set about decorating their quaint attic oasis in soothing pastel tones. She hoped the colors of spring would serve in cheerful contrast to the cold, snowy months that sometimes kept families holed up for weeks at a time in these parts. The room was coming together beautifully—a few finishing touches and it would be ready to welcome her ba bies.

Ophelia had chosen a wallpaper that would take center stage. She knew it was perfect the moment she laid eyes on it. Manufactured during the Victorian era, it was rare and, therefore, costly, but she couldn’t resist. It featured a repeating pattern of twins, which perfectly represented the astrological sign of Gemini. Her girls would arrive during this zodiacal period, so the motif was apropos. The delicate artwork depicted two young sisters clad in matching gossamer frocks. Holding hands, they gazed affectionately at each other as they floated together—weightless in a sea of stars. It was a gorgeous depiction of what Ophelia envisioned for her daughters’ sisterly relationship.

Ignoring the fact that she was on a tight budget, Ophelia threw aside her better judgment and purchased it. When she asked the old shop owner about hiring someone to hang it for her, he told her that his son would usually handle a job like that but was away on vacation for another two weeks. Anxious to finish the room, Ophelia reluctantly appealed to her husband for help. She hoped that asking Clive to participate would improve the foul mood he’d been in lately. She was wrong. Not only had he flatly refused to help her, but he was angry about the money