Struggling to find my balance to stand, my legs shaking from weakness, I stumble around the slumbering entomb goddess that lies on the ground.
I cautiously begin walking forward, but a large stone monument stands right in front of me. I run my fingers along the inscription as I
kneel and
read:
The witch is one of the
h
idden
c
hildren of the
g
oddess, a secret one of the chosen few. Here lies Alyssa Lee Worthington, Born July
23rd in 1991 Died in the month of October on the 11th day, 2011.
My hands hold either side of the monument and I yell in absolute shock,
what?
No, this isn
’
t right, someone
’
s made a mistake,
I think inside. I turn and look back down at the woman figure and make the connection, she is me.
I run my fingers through my hair,
as my back
skid
s
down the headstone,
“
No! I can
’
t accept this. No, no, no, no!
”
I start slamming my fist into the cold ground, pounding over and over, til
l my fists sting
with
throbbing
pain
. I finally slump over, leaning my forehead against the ground, tears overflowing like an avalanche as I think of Marc.
I wrap my arms around myself tightly, leaning back and look up to the endless, obscuring black sky, and scream,
“
Marc
!
”
I call his name again and again till my voice is barely a whisper. I know he can
’
t come, even if he wants to, not if I am truly...dead, but I don
’
t know what else to do.
I curl up on the barren ground and stare at the stone
me
, h
ours pass or just a few seconds, a
s I lay there observing her I notice something shimmering in her hand. Crawling over to her on my hands and knees, I peer down at her hand that is clutching next to her chest.
There within her grasp, is a tiny silver charm. I
have
seen pictures in books before, but never like this.
It
’
s
a very special witch charm, a
Cimaruta
and their extremely rare. Reaching down I gently pull the charm away from her stone hand, along with a thin silver chain. Once I have the charm, out of the corner of my eye I see her hand
move, as if she was
trying to grip harder onto the charm that was once there.
I pace back and forth studying the
Cimaruta
, the amulet is made of a small sprig of rue which branches off into five sections, representing the goddess, Hecate, Diana, and Proserpina
,
as well as the realms that lie beyond the physical. Each tiny branch holds a charm, one of a rooster
’
s head, another is a dagger, a crescent moon, and a key, the last piece is a Vervain blossom.
I close my eyes briefly trying to remember the exact meanings for each charm, the tiny silver metal rooster
’
s head is known
to drive away the phantoms of darkness and the dagger serves as a power of protection and the...suddenly the wind picks up and I hear an eerie sound.
Ch
ills go up my spine and I tremble, as
I listen to
a child singing, a little girl. N
o that
’
s not right either, the voice sounds childlike, but it has an unbalanced tone. I look arou
nd me, but nothing, just the...
woods.
Oh, no
,
I
’
m surrounded by the same frozen forest I
’
ve been to before
. Some of the trees are charred, like from a fire, but others are iced over. I glance down at my stone tomb and decide to run.
I slide on the silver chained amulet around my neck and bolt in a dead run. I don
’
t know where I
’
m going, but any
place away from the sick voice that is echoing around.
I
’
m r
unning hard through the trees, jumping over fallen icy branches and dodging the limbs that begin to crumble down on top of me. Her voice never wavers and continues in her rhythmic tun
e, it sounds familiar. It definitely seems
more and more like a woman
’
s voice than a child
’
s now. Running till I stumble on an old unused driveway which goes deeper into the woods, blades of grass growing over it. Slowing down enough just to make sure it is a path, I
begin running
once more.
Suddenly I stop in front of a
n
ancient, rustic red covered bridge that stretches over a flowing river. It
’
s an absolute pit of darkness inside. I stand here catching my breath. Hunching over and placing my hands on my legs, I scan the area for another way other than the creepy ass bridge. The only sight I have is the unfrozen
wood
s
that surround
me and where the spine ripping noise of her voice came from.
I groan to myself, peering over the end of the wooded thicket and down the embankment. Seeing that the small river is moving along as natural as any other river would. Then I remember back, to the water in my very first dream, how it called out to me and then without any w
arning it swallowed me up whole…
n
ope, not going that way. I stand up and sigh in disappointment, looking around again.
The wind blows shaking the trees, sounds of the heavy ice breaking and cracking the branches, suddenly everything is completely silent. No wind, no rustling noises, no cracking sounds...nothing. My body is so tense I think a leaf could fall next to me and I would be gone, from zero to sixty in two seconds flat.
I glance up to the grieving night sky and watch the clouds pass a waxing crescent moon. Abruptly my hand feels increasingly hot, scorching pain searing all the way down to my fingertips. I lo
ok down at my hands and see they’
re on fire. Golden saffron flames revolv
e
along my hands, without another thought I call my ice element to me.
Nothing happens, I get zero, nada in
return, instinctively I
kneel down and throw remnants of snow from the ground on my hands and arms dousing out the flames. Turning my hands over, I see clearly the severe marks the fire leaves me, blisters form on my skin. Then a rush of warm air across my shoulder, and an estranged voice eerily whispers in my ear,
“
Alyssa
…
.
”
I
’
m up and running full-throttle
toward the covered bridge. I know that voice without any doubt, it
’
s Naomi and she isn
’
t playing around either. My mind is screaming, my instincts are going haywire. Any abilities I had no longer exist here.
The only comforting sound I hear is that of my boots hitting the old wooden bridge planks as I run rampantly into nothing
, but
darkness. Naomi
’
s voice turns delirious as she laughs hysterically somewhere behind me. Her voice changes as she sings in a child
-
like tone,
“
Ring a round the
Rosie
, pocket full of posies, ashes, ashes, we all fall down.
”
The planks behind me start brea
king,
splitting
,
and shattering into pie
ces as they fall
down below into the river. I
’
m not sure how Naomi is doing it, but it appears as if some unseen force is pile driving into each plank my foot has just run over, barely missing me.
Her demented song continues as I run,
“
Ring around the rosie,
the tarot cards have told me, your time wind
s
down.
”
More planks come smashing down, and this time one that is right under my foot. I reach out and grab to the side of me, the inside of the bridge is undeniably dark. All I feel is a mossy, slime covered wall, but I push myself and catch my balance and move onward. Never looking back, I really don
’
t want to see what
’
s making the planks break with such force and I definitely don
’
t want to see her.
Again her s
ick melody follows nevertheless,
“
Ring around the
Rosie
,
you
’
re the evil thing before me
,
I can
’
t wait to crush you, into the ground.
”
My
instincts kick
in because I feel the need to run and jump, up ahead light trickles in showing me the way out. Behind me, I hear a very familiar sound, a hissing noise, then a crackling like something heating up, and then...BOOM. With everything I have in me, I jump. The bridge goes up in flames. Finding myself skidding along the deaden grass and dirt, I roll to a stop.
Slowly I stand and brush off my jeans, I notice there
’
s a much larger rip
all the way down my leg. I flip back the designer denim material checking out my leg and find out it
’
s unharmed. I know Megan will pay big bucks for a rip like
this;
too bad I had to go through what I have to get it. I look over my shoulder and watch the blazing old bridge light up the night.
Carefully I begin walking f
orward down a deserted driveway, and h
aving no other direction to go, so I follow it. Ever
y
so often I peer around me, waiting,
and
watching for her.
On this side of the now nonexistent bridge the forest is weather beaten from an extreme heat wave. Dried brown or blacken leaves dangle lifelessly from half burnt trees, hardly any snow or ice clinging to anything. Just some bits, patches sporadically lay here and there on the anguished ground. The grass is strange,
it
’s
not green, but a brownish color. Crunching loudly with every step I take, other than myself, there is no sounds, no breeze, not even an animal of any kind here. It makes me think of a lost, long forgotten place hidden deep in the woods. I don
’
t even want to think a
bout the song Naomi was singing.
Well, I know
one thing for
sure;
it
’
s not
R
osie
or posie to me.
As I walk along the unbeaten path through the woods, I come to another
realization;
the sound I heard was identical to what happened to my car. Naomi sabotaged my car and tried to blow m
e up in the race.
I stop right in my tracks, and the word
“
tried
”
clings to me, my heart begins to sink.
Running a hand through my hair,
I...I can
’
t be, I
’
m not, I
’
m not dead. Then I say it out loud, very softly at first and then louder,
“
I
’
m not dead, I
’
m not gone... I
’
m not!
”
I drop straight to my knees and place my blistered, swollen hands over my face and cry.
I must have cried myself to sleep, because I find myself lying on the barren ground. Taking in the surroundings I realize immediately that I
’
m still in this bizarre and uncanny, dead forest. I begin once again walking till I come up to an old decrepit wrought iron gate.
It
’
s about nine feet tall with two stone pillars on either side holding up the gate which is covered in heavy vines. The path I have been traveling leads directly here, to whatever is behind this overgrown gate. Someone must have lived here at some point, I wonder as I slide in between the partial opening. It isn
’
t open enough for a car to drive through, but just enough for someone like me to squeeze past. Once on the other side I need to bend down to unwrap a vine that
’
s caught on my boot, as I am pulling it away, I hear a faint sound, a tune, playing repetitively.