The Witch in the Cellar - Part Two
A young boy and his family move into a house that's the subject of a local urban legend. Is the neighbor boy just making up stories... or is the legend true, and truly dangerous?
Here’s the second part of The Witch in the Cellar. The conclusion will come your way tomorrow. Did you miss the first part? Click here to read it.
The next week, it was my dad’s turn to work the overnight shift at the airport. That meant he would leave for work when Mom and I were turning in for the night, and get back home just in time to have breakfast with us before he went to bed. This would last for a month, then he’d do the evening shift for another month before going back on days.
We were used to his hours at our old house, but that was in town, where the next house was just a Frisbee toss away and there were too many street lights around for the house to ever get really dark.
This was our first night without him in this house, where it was a five minute bike ride to the next driveway and our property was surrounded by acres of woods. One light lit up the road down at the end of our driveway, but other than that and our porch lights, that was it. With the lamps off at night, it was as dark as anything I’d ever seen.
At least the moon was bright that first night. But lying in bed, I wasn’t sure that was something to be thankful for, as it cast shadow limbs on my wall from the tree outside my window.
The tree where they’d tried to hang Juanita Crabtree.
I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from those shadows, moving back and forth across my bedroom wall as the wind blew through the tree. I thought I saw the outline of a noose, and squeezed my eyes shut. I counted to ten and forced myself to open them again. Whatever shape I’d seen in the shadows was gone; but I knew I wouldn’t sleep anytime soon.
I looked at my clock. It was only 10:30. My mom would still be reading in bed. If I turned on my light to read, she’d make me turn it off when she got up to use the bathroom. So I turned it on just long enough to get my mini Mag-lite out of my backpack, grab a couple of comic books off my bookshelf, and get back in bed.
I turned off my lamp and hunkered down under the sheet, my head serving as a tent pole as I read by the light of the flashlight. Before long, the shadows on the wall were forgotten, along with my dad’s absence.
Then something scraped the window.
I froze, my heart hammering, and killed the light. Slowly, I peeked out from under the covers at the shadows, but they were only shaped like tree branches.
The scraping noise kept up, and it sounded really windy outside. I decided to check it out. I still clutched the flashlight, but kept it turned off as I swung my feet over the side of the bed.
Just then I heard someone laugh. It wasn’t my mom’s high, lilting laugh, and it didn’t come from down the hall.
It was dry and rasping, like it passed through a throat that hadn’t been used in a long time. And it came from somewhere in my room.
I froze on the edge of my bed, and listened. But all I could hear was wind. And scraping.
“It’s just the wind,” I told myself. “Stop being a baby.”
Suddenly I imagined a hand reaching from under the bed to grab my ankle, and I leapt from my bed. I fumbled with the flashlight for a second, but then shined it at the floor where my foot had rested a second ago.
Nothing there.
For good measure, I looked under the bed. Other than my tennis shoes and a dirty sock, there was nothing there, either.
I stood back up and started to laugh at my own stupidity when something thumped the window beside me. I shouted as I jumped, startled, and shined my light at the window. The light reflected back at me and I couldn’t see anything, so I turned it off.
The wind was blowing so hard it bent the tree branches so far down the tips scraped against the glass. I wasn’t sure what had made the thumping sound, but I’d probably find something lying on the ground under my window in the morning, blown there by the wind. I just hoped it wouldn’t be a dead bird or a bat.
Even as I stood there looking outside, the wind blew even harder, hard enough to frighten me. I knew I’d probably get in trouble, but I wasn’t ready to get back in bed yet, so I left my room and went down the hall to my parents’ room.
My mom sat propped up in bed with a book. She looked up and took her glasses off when she saw me standing in her doorway. “What are you doing out of bed?”
“It’s really windy,” I said.
“I know. I checked the weather, though. There aren’t any storms in the area, and we’re not under any watches.” She smiled. “Don’t worry. It’s just wind. Go back to bed.” She started to put her glasses back on, but when I hesitated, she stopped. “Is there something else?”
“I …” I let the word hang there, not knowing what to follow it with. I was going to tell her that I’d heard something, but I didn’t really know what I’d heard. No reason to freak her out. “Nothing,” I said. “Good night.”
She blew me a kiss, then put her glasses on and went back to her book. I went back to my room, where I found the door closed.
I didn’t remember closing it behind me.
I still held my flashlight. I turned it on, then opened the door. As I did, something whispered my name.
I stopped, and swallowed. “It’s a trick of the wind,” I muttered, determined to be brave, and pushed the door open.
Something lay in the middle of my bed. The covers had been pulled up over it. As I shined my light on the lump in the center, I opened my mouth to shout for my mom, but something stopped me. I didn’t want to go in there, but something drew me inside. I felt like a character in a first-person video game, with someone else at the controls as my hand reached out to grab the sheet and pull it back.
A doll lay in the middle of my bed. A boy doll, dressed in overalls with hair the same color as mine and a big smile plastered on its face; it had a little bag tied around its neck.
Whatever spell had come over me broke at the sight of it, and I screamed.
Next thing I knew, my overhead light came on and my mom spun me around to face her. “Hey!” she yelled, giving me a hard shake, and I stopped screaming. She released me and straightened up. “What is the matter with you?”
I pointed at my bed. The doll was still there, smiling mindlessly. “That was in my bed when I came back in.”
My mom looked over at the doll, and a look of fear flashed over her face. She covered it up quickly, but not before I saw it. “Come on.” She grabbed my hand and led me to the bathroom, where she shoved me inside and told me to stay put and lock the door.
I did what I was told, but kept my ear to the door, listening. A few minutes later she told me I could come out. When I opened the door, she held my dad’s gun in one hand and the phone in the other. “There’s nobody in the house,” she said, “and all the doors and windows are locked.” She looked down at me with Angry Mom Face. “Do you want to tell me where that doll came from?”
“I don’t know,” I said, and then I did the worst thing: I started to cry. Everything came spilling out of me—the story about the witch and the dolls and the cellar and the tornadoes, and the noises I thought I’d heard that night. By the time I was done, she had led me to the bathroom sink to wipe my nose and wash my face.
“Well, I don’t know how he did it,” Mom said, “but I think Randall’s playing a trick on you. I’ll call his mother in the morning.”
I thought that was probably the worst thing she could do, but I was too embarrassed about crying to say anything.
Mom leaned against the bathroom counter and let out a long sigh, then she looked down at me and reached out to smooth my hair. “Do you want to sleep in my room tonight?”
I nodded, but then I said, “Dad wouldn’t like it.”
She tipped my face up till I looked at her, and smiled. “Your dad doesn’t have to know. Come on.” She guided me out of the bathroom. “Grab your pillow. And leave that doll alone. It’s evidence. I’ll deal with it in the morning.”
By the time we were both nestled in my parents’ bed, the wind had died down, and I felt safe enough to finally sleep.
···
When she nudged me awake, she was already dressed and sunlight filled the room. “Your dad’ll be home soon,” she said. “Go get dressed and make your bed.”
I rubbed my face as I trudge down the hall to my room, still half asleep and trying to remember why I’d ended up in my mom’s bed. I remembered as I reached my room, suddenly feeling wide awake. I stood outside my bedroom door and peered all around the room. It looked the way I’d left it—except the doll was gone.
I decided not to ask Mom what she’d done with it. If it turned out she wasn’t the one who’d removed it, I didn’t want to know.
Dad was home by the time I sat down at the breakfast table, and as we ate and joked around, the night before felt like nothing but a bad dream. Maybe that was all it was. My mom never brought it up, and I followed her lead.
After breakfast, when Dad turned in to sleep, she still didn’t mention what had happened. Instead she banished me to go play outside so I wouldn’t wake Dad. I thought about asking if she’d made good on her threat to call Randall’s mom, but decided against it. If she’d forgotten about it, I didn’t want to remind her.
I decided it would be better to confront Randall myself. I got on my bike and pedaled up the long hill to his house. I thought about what I was going to say as I stood on the front porch and waited for someone to answer the door. Finally, his mom opened it.
She took one look at me and said, “Randall’s not here. Did he not tell you he was going to his grandparents’ for the week?”
“No,” I said as my stomach flip-flopped. “When did he leave?”
“Yesterday afternoon. He’ll get back next Sunday.”
I thought about this. There had to be an explanation. It had to be him that left the doll. “How far away do his grandparents live?”
“They’re in Tulsa. I can give you their number if you’d like to call him.”
“No, that’s okay. Thanks.” I started to leave, but hesitated. “Are you sure he went yesterday?”
Her expression was somewhere between impatient and amused. “Pretty sure,” she said, “seeing as how I dropped him off myself.” She seemed to study me, and her face softened. “Is everything okay, honey?”
“Yeah,” I lied. “It’s fine. I guess I’ll see Randall next week, then. Thanks.”
With a nod, she stepped inside and let the screen door swing shut.
I got on my bike and coasted slowly back down the hill, thinking things over. Tulsa was almost an hour away by car. There was no way Randall could have come back last night and snuck in my house to leave that doll. Not unless he had an adult’s help, which seemed pretty unlikely—as unlikely as him being able to sneak into a locked house without anybody knowing. It’s not like Randall was the picture of grace when he moved.
I reached my own driveway, and sat there, not sure where to go next. I didn’t really want to go home. Mom had told me to stay outside until lunchtime, and I didn’t relish the thought of being stuck outside in the vicinity of that cellar all morning.
I decided to ride the half-mile up the road to the gas station, where I spent part of my allowance on a bottle of Dr. Pepper, a Snickers bar and a couple of X-Men comics off the spinning rack. I loaded them all into my backpack and took them to the little fishing pond on our next-door neighbor’s property, where I had an open invitation to fish. I wasn’t actually there to fish, but I figured they wouldn’t mind if I just hung out there and read a while.
I sat down at the base of a tree to read and nurse my Dr. Pepper. I didn’t touch the candy bar; every time I stopped reading long enough to consider it, I remembered why I didn’t want to go home and lost my appetite.
I didn’t know what time it was by the time I finished both comics, but my stomach was telling me it was lunchtime. So I packed everything up and pedaled back home.
About ten minutes later, I sat at the kitchen table, watching Mom make me a sandwich and wondering if I should tell her what I found out about Randall. I decided I didn’t want to know what I knew all by myself, and if there was anyone I could tell, it was her. “Randall was in Tulsa last night,” I said as she set my plate on the table.
“I know,” she said, her voice matter-of-fact. “His mom told me when I called her.” She shook her head. “That just means he had an accomplice.” She jerked her chin toward my sandwich. “Eat.”
I took a bite to appease her, and she nodded with satisfaction and went back to the kitchen. I swallowed and sipped my Kool-Aid, then before I could lose my nerve I asked, “What did you do with the doll?”
“I bagged it up and stashed it in the laundry room. If your little friend comes back again, I’ll call the sheriff, and hand it over as evidence.”
I thought about telling her that I didn’t have any friends here other than Randall, but I knew that wasn’t what she meant. “Did …” I started, but faltered, not sure I wanted the answer to my next question. But then I decided it wouldn’t make things any worse. “Did you look inside the little pouch around its neck?”
She didn’t say anything—just kept wiping the counters like she hadn’t heard me; but her face grew tight. Then she shook her head. “You don’t need to worry about that.” She tossed the rag in the sink and came back over to stand beside me. “Tell you what,” she said, stroking my hair. “If you’re quiet, after you eat you can get on the computer for a while.”
That meant I could spend some time chatting with my real friends, the ones I’d left behind when we moved. I smiled, all my problems momentarily forgotten. “Thanks, Mom.”
She smiled back and ruffled my hair. “Don’t forget to wear your headphones,” she said as she went back to her housework.
···
None of my pals were online. That just figured. It was summer vacation, after all. If they weren’t playing outdoors they were probably at some day camp or sports practice or away on family trips. I was the only one who got to spend summer in the middle of podunk nowhere with nothing to do and only one person my own age to talk to—and even he got to go to the city for a week, leaving me on my own.
I poked around online for a while, playing some games and watching some videos, trying to ignore the curiosity that was eating at me, but after a while I couldn’t stand it anymore. I glanced around to make sure my mom was too busy with her housework to pay attention to what I was looking at, then I pulled up the website for the local paper and searched the archives.
Randall wasn’t lying. At least, not about the allegations surrounding Juanita Crabtree, or the fact that she went missing after a freak tornado destroyed her house. The other tornadoes Randall told me about had really happened, too. Of course, there was nothing about a lynch mob or about her getting shot and buried in the cellar, but that’s not exactly something that would make the papers if nobody got caught.
Something touched my shoulder, and I almost jumped out of my chair. I looked up to see my mom standing over me, looking both suspicious and amused. I took out my earphones.
“Didn’t mean to startle you,” she said, and studied the screen. “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Just reading about the history of this property.”
“Really?” She raised an eyebrow. “Since when are you interested in history?”
I shrugged. “None of my friends were online and I was bored. Randall told me some stuff and I just wanted to check it out.”
She seemed satisfied with that answer. “Find anything interesting?”
“Not really,” I lied. “Just that this place seems to be a tornado magnet.”
She grimaced at that. “Thank God we have that cellar,” she said, and I kept my mouth shut. Then she went on. “If the news is right about the weather, we might be testing it out tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“They’re saying there’s a strong chance of severe weather overnight. Nothing for you to worry about. We’ll keep an eye on the weather reports.” She patted me on the shoulder. “Anyway, I’m out of laundry detergent. I’m gonna run down to the store. Do you want anything?”
I shook my head. “I’m good.”
“Okay. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes, assuming Mrs. Muckelrath isn’t there to talk my ear off. Remember your dad’s in bed. Whatever you do, keep the volume down.”
“Yes ma’am,” I told her. She smiled and gave me another pat, then headed out the door, grabbing her purse and keys off the entry table as she went.
I waited until I heard the truck start and roll down the long driveway. Once I was sure she wouldn’t come right back, I got up and made my way to the laundry room.
A black trash bag sat on top of the dryer, empty except for a doll-sized lump. The bag was knotted shut at the top. It took me about a minute to undo the knot, taking care not to tear any holes in the bag that would give me away. Finally, it came loose, and the bag fell open. Despite knowing what was inside, I let out a yelp at the sight of that little kid face smiling at me out of the darkness.
Clapping my hand over my mouth, I froze, and waited, listening for movement on the other end of the house and hoping I hadn’t just woken my dad. I stood like that for a solid minute, slowly relaxing as the house remained silent. Then I opened the bag all the way, arranging it around the doll without actually touching it, so that the creepy thing sat exposed in the middle.
I stared for a long time at the little bag around its neck. It was just a little pouch, sewn together out of felt and tied with a piece of twine. Finally, I got up the nerve to touch it, and loosened the string around the bag without removing it from the doll’s neck. I got the neck open wide enough to see what was inside, and swallowed, my stomach churning at the sight of little bones bound up with hair the same color and texture as my own. A smell came from the bag, too. An earthy, herbal smell I couldn’t identify, and underneath that, a coppery scent, like dried blood.
I tied the pouch shut and closed the trash bag, careful to leave everything exactly like my mom had left it, then hurried back to the living room, overcome with a sudden urge to put as much distance between me and that doll as possible.
Back at the computer, I sat there and stared at the screen saver as my mind raced. This was no joke, of that much I was certain. Even if I could believe that Randall had somehow put that doll there, that he’d enlisted an accomplice to mess with me, I couldn’t believe he was the sort of kid who’d hurt a tiny animal just to pull a prank. I mean, maybe he’d found the bones out in the woods somewhere, but even at my young age that seemed a little too convenient.
But it was more than that. It was something I felt in my gut.
Someone wanted to hurt me.
Or something.
A vaguely sick feeling radiated from the pit of my stomach. I squeezed my eyes shut, took a deep breath, then opened them and pulled up a search engine. I didn’t have a lot of time before my mom got back, so I didn’t waste any of it researching what that pouch was for. I didn’t really want to know, anyway. I just wanted to stop whatever it was meant to do—and I wanted to make sure Juanita Crabtree could never hurt me or my family.
A child must die so the house may stand.
I searched on how to cancel curses and exorcise evil spirits. Surprisingly, there were plenty of search results. Some described rituals that were complicated and a little scary, but a few looked pretty simple. I decided to stick with simple, since I was short on time and it wasn’t like I could go out and get all of the ingredients some of the more elaborate ones called for, anyway.
I went to my room and grabbed my backpack, then browsed my bookcase and found the Bible my aunt had given me for my birthday last year. It had barely even been opened; my family went to church sometimes—mainly on holidays like Christmas and Easter—and I had been baptized as a baby, but we weren’t all that religious. I hoped that wouldn’t matter as I shoved the Good Book into my backpack.
My next stop was the kitchen, where I rummaged through my mom’s spice cabinet and found a canister of sage. It was ground to powder, and the ritual called for whole sticks of the stuff. I hoped that wouldn’t matter, either, as I climbed down from the cabinet and added it to my backpack.
Finally, I left a note for my mom on the table and went outside. I stood on the front porch for a long time, staring across the yard at the cellar doors set in the ground and listening for the sound of the truck’s motor coming up the road. My knees felt like they’d turned into Jello, and I was afraid they might not hold me up. But I made myself start walking, and in no time I found myself standing in front of the cellar.
The chain in the door handles didn’t have a lock, and I wondered vaguely what purpose it was suppose to serve as I slid it out of the way. My heart sped up as I grabbed hold of one of the doors and hauled it open, and it pounded even harder as I stared down into the cellar, lit only by the late afternoon sun behind me, casting my long shadow on the dirt floor.
I’m not sure how long I stood like that, but the approaching sound of a motor in the distance got my feet moving again. I climbed down the steps and fumbled for the light chain, only mildly relieved when my hand found it and the overhead bulb came on.
I stared up through the open door at the blue sky. Only then did I notice dark clouds in the distance. I didn’t want to shut that cellar door for anything. Nothing but the fear of getting caught down there and having to explain to my mother what I was doing could compel me to climb those steps and pull that door down over me, shutting me inside.
As soon as the door was closed, I knew someone was standing behind me. Every hair on my body stood on end. I squeezed my eyes shut and made myself turn around. When I opened my eyes, the cellar was empty, except for the cots and supplies. I blew out a shuddering breath and crossed over to the utility shelves where the candles were stored.
I found an emergency candle in a glass holder, and a long-necked lighter. I carried them both to the middle of the cellar and knelt in the dirt. I set the candle in front of me and lit it before removing my backpack and taking out the items I’d packed.
I’d basically decided to combine two different rituals—a simple Christian prayer of binding and protection, and the Native American practice of burning sage for spiritual cleansing. I didn’t know whether that might make God mad, but I thought it was safest to cover my bases. I dumped some of the sage powder into my palm and slowly sprinkled it over the candle flame.
Once the smell of sage and smoke filled the cellar, I picked up my Bible. It wasn’t actually needed for the ritual; it just made me feel safer. I held it in front of me like a shield and said, as loudly as I dared in case my mother was within earshot, “I speak to the spirit of Juanita Crabtree, and I speak to any powers or principalities, any wicked spirits or demons on these premises. I speak to Satan and all his minions and in the name of the Lord I bind you and command you to stop your evil maneuvers against me and my family and leave this property forever!”
A chill ran down my spine as I spoke the words. When I finished, the candle flame flared up wildly before guttering and going out. I relit it in a hurry and dumped more sage on the flame. It flared up again, then settled down and burned steadily.
I waited for a while to see if anything else would happen. As I watched the flame, I thought I saw something move out of the corner of my eye—in the shadows under one of the cots, just like the last time I was down here. I jumped to my feet and ran to grab a flashlight off the shelf, then shined it under all three of the cots.
Nothing there.
“If anything was here it’s gone now,” I told myself out loud. “Now you’re just creeping yourself out for no good reason.” I returned the flashlight to the shelf and gathered up my things. I kept the candle lit as I turned off the overhead light and carried it with me up the steps. I couldn’t put a used candle back without raising questions I didn’t want to answer. I’d have to get rid of it, and hope that my dad wouldn’t notice one was missing.
I pushed the cellar door open a crack and peeked out to make sure the coast was clear before shoving it completely open. Only when sunlight again shone down into the cellar did I blow out the candle and stash it in my backpack. I zipped my bag, and once again had the feeling that someone was standing behind me, close enough to reach out and grab me. I hurried up the steps as fast as I could, safely outside in the waning daylight before I turned around. All I could see was my own shadow, even longer than before. I shut the door.
As I threaded the chain back through the door handles, I told myself that the sound I heard like dry laughter was only the rising wind.
