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During
these moments, in which India Crowley’s vengeance was taking place, many of
Shadowbrook’s tenants had heard the commotion but had gone back to sleep. For Sam Burns, Shadowbrook’s
preacher-manager, Halloween had turned into the worst nightmare of his
career. After taking Alice home,
he was afraid to get out of his car.
For the first time since his childhood, in fact, he was frightened of
the dark. India’s threats had
sounded so genuine to him. It was
as if, after being artificial and phony all these years, she had finally gotten
it right. She was a witch! He
felt like Elijah in the Old Testament, who, after being a crusader for God,
allowed Jezebel, a petty, small-minded queen, to drive him away. Sam, who believed India was a
charlatan, had been caught off guard.
Suddenly, he and Alice seemed to be confronted with the real thing: a
Satanist and witch, who believed she had diabolical powers. In spite of what had been an unshakable
faith for him, he was afraid, and his confidence had been badly shaken.
To
play it safe for a while, he planned to hole up in his apartment, until the
Halloween curse had passed. Until
India cooled off or came to her senses, he would feign illness and use his
answering machine to filter out his calls.
From
what Sam viewed as her dance macabre, when India made her entrance and began
pirouetting across the lawn, through her incantations over her cauldron, his
anger had mounted. At that moment,
she represented all that was evil in his life. As a student of the Bible, it was his duty to set things
straight. It had reached a flash
point when India began summoning spirits from her pot. After exiting the party in protest, he
and Alice Wagnall, his fiancé, continued monitoring India’s behavior from his
apartment nearby. In the darkened
room, they could look discreetly across the lawn and watch her every move. In consideration for the other tenants,
they had waited until the party was over before launching another attack…. It
would have been better, he realized now, if they had minded their own business
and just left India Crowley alone.
Now,
in the protection of his own apartment, Sam was having second thoughts about
this ill-conceived and poorly timed attack. India had chosen her path. She was a lost cause.
Of all the tenants to sermonize to, why had he picked her? Had he been showing off to his fiancé
again? Was he trying to
prove what a hotshot minister he was going to be? Just what was he
trying to prove? Earlier she
had been humbled by their attacks.
He remembered seeing it in her face. At that particular moment, however, it appeared as if India
had been given by her benefactor, Lucifer, a second wind. He had seen that in her face too. When she erupted in demonic rage, he
and Alice pretended to be amused, but they were, in fact, very disturbed,… especially
him.
Because
of Sam’s growing fear, he tried to barricade himself from the outside
world. To prevent another
encounter with India Crowley, he would lay low tonight. For the last hour, he let his answering
machine filter all his calls. If
he heard a knock at the door, he would peek through the peephole, and if he
spotted India in the porch light, pretend he wasn’t home. He had received several protests at the
party about her behavior from onlookers who had witnessed her one-woman
show. He had, as he dozed in his
chair, received follow-up complaints from India’s next door neighbors about
strange noises coming from her walls.
These callers reported sounds of ecstasy, anguish, or pain. In the words of one of the male tenants
“India sounded like she was getting laid.” How could he respond to such complaints? They wanted him to confront that
deranged woman. No way, he vowed
to himself, would he step outside.
Unless it was Alice, his mother, or the police, he would let callers
think he wasn’t home. For the
tenants insisting on making their complaints in person, he would tell them that
he was ill and couldn’t come to the door.
For the time being, unless he turned off the
machine, he felt duty-bound to at listen.
Tomorrow, he reasoned, in broad daylight, when matters, died down, he
would answer their complaints. Not
now, he shuddered. India was out
there, lurking in the shadows. The
other tenants hadn’t seen that look on her twisted face or suffered those
piercing green eyes. They didn’t share
his uncanny feeling that he had been cursed, and something dreadful might
happen tonight. As he fell into a
fitful, troubled sleep, he could hear their annoying voices over the answering
machine. It was becoming redundant
and frightfully annoying to hear the same complaints again and again. Why didn’t they just give up and let
him be? Finally, as his eyelids
registered REM, Penny Gruber, India’s next-door neighbor, gave her testimony on
his answering machine that India was a witch. What else is new?
He thought fleetingly.
Everyone at Shadowbrook Arms knew that by now. While in the throes of a dream, he found himself fleeing the
Shadowbrook Witch, until Penny’s voice rescued him from his dream.
The
gist of her complaints, spoken in a loud, whiny, and petulant little voice,
seemed almost dream-like, as his eyelids fluttered open, and he sat there
staring at the machine. What he
didn’t grasp yet was the fact that he had unwittingly lifted his phone off its
cradle and held it to his ear.
Hearing his groggy reply, Penny Gruber summarized India’s nefarious
activities tonight. It was a
summary of all the other calls.
After listening to her living room wall, she had, as the other callers,
heard eerie sounds on the other side.
She also claimed to have heard a strange voice inside India’s apartment:
a whispery series of utterances barely detectable as she strained her ear. It was, however, what Penny claimed to
have seen outside her apartment that gave Sam pause. According to the young spinster, India had threatened to
have a small black cat, that had ran by her apartment, stuffed. This had made no sense at all to Penny
or Sam. At first her behavior
seemed psychotic more than diabolical, but then, as Buck and his gang arrived
on the scene, India grew calm and crafty.
It was, Penny confessed, an India she had never seen before.
At
this point, his subconscious mind, having registered this report, was prickled
with both irritation and nagging concern.
For a few seconds more, as she talked, Sam studied the receiver in his
hand. His encounter with India,
voices from the answering machine, brief nightmare, and the current voice in
his ear seemed surreal, parts of the same silly dream.
“.
. . A few seconds later,” Penny was explaining “as India confronted the men, I
heard her say ‘by the power within me and the powers that be, rats you once
were and cats you now be.” “. . .
All I saw after that,” she added after a pause, “was India waving her hands at
them and suddenly seeing five cats!”
“I
thought I was dreaming?” he muttered under his breath. “Are you part of my
nightmare? . . . I don’t remember cats in my dream.”
“It’s
a nightmare all right,” Penny shot back, “but it’s not a dream!”
“What’re
you driving at Penny?” he asked, glancing at the clock. “Are you saying that
India turned those men into cats?”
“I
know this sounds strange, but I know what I saw!” she spat into the phone.
“You’ve got to do something Sam!
You’re the manager. It’s you’re job!”
“Call
the police.” he replied lamely. “I can’t help you tonight.”
“I’ve
already called them,” she said through clinched teeth. “but that was half an
hour ago. I don’t think they took
me seriously, Sam. You, as
apartment manager, should’ve called them hours ago!”
“I’ve
been sick,” he lied.
“You
were okay last night,” she challenged. “I saw you and Alice at the party. You were a firebrand then!” “Come
on, Sam,” she blared into the receiver, “everyone knows your not sick. You just haven’t been answering your
phone!”
******
It
was two a.m., Sam thought grimly, November first, Sunday morning. Halloween was over, but a curse now
hung over Shadowbrook Arms. After
listening to Penny admonish him about his duties as manager of the apartments,
he found himself consenting to her demands but without Christian charity or a
sense of duty. She had prickled
his conscience. He just wanted her
to leave him alone.
“All
right, Penny,” he said quietly into the phone, “calm down, “I’ll check it
out. What you’re asking me to do
is very difficult, but I’ll do what I can.”
Shutting
his eyes, he ran a trembling hand through his dark brown hair. Without saying goodbye, he hung up the
phone and rose shakily to his feet.
“The
jig is up!” he said aloud. “…. That stupid meddling bitch!”
For reasons he could still not fathom, he believed
India’s threat. Penny’s anxiety
mirrored his own fear. He believed
everything she had said, and yet he felt ridiculous for being afraid. He had seen India as a pathetic shadow
of a woman. He had rebuked her
often, not just last night. Where
was his faith? How could he allow
her to effect him this way? For
that matter, where was his Christian charity toward poor Penny? She had been absolutely right: it was his job. He was the apartment manager! It was his job to protect the tenants. Why was he such a coward? Where
was his faith?
“Stupid
meddling bitch!” he nevertheless repeated as he looked down at the phone.
Adding
a silent curse, which should have been a prayer, Sam felt ashamed as he picked
up his coat and slowly put it on.
Deeply afraid, at this point, he unlocked the door, threw back the
deadbolt, opened his living room door, and slowly walked across the lawn, onto
the patio, and then up the staircase, at a slow and measured pace.
He
dare not ask himself what all this meant.
Either India Crowley was insane or playing a sick joke. She
could not possibly be a witch! Several
people had complained of hearing strange noises. Penny Gruber, however, had been the first tenant to
officially report witchcraft at Shadowbrook Arms. Of course Penny had seen things before. As he gripped his flashlight in his hand,
he remembered another early morning tale.
That particular time, though, Penny reported seeing her father’s
ghost. The old man, she explained
to Sam, had treated her horribly when she was a child. After several beatings, she and her
mother had escaped to start a new life.
Upon her father’s death during a bank robbery, he ceased to be a threat
in her life, until last week, when Penny reported seeing him in her room.
“And
why not?”, Sam asked himself bitterly now. “If there can be witches, there can
be ghosts. . . There can also be zombies, vampires, and little green men!”
As
he approached India’s apartment, he found it dark, foreboding, and deathly
silent. Obviously the witch was
not home, he reasoned shakily, as he contemplated her front door. After knocking so faintly he barely
made a noise, he backed away from the spooky apartment and quickly trotted
away.
“Oh
well,” he told himself, scanning the darkness ahead, “India’s not home. Maybe she’s riding her broom somewhere,
flying around like a ghost. She’s
probably over some graveyard right now, looking for Penny’s old man!”
Laughing
hysterically to himself, Sam put distance between himself and India’s
address. He imagined he heard
footsteps following him downstairs, but, when he turned to look back, he saw
only a large yellow cat running past.
“Here
kitty-kitty,” he called light-headedly. “Don’t be afraid. That mean old witch can’t hurt
you! You’re already a cat. Maybe
she’ll turn you into a person now.”
“. . . unless,” his smile faded, “. . . you were one of us!”
“I’m
right here,” he heard her whisper now.
“What? Who said that?” He froze in his tracks.
“Over
here,” she giggled.
“Where? I don’t see anything,” he slowly looked
around.
“Here!”
The whisper grew louder as he rotated his head. “No here! . . Over here! . . . No, right here!”
Gripped
with hysteria now, Sam knew she was close. He wanted to run and call for help, but his vocal chords
seemed paralyzed, and for some reason he couldn’t move. So he did the logical thing in his
frame of mind: he prayed. Unlike
Irma, who quoted the Twenty-third Psalm, Sam made up his own prayer, uttering
it in an almost mute whisper India could not hear:
Lord, suffer ye not a
witch.
In thy name, I ask for
protection against
India Crowley, the
Shadowbrook Witch.
Send
her into eternal damnation where she belongs.
Protect
me, your faithful servant Sam Burns
against
the powers of darkness,
so I may continue to serve
you on earth.
“Sam
Burns,” India cooed, emerging from the shadows, “are you calling upon God?”
“Uh
huh,” he nodded, petrified with fear.
“You
pompous, overbearing son of a bitch!” She cackled. “It won’t do you any good!”
Although
his eyes were wild with terror, and he could barely talk, Sam tried to sound
brave. “I-I’m n-not afraid of
you!” He forced out the words.
“Yes,
you are,” she taunted, “I saw it in your eyes last. You and Alice were both afraid. I see it now—the cold breath of fear.” “By the way,” she smirked, “where is the bitch?”
“She’s
out of town.” Sam shot back. “You leave her alone!”
“I’ll
get her,” India promised. “It’s just a matter of time!”
“What
do you mean get her?” he asked in a
strangled whisper. “What exactly
are you going to do?”
“You
already know Sam.” her normally
pale face seemed phosphorescent in the dark. “You saw one just pass. I haven’t been able to catch any of
them yet. But there’s no
hurry. They have to return
sometime to their apartments, unless they plan on becoming strays.”
“You’re
insane!” he managed to utter. “You’re stark raving mad!”
“You
wish!” she snarled. “No,” she took a condescending tone,
“I’m not mad Sammy; I’m quite sane.
I know exactly what I’m going to do.”
“Then
you’re evil!” he pointed a shaky finger.
“Wrong
again Sammy. I’m not evil,” she
shook her head. “I’m pragmatic. I
know a good thing when I see it.”
Expecting
to be stabbed, clawed, or chewed, Sam held his flashlight in a defensive
posture and began backing away.
“Back
off, you devil-worshiper!” he spat. “You try to sink those claws into me and
I’ll knock you on your ass!”
“I’m
not going to scratch you my pretty,” she cackled softly. “In fact, I’m not
going to touch a hair on your head!”
As
she moved in what seemed like Karate motions, he noticed a strange ethereal
light in her eyes and that peculiar glow increasing on her skin. Now that she was completely out of the
shadows, he wondered fleetingly where she had been. What mischief had India done? Perhaps she had been out riding her broom? “Truly,” he admitted giddily to himself
“this woman is a witch. . . a bona
fide, cauldron stirring witch!”
“By
the power within in and the powers that be, a rat you once were and cat you now
be!”
******
As
she cast her spell, Sam braced himself for its effect. Irma, who had been intoxicated already,
did not experience the full effects of the spell that Sam felt now. A strange yet ominous peace filled him
as he reviewed his life.
He
had failed the Lord. He had
demonstrated to the tenants at Shadowbrook Arms his cowardice and unfitness for
his job. A feeling of shame filled
him as his body began its incredible change. He had many God-given gifts: he was intelligent, he had a
sharp memory, and quick tongue.
But he lacked courage, and he lacked Christian resolve. During his last hours as a mortal man,
he had also demonstrated his characteristic small-mindedness toward
others. He had been, as Saint Paul
called it “a sounding brass or tinkling cymbal”, yet he had lacked Christian
charity and love. He had been a
firebrand, as Penny had put it, but a bogus facsimile, ready to turn tail and
run when wicked Jezebel appeared.
Nevertheless, through it all, as her magic took effect, he thanked God
that a worse misfortune had not visited him. Until hearing her incantation, he expected something
terrible. It would have been much
worse to be turned into a frog or toad.
He
had always loved cats. He had,
during his “pagan days” in college, even written a poem about them. As he began shrinking, however, and
plunging downward into the darkness of his own clothes, Sam was again gripped
with fear. He felt more helpless
than at any other time in his life.
He had no idea what India had in store for him next. When the phenomena ceased, he felt a
continuous outgrowth of hairs all over his skin, indicating immediately what
was. India’s spell had
worked. In an eerie glint of
light, he could see that his fur matched the dark brown hair of his head. Shock, dismay, hope, and relief mingled
as oil and water in his mind.
Aside from his disorientation and light-headedness, however, he felt no
different than before. He was
still Sam Burns, he reminded himself shakily. It was as if he was wearing a fur coat all over his body,
including his face, and he now had four legs instead of two, yet still had a
heart, soul, and mind. In spite of
his feline body, he was still a man!
“My
name’s Samuel Isaiah Burns!” he reminded himself, as he felt her probe inside
his clothes. “I’m still a man!”
“If
you try to escape,” he heard her say, “I’ll strangle you and have you stuffed!”
As
shadowy fingers moved through his jacket and then his shirt, he was ready to
bite and scratch her hand. But it
would take a miracle to save him now.
This time India was wearing a pair of gloves as she gripped the back of
his neck and lifted him out.
“You
are,” she cooed to him, “my finest specimen and greatest triumph. You’re the loveliest brown cat I’ve
ever seen!”
Although
he spat, clawed, and hissed, Sam found himself being carried in this
humiliating fashion down the hall toward India’s apartment and an awful fate as
either her pet or sacrifice in one of her pagan rites. Just when he thought he would never see
daylight again, though, he noticed, with his greatly improved vision, a distant
patch of yellow charging their way.
Something remarkable if not miraculous began happening that would
ultimately set him free.
The
great yellow cat that had been skirting the shadows now appeared directly
ahead, running toward India, as if he was going to attack.
“It’s
him, that troublesome Buck,” she made kicking motions with her foot. “Oh, if
only I had a club or a net.” “I’ll
get you, you little bastard,” she warned him, holding her prize higher and
higher in the air. “I’ll find a big net, catch you, then have you mounted on my
wall.”
In
spite of her warning, Buck was characteristically fearless. In an effort to defend Ed, his Hispanic
friend, the big blond athlete was credited with battering three hoodlums half
to death. For the first time in
their relationship at Shadowbrook Arms, Sam was glad to see him. The hope he felt during his
metamorphosis now seemed justified, as the large feline began his assault. In one great lunge, Sam would always
remember, he leaped onto her hand, bit down savagely into the glove, and hung
their patiently with Sam, as she howled in pain. Afterwards, when she had released his neck, Sam hit the deck
running. Without looking back, he
and Buck fled the Shadowbrook Witch, scampering down the staircase, through the
complex, and into the buildings next door.
******
On
their way through what appeared to be a maze of skyscrapers and
Jack-in-the-Beanstalk trees, they were bound by a common plight. As humans, they had barely spoken to
each other. Buck had, in fact,
hated the self-righteous preacher and warned him on several occasions to shut
his pious, Bible-thumping mouth.
With Sam’s deep convictions as a born-again Christian and Buck’s
hedonistic attitude on life, they were complete opposites in almost every
way. But that was last night, Sam
reminded himself, in another time and age: a world of giants and shadows, now
ruled by the Shadowbrook Witch.
Into this new kingdom of cats he now entered, with Buck Logan, his
rescuer, leading the way.
On
agile paws in place of clumsy feet and with the ability to see the most minute
details in the dark, Buck and his new friend flew through another apartment
complex, across its parking lot and passed a dreamscape of monstrous structures
and trees, until reaching a shadowy field across the road. When they had scampered to the center
of the field and into the middle of a foreboding stand of trees, Sam was
greeted by Buck’s circle of friends.
He knew at once who they were.
It was, of course, those other reprobate tenants Jim, Tom, Ed, and Drew.
Just
as first light was brimming the distant hills, Buck’s great yellow body leaped
lithely onto a nearby stump. He
seemed to enjoy his newly changed shape.
He was, of course, as he had been as a human, their leader now. They could not communicate, as they
once had. They could only rub
against each other, as cats often do, and make that familiar rumbling purr deep
within their throats. And yet they
all looked quietly up to Buck now, wondering what he was going to do, joined
together the morning after Halloween by the same witch’s spell.
In
spite of his gratitude for being rescued, Sam wasn’t encouraged by this
scene. Instead of acting like men
who had been turned into cats, Buck and his friends did not seem to be acting
at all. They really were felines: a collection of stray cats
gathered together into a pack.
Quick
to sum up his options, though, Sam realized that, unless he struck out on his
own, there was no where else to go.
These were, however strange it seemed to him now, his people. He was in a new kingdom that was
governed by new laws. The very
notion of leaving it seemed unthinkable to him as he closed ranks with the
others into a fellowship that needed no symbols or words.