"So tell me more about the witch hunt." Athelstan brought the glass of red wine to his lips. He sat on the same armchair as when he'd learned the truth of what he was. The liquid running down his throat was somewhat sweet, yet tart. He didn't grimace when he drank it like most other people would; ever since he was a small child, his mother had let him drink it. It was supposedly good for you.
"Would you like to see it with your own eyes?" Pluto asked.
"How?"
"Easy. That chair's a recliner. Just pull back the lever and lay back with your eyes closed. I will mentally send everything to your brain so you can see. As vampires, we have the ability to see inside each other's minds. And I can assure you that you are powerful enough to see into mine if I allow it."
Athelstan set down his wine glass on the table beside him. He reached down and found the little lever on the side of the chair. He pulled on it and felt the chair unfold, allowing him to lay down. He shut his eyes.
Pluto stood up and approached the young man. He laid his pale hand down upon Athelstan's forehead and whispered, "Sleep."
Sleep.
Sleep soundly like the dead.
Athelstan felt the chair move beneath him into a distant past. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself laying on a small cot inside a dark cabin. His eyes blinked rapidly as he tried to register what had happened to him. Turning his head to the side, he called out for his mother, but his voice sounded different. It was laced with the faint trace of an English accent. Immediately, he hoisted himself up into a sitting position and what should he confront but a tall, fancy mirror directly in front of him.
He sucked in his breath when he saw that he'd traveled back into the past and became his father! Breathing heavily, he pressed a hand against his chest. He felt the quick beating of his heart. Felt his lungs expand and shrink with each breath he took. When he heard the sound of heavy knocking on the door, he lifted his head to stare forward at the front door.
The door seemed to be surrounded in a light. It was kind of how it was like in those illustrations of someone walking into heaven's door. There was light in the cracks, slicing through them viciously. But this light was blinking, reminding him of all the awful stories he'd been told of nighttime vigilantes, attacking black cabins and murdering the occupants.
He stuffed his small feet into slippers and made his way to the door. He didn't even bother to pull on his robe over his slim body, despite the slight chill in the air. When he opened the door, he gasped again. Standing directly in front of him were the townspeople of Hurricane Mills. All of them had identical glares on their faces, torches being held up within them with Pastor James Griffin as the leader.
"Elliot Shadow, we have a warrant for your arrest," Pastor James Griffin snarled hatefully.
"What? Why?"
"You are under arrest for witchcraft. Cattle dying of a mysterious malady without a warning. Children falling ill. It's phenomenal and there's no explanation for it but witchcraft."
"I don't practice witchcraft." He stepped back, feeling as if the darkness crowding behind his back could protect him.
"May God have mercy upon us!" Pastor Griffin raised a large hand towards the sky. "The Devil shalt be destroyed tonight before the last lightning bolt strikes the sky!"
And sure enough, it had begun to storm. Athelstan's eyes widened as he viewed the lightning in the distance. The ground was still dry, as it hadn't begun to rain quite yet. Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance, warning everybody to take cover. Nobody would heed nature's warnings, though. The death of the town troublemaker was more important than safety. After all, they figured safety couldn't be assured until he was dead.
Before he could attempt his escape, he was grabbed brutally by Gary Haggart, Edwin Walfred, and Hank Shanley. It took all three of them to gain control of him, for he fought more viciously than an enraged badger. He tried biting them, kicked at them, and screamed to high heaven, hoping there would be someone who could possibly save him from an early death.
With Haggart and Shanley holding his arms, Walfred grabbed a fistful of his raven hair, jerking his head backwards with brute force. A scream of agony ripped from his throat. Pastor Griffin drifted up close to the prisoner, thrusting his face close to his and blasting the young man's cheeks with his fishy breath. "You have caused enough trouble to Hurricane Mills, Shadow. And now you're going to pay for this! God doesn't pity sinners and He certainly won't pity you!"
"Let me go," Athelstan moaned. He wondered how he could have traveled into the past as his father, but now wasn't the time for questions. He had to find out the truth. Maybe it was a warning of the days to come.
"Bind him up good, boys! Be sure to gag him as well. If we aren't careful, he might hex us," Pastor Griffin warned.
He kicked and screamed. He managed to get loose for a moment and threw whatever items he could get his hands on at the horrible men. He even wound up tossing an expensive vase - an important family heirloom - at Haggart, but it smashed against the nearest wall. He was immediately seized again and bound tightly around the wrists and ankles before he was gagged. He was tossed into the back of Edwin Walfred's wagon.
Athelstan had read a lot in his life. And he felt almost as if the events of his father's life were a part of some stereotypical movie. The witch was burned at the stake and there were evil hillbillies with twisted minds holding the torches. Angry looks pasted upon their weathered faces beneath the wide-brimmed straw hats. It felt as if he were acting in a movie. Only this wasn't a movie at all. It had happened in real life almost seventy years earlier.
Athelstan swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat. He felt like he was about to throw up, though he knew he couldn't do that. He would choke to death and die on his vomit with that rag tied over his mouth. The wagon lurched to a stop in the cemetery and Athelstan grunted. He could hear Pastor Griffin shouting orders. "Make sure the noose is secure! Be sure that the tree branch is perfect for a hanging! Don't you let that fire get out of control, Ronald Burns!"
The back of the wagon was opened. Pastor Griffin's long hands snaked around Athelstan's ankles. He yanked him out of the wagon so that he dropped onto the grass. He let out a yell of pain, the shoulder that he landed on searing with pain.
"Now God shall relieve us of the evil!" Pastor Griffin shouted at the sky, which roared with thunder in reply. His hard fingers dug into Athelstan's shoulder brutally as he pulled him to his feet. The young man's feet were unbound before he was shoved in the direction of the familiar oak tree that loomed before him. He shivered in anticipation of something truly evil.
Athelstan was marched up a small plank and onto a platform just below the tree. A noose, hanging in front of him, seemed to taunt him most cruelly. His wrists were beginning to ache from the friction of the rope rubbing against his skin when he tried to escape.
Pastor Griffin stood beside Athelstan, standing tall like a soldier at war. He reached his gnarled hand over to his prisoner's head and untied the rag from his mouth. The young man exercised his jaw, pain ripping through the veins.
"Any last words, Freak?" Pastor Griffin smiled evilly at him.
"I never did anything to kill your children or your cattle! I would never do such a thing! You will regret you ever killed me!" he screamed in anguish.
"Now, our little freak shall meet his end. No more bewitchment on anybody in town! We shall be saved from the devil!" Pastor Griffin grabbed the noose and slid it over the head of the so-called warlock. He tightened it. A scream ripped from Athelstan's throat as he struggled to unbind his hands.
"Haggart! Pull that rope!" Griffin shouted at the older man. Gary Haggart nodded, smiling with glee, as he gripped the other end of the rope tightly. He yanked it fiercely, pulling Athelstan up into the tree.
A scream was cut loose as his body was raised. The rope bit into his neck, cutting off his breath as his body hung from the branch. As he felt himself die, he also felt himself drifting into another world. He heard Pluto Thorn-Briar's gentle voice pulling him back into the present.
"....come back...."
Athelstan's eyes fluttered open and he found Pluto standing above him. "How are you feeling, Shadow?"
"Sick." Athelstan sat up and pressed his sweaty hand against his forehead, which was also slick with a filmy layer of perspiration. He gave his head a quick shake, hoping to clear the visions of death from his mind.
"The only reason you seem to be able to heal people, Athelstan, is because you have powers. You are a vampire and you can do a lot more than a mortal," Pluto said.
"Tell me what's happening with Carson," he pleaded.
"Elliot Shadow's ghost is haunting you because he's trying to protect you. A pall has fell over Hurricane Mills and if you don't get out immediately, you will be accused for Carson's illness, which is just a mere form of food poisoning. Either that or some other malady. But it's not any form of bewitchment. I've seen this happen before," he said quickly.
"When?" Athelstan furrowed his eyebrows.
"Back when your father was killed, in 1911. And then in 1930 or '31, when you were-"
"Wait a minute. There was another case of this in the early 1930's? That was when I was transformed into a vampire! Why was I turned into a vampire?" he demanded.
"Your mother, Jocelynn, was transformed into a vampire by me after she'd had that fling with Elliot because I saw her inner power. I thought there was a lot to her and, sure enough, there was. She gave birth to you, a strong boy who doesn't realize his powers. If you get really angry, Athelstan, you will be very destructive and you have to be able to control your temper," Pluto told him sternly.
"I always knew I had a ferocious temper."
Pluto nodded. "And you should get out of Hurricane Mills as quickly as possible before you are destroyed like your father."
"Tell me about why I was transformed," Athelstan urged.
Pluto drew in a deep breath. "Back in the day, there was another witch hunt and Pastor Griffin was still in charge of the church. A few kids became ill and naturally, they accused you, the son of Elliot Shadow. You, just like your father, was deemed the freak of the town, someone who could kill another person just by looking at them. So when I heard rumors about you being a warlock and that you were about ready to be killed, I stepped in. As you were being chased down by angry townsfolk, I grabbed you and bit your neck, transforming you into a vampire quickly. You fell into a deep coma for years and years, yet you never aged a bit," he said softly. "And when you finally awoke, you had long since forgotten everything about that day."
"Which is why I never knew I'd been transformed into a vampire," he concluded.
"Exactly. I am going to warn you of this, Athelstan. You'd better leave this town immediately or else you will face severe consequences. Your mother wants you to stay, but when you have a dream of running through a forest and getting bitten again, you should leave the next day. The next time you have it will be considered an omen."
Athelstan felt ill. Clutching his stomach, he bent over slightly and looked at the ground. He knew he needed to get back to the Walfred house immediately and see if there was any news about Carson or anything. Suddenly, he felt a small twinge of worry for the boy.
When Athelstan arrived at the house, he was immediately greeted by Pastor Griffin's grandson, Reverend Griffin. When the decrepit old man laid eyes on Athelstan, his face melted into a smile. "Hello, Athelstan. How are you today?" He stood up to greet him.
When Reverend Griffin grabbed Athelstan's upper arm, the young man cringed. "Don't touch me." He jerked himself free. He turned to Judy. "How's Carson?"
"He's getting worse." She bowed her head. "His friends, Sarah Elwood, Robin Damascus, and Gavin Kadir, are all ill, too, along with a few other children."
"There has been talk of a witch on the loose," Reverend piped up.
"Maybe an evil one," Athelstan said, his mouth wry. He dropped down in a nearby armchair. A cloud of dust rose from the cushion like a mushroom cloud from an atomic bomb. He coughed and fanned the air with his hand.
"That Pluto Thorn-Briar isn't exactly pure." Reverend stroked his chin in thought.
"Just because someone doesn't go in to the church for you to brainwash them doesn't mean they're a witch," Athelstan growled.
Reverend's mouth dropped open in surprise as Judy gave Athelstan a look of reprimand. Theodore, who'd just stepped inside from the fields, had heard that, too. Luckily, Olga wasn't around to hear the negativity spew from Athelstan's lips, otherwise she'd beat him.
"You should apologize for that, Athelstan," Theodore said solemnly.
Athelstan smirked at the man, hate burning in his heart for what the old man's ancestors did to his father. Memories of his father getting abducted from his home and hanged because of false accusations caused him to shudder. He couldn't look at the reverend without the memories. He felt his stomach rumble from nausea.
"He's at that age where he's rebellious, Theodore. He just has to finish sowing his wild oats, that's all," the reverend said in Athelstan's defense.
"He shouldn't speak so rudely, though." Theodore's shoulders sagged. He glanced quickly at Athelstan. "I'm very disappointed, Athelstan. You shouldn't speak so disrespectfully towards older people."
"I'm sorry," Athelstan murmured under his breath.
Theodore nodded, accepting the apology. "We're going to have dinner real shortly."
"Maybe we can sit down and have a friendly talk a little later, Athelstan. I wouldn't mind getting to know you better." Reverend Griffin gave him an evil, oily smile. The young man immediately looked away, his pale face flaming red. He covered his face slightly with his hand.
Reverend Griffin's smile seemed to foretell doom.
Athelstan stood up and began to help Judy prepare dinner. He cut up the carrots for her as he listened to the reverend speak to Theodore about the church and the money donated to it. He glared into the dining room at the older man, wondering how the man could feel so pious after what his ancestors had done. Didn't he feel the least bit of shame?
"Could you pass me that bag of potatoes?" Judy asked, gesturing at the small burlap sack full of potatoes. He handed it to her and continued cutting up the vegetables, pretending they all were the heads of Reverend Griffin. It helped him get his anger out some, but not enough. After what he'd seen, he didn't care if he never set foot in that church again. After the warning he'd been given by Pluto, he knew that he wouldn't be at that place for much longer.
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