THE GHOSTLY REEL - A Short Story

THE GHOSTLY REEL

A SHORT STORY BY JERRY SARAVIA

Trailer for my adaptation of this short story

A streak of lightning struck his bedroom window. It was a fluorescent streak of azure blue light, enough to light up the bedroom itself. Only this light had been striking often, almost ten nights in a row. Harold was the thirteen-year-old kid in that bedroom, sitting up from his bed and alarmed but not afraid. No, Harold seemed to soak up many horrors in life but this lightning perplexed him. It was almost too sharp a light to strike anywhere, as if it was made of crystal glass yet it did not penetrate the window or the walls. It would strike but not make much noise on impact. There was no sound of thunder, no thunderclap, no sound at all. How could this be? The incident would play on for three whole minutes. And then it was over and, like every night, Harold would get up from bed and look out his window and not see any rain or wet puddles outside. It never rained during those several nights. That was perplexing. 

Harold was a big horror movie fan and he loved the Universal Monsters. In 1956, those movies with Dracula, Frankenstein and the Wolf Man had their big reissue in their small town of Swamp Creek at the local theater. Kids flocked to these movies on Saturdays and for the next couple of weeks, they would be playing in town with lots of fanfare. These movies did not scare Harold but they did provide respite, respite from real life. Respite from Catholic School which he hated. Respite from the three bullies, fancying themselves as the Three Caballeros - you know, the kind of rough-hewn, oil-slicked hairdo-type kids who hated everything and everyone. Harold was not fond of them or his teachers, especially Ms. Frost. One time, Harold had an accident in school on a Friday, the kind of accident that is such an embarrassment that he skipped school the following Monday, knowing that his fellow peers would never forget. Harold was so sick to the stomach with cramps that could kill, the kind of sharp pains that feel like knives piercing the flesh from the inside. He tried to excuse himself from class to go use the bathroom but elegantly-dressed Ms. Frost wouldn't allow it. So, the unavoidable accident happened and it was a mess he could not spring from his seat and excuse himself from, or pretend as if it didn't happen. Oh, no, it did happen and there was no way around it. From fourth grade on at Holy Cross, it plagued him and made him, well, the butt of all jokes. 

Harold was 5' 7" and scrawny somewhat, looking sickly pale-faced and eyes with matching black luggage. He looked like someone who spent too much time burning the midnight oil by either reading books or watching late-night movies. When he walked to and from Holy Cross, it was through a path in the haunted woods known as Willow's Bend with huge trees enveloping the trail. In the Fall, the burnt yellow and orange colored-leaves appeared like the woods from a magical, faraway land. The colors and dark amber gave the woods a luster that seemed heavenly. Other than living with his single mother, Victoria, a 46-year-old widow, this was as close to heaven as he could get. Harold wasn't sure he believed in God but maybe belief was not necessary during these early morning walks - this was perhaps as close to God as he could get. It was a three-mile stretch that always seemed empty until you got to the end of Willow's Bend facing south and there was Holy Cross school and the small church with its stained glass windows and its edifice painted in an off-color white. The church seemed old and decrepit and nobody tried to renovate that church since it was built in the late 1800's. Another odd detail in Harold's observation was that the 4-foot iron cross at the top of the church was slightly bent and nobody understood how that could happen. Was it those lightning strikes he barely heard? Everyone in town just accepted it. It just was.

One day, as Harold walked back home in his pristine Catholic uniform, the sleeveless blue sweater with the HC logo and his off-color white shirt, blue tie and gray pants with black shoes and dirty soles, he heard a faint noise in the background. This was the sound of something whizzing in the background followed by a series of choral-like voices that sounded nothing like people. Rather they sounded like spirits in pain. For years, many residents near Willow's Bend heard distant voices that seemed to rattle the tree branches and shake the leaves, sometimes the very foundation of their homes. Hauntings were presumed since many women accused of being witches were burned to death in these parts, but nobody really knew these sounds. For good luck, Harold always made sure to make a two-finger gesture where he bent his fingers on his left hand twice while crossing one tree that had pieces of mirror glass at the base of its trunk. It was his routine, perhaps for good luck he thought. As Harold arrived home in his gray two-story house, he noticed the dreaded black manor up the road on a hill. It was the kind of castle-like dwelling that stood out from the rest of the Swamp Creek homes. The hill, known as Toby's Hill for the poor schoolboy Toby who ascended that hill and never came back, was fenced with barbed wire - a closed road with weeds and grass reaching as high as ten feet. No one dared to go up that hill or even speak of it, not anyone Harold ever knew but that was about to change. The manor itself was often not seen by residents if only because the trees and the excess foliage often covered it. Unless one lived in this fishing town long enough, nobody would ever know of its existence. Yet Harold's interest in that manor was piqued since he endlessly inquired about Toby to his mother and she never gave any straight answers.

As Harold entered the gray two-story house which was always unlocked, he heard his mother in the kitchen say, "You took a little too long coming in today. I told you to ignore Toby's Hill." Harold was perplexed, dropped his knapsack and took his lumberjack coat off as he sprinted to the kitchen. 

"How did you know I was looking at that hill?"

"A mother always knows. Don't get any thoughts of passing it down yonder."

Harold's mother was always in high spirits. Her husband, Harold's father, died a few years back after being struck by lightning on that hill. No matter where she was most of that day in the house, she was always prepping meals and made sure to watch "Leave it to Beaver" every day while forgetting to take off her apron. She doted on her son but she was steadfastly determined to make sure he was safe. Still, Harold often wondered if his mother was clairvoyant.

"Yeah, but how did you know I was staring at that house?"

"A Mother's intuition. When I was your age, God help us, I was curious about many things but that place is no place for you. Now sit down and drink your chocolate milk."

Mother gave Harold a glass of chocolate milk, sat down, and smiled as she looked at her son. He adored her and the kitchen too, his favorite place for snacks which he could never take upstairs or into the living room. The kitchen was always in pristine condition, with green-colored wallpaper featuring white sunflowers. Despite all the niceties and such a doting mother, Harold had to persist with his questions.

"But a lot of kids sometimes come up to the fence and-"

Mother slammed her fist on the table, giving Harold a real shock as some of his chocolate milk spilled on to the green formica kitchen table.

"Listen! Not another word about that house! It is forbidden to enter and I forbid you from further discussing it. With your untrammelled sight, I am sure you can't help but notice it every day on your way back from school, but this subject is over."

Mother pointed in the direction of that house, a stern look only a son would know meant complete disapproval.

"That house is the Dutch Elm Disease of this town."

There was a long pause with Mother's angry eyes slowly welling up with tears. Mother quickly wiped the tears off her face. Harold never understood why that house caused such rage and why it was such a troubling subject, to the point of tears. And he couldn't understand why she used the word untrammelled, which he didn't know its meaning but he would definitely look it up in the dictionary. That word did not cross his path in English class. Then Harold sneaked in, rather bluntly, something they also agreed not to discuss, at any time.

"Dad would have gone with me to that house. He did not have to go alone."

With that, Mother stood up, almost looking with contempt at her own child. She knew he kept that hidden in his gut for far too long. Discussions of father ceased just before the end of last summer. Then she spoke her mind without losing herself to angry tirades, as if she was addressing an unbecoming adult.

"At least you had the good sense to not mention his name. Never do that."

Later that night, the streak of lightning was not heard but it was seen again. It woke up Harold and startled him so much that he knocked over his Donald Duck projector. It did not break but his concentration was in full gear now. Another flash occurred, filling the room with blue crystal light. It was odd to him and he never seen lightning look anything like this. No thunder was heard yet again. This time, Harold opened his bedroom window and looked out. The night sky was clear with the barest amount of clouds. A few years ago, his own father walked up to that black manor at Toby's Hill and was struck by lightning. He died instantly yet there was no rain or thunder. Harold knew that this could sometimes happen but he also knew his mother was not telling him everything. As he stepped out on the balcony of his bedroom window, he could see the black manor and, to his horror, flashes of blue light in the attic window. What was going on there? That manor was abandoned, nobody lived there and then, just as he tried to figure this out, another flash of lightning struck his window just above his bed. Harold fell on the balcony, thankfully only a couple of feet. No sound was heard nor any distant noise but it was clear; the lightning strike came from that attic. Harold was a bit scared and almost got right back into his bedroom when he noticed a film reel on the street. It was barely illuminated by the moonlight, right under one of the oak trees. Harold was shocked, horrified yet elated all the same time. It looked like an 8mm film reel and, if in good working condition, he might be able to play it in his Donald Duck projector. 

About an hour later into the frigidly cold, clear night, Harold managed to grab the 8mm reel and bring it to his room, tip-toeing all the way. The reel had a steel exterior and it was heavy to the touch and it felt like no reel he ever held before. The only reels Harold ever played were Laurel and Hardy shorts and a brief 15 minute excerpt from "House of Frankenstein," reels given to him by Sebastian, the resident film collector with his own store using his namesake. Harold placed the reel in his Donald Duck projector and faced it on the opposite blank side of his wall. The projector played the reel without issues and it showed a flickering black-and-white image of a man in silhouette seated against an attic window. It looked like a spotlight was shining on this man. Then the reel ended. Harold wondered what was this all about. Who was that man? He had to ask someone for advice. This was like a Hardy Boys mystery and Harold loved a good mystery. Mother kept many of those novels downstairs in the living room, especially the Sherlock Holmes stories. 

The next day, Harold got ready for school and came downstairs to find Mother whistling and smiling. He was not sure about how she would react to seeing him after last night's altercation and approached the kitchen with trepidation. Mother turned around, wearing her white apron, smiled and said, "Come here." Harold approached her and she hugged him. She apologized for getting mad at him and then acted as if nothing ever happened, no conversation about Dad or the black manor. Maybe being a single parent causes one to be more forgiving to their children. Nevertheless, Harold's lunch was packed in his Frankenstein lunchbox which he thought Mother threw away. She hated horror movies but she appreciated Harold's interest in them and she did throw it away when Harold went to the movies to see the revival of "House of Frankenstein," a movie that disturbed her greatly, without telling her. In a small town like Swamp Creek, population roughly 13,000 residents, everybody knew what everyone was up to. It was one of the few times Harold ever saw his mother fly off the handle, so much so that she threw his lunchbox in a garbage pail. Harold thought it was gone forever but here it was, with a few dents, and he did not say anything except smile. Mother said nothing and smiled as well. 

As Harold made his way through his usual path to school, he realized he forgot to do his Social Studies homework. Sometimes he would work on homework on his way to school by sitting on one of the fallen tree branches but there was a page and a half of questions and only twenty minutes till class started. This was going to be hellish because Ms. Frost had a rough temper, far worse than Mother. Holy Cross was a strict Catholic school and any form of physical punishment was possible. He still hoped to get away with it, and he was looking forward to watching that film reel again later to discern any clues.

Social Studies class was in session and Ms. Frost came in to the classroom, long after the last paper airplane flew around the room and the noise quieted down. The wooden desks were uncomfortable and the seat itself had a downward slope in the back so it made it easy to slide back into the chair. Ms. Frost was in her forties, long black hair tied in the back, wearing glasses and fairly pretty, possibly prettier than any of the other teachers yet she had a look that could kill. Her black shoes and velvet purple dress could also make one nervous. Harold was never sure he ever saw her smile. When Ms. Frost approached her desk,  a feeling of some force of nature was felt as she entered the room, as if a cool rush of wind swept over the classroom. Everyone seated gave her the full attention she desired - the bullies were also attentive and never cussed in this class. Ms. Frost told everyone to have their homework out from the night before. She started to walk around checking everyone's homework, making sure it was all filled out, firmly holding a long ruler. Harold realized his work was hardly finished so he thought maybe he would have a book covering part of the page to give the illusion it was completed. A cursory glance might suggest otherwise until she approached his desk, the footsteps of her shoes sounded intimidating. Ms. Frost knew what Harold was doing and he looked up at her and she smacked him across the face! It was a cold hard slap but not enough to leave an imprint. The redness of his face lasted no more than 2 minutes and then she politely asked, almost as a whisper daring him to lie about his answer, "Why was your homework not completed last night?" Harold couldn't think of a good excuse so he said, "I forgot." Then she snapped with a threatening line. 

"Perhaps I might forget to give you a passing grade this semester."

With that, she wickedly smiled and proceeded to the next student and a prissy female student, Jane, looked at Harold and shook her head. Ms. Frost never hit him before but he was more than surprised that she never told him to finish his assignment and punish him with more homework or furnish a note to his Mother. Harold wondered if she simply forgot.

It was 2:25 pm at Holy Cross in that stuffy classroom and Harold's anticipation in watching that reel again was that rush of excitement he felt when he watched the Universal Monster movies. Class was finally dismissed yet Ms. Frost told Harold to remain in his seat. Even Jane looked back at him perplexed, yet she still gave him the tongue. Everyone left the classroom and all the students looked at Harold wondering what Ms. Frost wanted with him. Nobody stood around to find out. Was Harold going to be facing detention today or see the guidance counselor? Ms. Frost looked at him with those threatening eyes and emitted a wicked smile.

"You will finish your homework today. No demerits."

Then she inched closer with her arms crossed as they rested on the desk.

"No demerits at all. But I do have a question for you."

Harold did not know what was coming and calmly said, "Yes, Ms. Frost?"

"My assistant was filming a small movie project about the haunted house up your alley. You know the one, that slowly cresting hill known as Toby's Hill?"

Harold was beginning to sense some measure of dread with small drops of perspiration forming on his forehead. Again, he calmly said, "Yes, Ms. Frost."

Ms. Frost then asked, with a more pronounced wicked smile, "You live next to that hill, don't you?"

"Yes, Ms. Frost."

"Well, my assistant faced some heavy winds and her camera got knocked off her shoulders as she was filming. The camera fell to the ground about 30 yards away yet the film reel itself is missing and she couldn't find it. You wouldn't happen to have seen such a rare find near your doorstep, have you?"

Now Harold was truly perspiring, more beads of sweat cresting on his upper lip.

"No, Ms. Frost."

"If you do happen to see that reel, it is my property and I would like it returned without any fuss. It is quite valuable, and it is for a night class I am teaching. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Ms. Frost."

"Good, now scuttle off to your home."

As Harold left the school, he walked around the grounds and couldn't understand how that reel belonged to Ms. Frost. How was that possible? There were no shots of the manor on Toby's Hill, just a man sitting in a chair. What could this mean? As he kept wondering, Ms. Frost rode past him in her bicycle, with a far more devilish grin than before as she turned her back looking at him. She was headed in the direction of my house, riding through Willow's Bend. She always rode her bike after school but she never went in that direction. So Harold started running towards the path though the weight of that film reel was making him run slower than usual. She rode through that path quicker than Superman. She was gone in a flash and could no longer be seen in the distance. As Harold kept walking, the Three Caballeros appeared behind him, holding their World's Finest Chocolate bars (they were supposed to be selling them but they were so sneaky that they just ate them). They began taunting Harold, yelling obscenities that his Mother would frown upon. They blocked off the path and were looking to cause trouble, picking up sticks they pulled off of branches ready to fight.

"Leonora is coming for you this Halloween! Leonora is coming for you, and will haunt your family!," they screamed followed by gales of feigned laughter. Harold had heard of the various tales and myths of the legend of Leonora, a former witch from the 1600's who accused her three sisters of being witches. They were burned at the stake yet Leonora remained in the woods at Willow's Bend, forever ostracized as she stayed in a wooden shack that perished some time ago. The tale goes that she was bitten by a vampire, a lover of hers unknown to anyone, and became a half-vampire/half-witch. It was an aberration, an abomination for such a crossbreed. She was supposedly struck by lightning and disappeared in a puff of smoke, forever haunting the woods. In order to survive, she would strike a child or teenager with a lightning bolt and take their soul, or something to that effect. Many in Swamp Creek and abroad thought that was what happened to Toby, and to Harold's father. Several other kids had been missing for years and were presumably taken by Leonora.

The Three Caballeros continued their chanting of "Leonora will sucker punch your soul!" Harold was not scared, and then they chanted on a more personal note, "Look at him! He's about to shit in his pants!" Gales of laughter continued and then ceased when a black carriage driven by two horses arrived, seemingly out of nowhere. The force of the carriage was so strong that it knocked the kids off the ground. The driver was Ms. Frost, who looked more threatening than normal with paler skin and sinister-looking green eyes and her long, jet black hair still pulled back. She was wearing a black vest with a dark forest green jumpsuit that looked like it was made of velvet. It was the most striking image anyone could imagine of Ms. Frost. 

"You boys shall leave with great haste," said Ms. Frost as she only looked at the bullies, not Harold. They all stood up looking at her far more frightened than confused. 

"GO!" screamed Ms. Frost. 

The Three Caballeros took off running towards the church, though one remained with his stick. Ms. Frost got off the carriage and approached the kid and smacked him in the face. He was about to hit her with the stick when she put her finger up. 

"If you try to hit me with your weak weapon, you'll be in worse trouble than you are already."

Harold was actually scared for the kid and the elation of her interrupting this harrassment from the Three Caballeros gave way to shock. The bullying kid had that red mark on his cherubic face, took one glance at Harold looking quite scared and took off running in the direction of the other kids. Ms. Frost turned around, wiped the chocolate stain ooff of her black glove on her velvet suit and went back to the carriage seat. She took one long frozen stare at Harold as he walked around the carriage - she continued to fix her gaze upon him. Harold jerked his head back, almost hurting himself as he heard those wailing voices again, the spirits in pain.

"Leave now. Those spirits are crying, wailing in the winds and they will be here soon enough. It is getting dark. Go home and do your homework." Ms. Frost kept her hood up on her head.

Harold left walking on the path as darkness was beginning to settle in, but he did not run. He looked back after walking a few paces, and Ms. Frost was gone. He did not hear the carriage or the horses. It left him mightily spooked. 

Harold entered his home, not even glancing at that black manor on Toby's Hill. Mother was sleeping on the living room couch and it was only 4:30 pm. He went upstairs without grabbing his afternoon snack, and turned on his Donald Duck projector. He took the 8mm reel of film from his knapsack and loaded it onto the projector. As it played the reel, he once again saw a man in silhouette seated in the attic. A few seconds played when suddenly the man seemed to turn around facing the camera lens. He slowly got up and approached the front of the camera, walking towards it. Then the reel faded to white. Harold was really spooked now. What was going on? How was this possible? Who was that man? Mother called him downstairs and Harold told her he was doing homework. She said she was preparing dinner. Harold started wondering what this reel was. Who dropped it near his house? So he rolled back the film and replayed the reel. The same shot played again, with the man in silhouette seated in a chair in the attic. And now the man rose again from his chair, approaching the camera. As he got closer, Harold started to recognize the man. The man held a paper sign that said, "RELEASE ME!" Now it dawned on him. This man was Harold's father.    

Later that night, Harold went to bed early, claiming to his Mother he was feeling under the weather. He held that reel of film in bed but he was not wearing his pajamas. Harold had put on his lumberjack coat and placed the reel inside of a pouch. He was not sure if that was really his father but he could not bare to look at the film again. Sensing something fishy in his world, something vaguely supernatural that he could not toy with, he packed his plastic gun and filled it with holy water he took from the church. With great haste and sheer adrenaline, Harold tip-toed downstairs, opened the door in the kitchen leading to the back of the house as slowly as he could, and took off on his bicycle. He never used the bicycle much but this was of utmost necessity. Harold's plan was to take the reel of film to the local church and burn it. As he took off riding, he looked back at the house and did not see that Mother saw him leaving from her bedroom window.

 Harold rode down the street heading to the 3-mile path, and he felt a sense of freedom he hadn't felt in a while. Harold felt healthier and stronger than usual, with a determination he had never felt before. Trouble was brewing as he turned around and saw Ms. Frost chasing him, only it was not in a carriage or a car or a bicycle. She was floating down the road on a broom handle with fire spitting from the other end of it. Now he knew for sure that Ms. Frost was a supernatural being - she might be Leonora! Harold began pedaling faster. Leonora was flying through the air at top speeds. She was wearing a long purple cape and reached into it grabbing hold of two angry vampire bats! She released them in Harold's direction and they were flapping their wings with their glowing red eyes and mouths open ready to attack. They were approaching Harold as he picked up the water pistol he had on him, filled with holy water, and started pulling its trigger. The bats were stung in the eyes by the holy water. One of them flew away towards the trees while the other managed to sink its teeth into Harold's coat. It kept tearing the coat until Harold realized he was coming close to that one tree with the shimmering light at its trunk - the shards of mirror glass. Harold jumped from his bike and landed on the ground just close enough to grab the shards and stab the bat in the face. It laid on the ground, slowly dying as it flapped one wing, yet Leonora was fiercely gaining on him. He held the shards of glass and reflected the moonlight on them at Leonora's face and she screamed and started flying off the path and right through the woods where the chilling sounds of the night were often heard. Harold got on his bike, made sure he still had the reel of film in his pouch, and took off to the church.

Harold arrived at the church, only to realize the iron cross was missing from the roof. He couldn't worry about that now. He pushed the front doors open and went to the back of the church. He opened the pouch and pulled out the film reel only to realize he forgot his matches. The doors flew open and Leonora entered, and it was at that moment that Harold was convinced Ms. Frost was Leonora. Leonora finally had Harold in her crosshairs, biting her long blue nails as they bled, carrying the iron cross and she flung it towards him. The cross fell right by his feet.  Harold could not comprehend why she did this or why she was biting her nails with those canine teeth but she persisted, the dark-colored red blood trickingly on her dark green outfit. 

It took every nerve he had left to simply ask, "You are not going to hurt me, are you?," as he still was gasping for air.

Leonora took another step and uttered her words with such a frozen, beatific smile that it was enough to chill Harold to the bone.

"Oh, no, I just want to wish you away."

Harold stepped back and back until finally hitting the wall behind him and slipping down on the floor, his face illuminated by the flickering lightning seemingly penetrating the windows. He picked up and held the iron cross, but it felt useless and bereft of power so he dropped it. Harold was also feeling powerless and tired. Nothing left for him to do, his breathing got harder as if gasping for air. The church's interior started to feel cold, like a chilly blast of Arctic air despite the fact that it was still warm out. It was also as if death was approaching him, closer and closer. Leonora approached Harold, knelt down and placed her deathly pale hand on his small throat. She looked and stared at him with those ferocious green eyes, eyes that have seen many horrors throughout the centuries. The golden cross Harold wore on his neck had no real power against her and it melted slowly like a bent metal structure. Harold's hand was feeling the scorching heat from it, the only real heat he could feel in the room. He started to scream yet she held her leathered finger up to her ruby red lips, to shut him down. Then Leonora slowly got up and picked up the long, slightly bent iron cross she had taken from the roof of the church. 

"You do not know how many have tried to cross me. How many have held me in their crosshairs, thinking they could best me. Thinking they could take my body and commit it to the earth below. Burn me in their furnaces, burn me at their wick thick crosses. Stake me through the heart. No, they could not destroy me. You know why? I am...God's unwitting formula. Without me, there is no God. God is in me, and without me, you can't have goodwill towards man. Man tried to destroy God. I am all there is left to destroy them." 

Leonora threw the iron cross to the entrance. Harold was starting to lose his breath when he suddenly felt electrical charges rising through Leonora's pale fingers. A projector appeared on the floor as if created by blue streaks of lightning. The projector had an 8mm reel and it started to shine a light on me, making those squeaky noises. Harold felt weaker and weaker, as if his life was being squeezed out of him. Just then, the door to the church opened with a huge slam, enough for the door to nearly collapse off its loose hinges. Mother was at the door, soaked from the rain and she picked up and held the iron cross. The cross was no longer bent as it appeared for decades before, in fact only a couple of minutes before. She stood, her head down staring at Leonora with the whitest eyes imaginable. Mother was ready to kill, appearing like a monstrous figure that Harold had never seen before. Leonora turned around and looked at Mother.

"Look who has graced us with her presence!"

Leonora still had those fierce eyes yet suddenly a change occurred. Leonora noticed something familiar about Mother.

"Have I ever seen you before?"

Mother replied sarcastically. "Yes, at my son's school! Parent teacher conference!"

Leonora persisted, noting something familiar about Mother.

"No, now that I see you in this church, at this midnight hour, I see a woman from long ago. Someone from another time, another place."

Mother angrily responded with, "No, I don't know you personally. Now let my son go. He is not yours to take!"

Leonora was still grabbing Harold's throat. "He is mine, just like your husband was. May God not rest his soul."

As Leonora kept staring at Mother, it was clearer and clearer that she knew Mother but she couldn't or wouldn't say from what time or place. So Leonora made her declarations fiercely. 

"If you wish to cause harm to me, then do so. Take thy German cross, penetrate my heart with your deathly instrument. Make me wither, make me fade. Make me fade! Do unto me as many have done to me before! But your son's soul is mine."

With that declarative statement, Leonora's bursts of electrical charges became stronger and Harold was suddenly screaming in pain as his body changed shape and metamorphosed into a single bolt of lightning that struck the projector. Harold was gone. Mother looked at the floor and saw that the reel ejected itself from the projector. The projector disappeared like a bolt of lightning right back into Leonora's fingernail. Mother did not scream, almost as if she knew this was going to happen. She watched the reel slowly jump up from the floor, rattling as if someone was trying to break out of it. The filmstrip showed her son's silhouetted image trying to punch through the frames of the film and she could hear him crying for her. He kept saying, "Mother, mother, please help me!"

Mother was so angry that she aimed the iron cross at Leonora's heart and threw it with great force like an arrow from a bow. It precisely struck Leonora in the heart and pinned her to the wall. Leonora emitted that familiar wicked smile and removed the cross, bending it and throwing it on the ground. She had her moment of recognition at that point. 

"Now I know who you are. That murderous impulse, those manic eyes. I never forget a face."

Mother then responded, with her own demonic smile.

"Then perhaps you might know your own siblings. The ones you had forsaken, naming them as witches 300 years ago, just to protect your own hide!"

Leonora emits a wicked smile tinged with a slight sadness in her eyes, and makes it clear what had transpired ages ago.

"I did not name them. I loved my sisters, I loved them unconditionally, but the local church gave me no choice, no recourse from not naming them yet not denying my siblings' ungodly power. (Pause) I simply torched them so that the cruel, sanctimonious pastor wouldn't have to. I could not bear to see a senile, crusty old fool using the Bible as the pretext for everything...I could not bear to see him ignite the first flame!" 

The sounds of wailing spirits in pain could be heard. Mother moved out of the way of the front door's path as three women floated in with no visible faces except skull-like features and deep black sockets with red eyes, wearing frayed white rags and bearing burnt skin on their arms. They had their arms outstretched as they floated right into Leonora and grabbed her by her arms and legs. Leonora started to scream with an extremely high pitch and as the three spirits grabbed her forcefully, they faded through the wall like ghosts. Somehow Mother knew this was going to happen. Somewhere out in the deep woods, beyond the forest clearing, Leonora was screaming and her fate, as it turned out, was to be burned to death at one of three tall crosses where the sisters had died.

It was a chilly, cloudy Halloween day in Swamp Creek and yet everything seemed brighter and cheerier. For the first time on this block where Mother stood outside the house with a cup of hot coffee, she saw a few kids already dressed up for trick or treating. She smiled and stepped out to see the black manor on Toby's Hill. Somehow it had a faded black color, not nearly as strikingly ominous as usual and the trees facing it were covered with more fall leaves. Mother went back in the house, stepped into the kitchen and turned on the Donald Duck projector she took from her son's room. The 8mm film reel was being projected on a piece of white cloth she had hanging over the stove. As the reel played, a black-and-white image of two silhouetted figures could be seen seated in their chairs in an attic. It was Harold's father and adjacent to him, his son Harold. It looked like the same footage from the previous day with no discernible change until they both looked in the direction of the camera. They were looking at Mother. Mother was nonplussed and shaken by this, and turned off the projector. She wondered, how that could be? The reel was always the same footage, so how did that change? For a singular moment, she thought Leonora might be affecting a change. So Mother turned the projector back on, rolled back the reel to its starting place, and played it again. Same footage and, once again, they both turned facing the camera. Harold and his father were now getting up from their chairs and walking towards the camera, towards Mother. Like some lost silent film, an intertitle appears that reads" "Hi Mom!" Mother starts to tear up, not believing what she was seeing. They kept walking closer and closer. A big change was coming to this household.  Mother smiled with tears rolling down her cheeks. 

THE END