The Call In The Woods

The Call In The Woods

A Story by Bud R. Berkich
"

A Siren Head has been conjured up in the Amnesty Woods, and the witch queens and their daughters are asked to help by an anonymous request.

"

Bud R. Berkich

[email protected]

(10,000 Words)









THE CALL IN THE WOODS



Charity Goode heard the call.


It came from the Amnesty Woods one early October morning, as she stood on her bedroom balcony and looked out past her large back yard, across Cemetery Way and the clearing to the ancient oak and maple trees with their still full, multi-colored plumage some five hundred feet away.


What did she hear?


Something faint and garbled, but strange and distinct.  Something that Charity had never heard before.  Especially in Amnesty or in the Amnesty Woods.  The sound (whatever it was) was intermittent. It lasted for a minute or two, then it stopped.  There was silence for five to ten minutes, then the cycle repeated.


Charity had to tell someone.  So, she went back into her bedroom through the small hallway that connected her bedroom with her daughter Guenevere’s room, and knocked on Guen’s partially open door.  It was a few minutes to seven o’clock on a Saturday morning.  And although Charity had to be at work in a couple of hours at the Wiccan bookstore that she owned with one of her best friends and coven sisters, Patience Smythe, Guen did not have school.  She and Patience’s daughter Yarra worked at the bookstore (known as Pandora’s Box) on Saturdays, but would not be there until noon.  So, Guen would be asleep until at least nine or ten o’clock.  But not now.


She’s gonna kill me.  Charity thought.


“Mawm, what do you want?”  Guen said.  She groaned.  Her bright green eyes (the same color as Charity’s) attempted to focus on her mother’s head that peered at her through the doorway.  “It’s not even seven o’clock, yet.”


“I know.”


“You know?  Then why--”


“Did you hear that?”


“Hear what?”


Charity motioned for Guen to follow her.


“C’mon,” she said.


“Come where?  What’s wrong?”


Another motion of Charity's arms, followed by another groan from Guen.


“C’mon, you’ll miss it.”


By this time, Guen sat up on the side of her bed.  Charity reached her hand out, which Guen reluctantly accepted.  Charity saw her chance and fairly yanked her daughter through the doorway.


“Mawm, slow down!”


“Sorry.”


“Where are you taking me?”


“We could have done this on your balcony, I guess--”


“Done what?”


“Listen.”


By this time, Charity and Guen were out on Charity’s balcony.


“I don’t hear anything,” Guen said.


“Just listen,” Charity said.  “It’s intermittent.”


Guen emitted a sigh and listened.  A couple of minutes later, she heard it.


“What is that?”  Guen said.


“That’s what I wanted you to tell me,” Charity said.


“It sounds like-- somebody talking,” Guen said.  Then, after a few seconds, “or a lot of people talking.”


Charity nodded.  “But how can that be?  How are we hearing them from here?  That’s coming from somewhere in the Amnesty Woods.  It’s at least five to six hundred feet to the entrance to the woods from here.  These voices have to be at least a thousand feet away.  Most likely more.”


Guen nodded and listened.  “There’s something weird about those voices,” she said.


“What?”

     

Guen shook her long, curly strawberry blonde hair which, like her eyes,  was the same exact shade as Charity’s.  However, the older Goode’s hair was long and straight.  “I don’t know,” Guen said.  “Just something isn’t right about them.  But I can’t tell what.”


Once again, Charity nodded.  She was of the same opinion.  It sounded like human voices.  It sounded like more than one.  But they were not clear.  And there seemed to be a reason for the distortion that was more than just the distance from which the voices came.  No, Charity thought to herself.  This is not just because they are far awayThis is something else.


And, as before, the voices (or whatever it was) stopped after a few minutes.


But this time, they did not resume.



II.


“So, what was it?”


Patience Smythe asked Charity, after she heard Charity’s early morning tale about the intermittent, strange voices that came from the Amnesty Woods.  Patience was in her mid-thirties like Charity, but was a few months younger.  She had very long, straight frosted brown hair and hazel eyes.  Like Charity, she was tall.  Her most prominent feature (besides her large, round breasts) were her high-set cheekbones that concaved her cheeks.


The two women stood behind the counter at Pandora’s Box, their small bookstore located on Main Street in Amnesty.  Pandora’s Box, which was originally opened by Pandora Osbourne, the best friend of Charity and Patience, was a bookstore that primarily sold works on Wicca and the occult.  Other topics, such as fiction/literature and local history, were also popular among frequent customers of the store.


“No idea,” Charity said.  “Guen and I both heard voices, and we both thought that something sounded off about them, but neither one of us could say what.”


“So, there’s something in the Amnesty Woods,” Patience said.


“Yeah, but what?  What talks and you hear the voice or voices from a half mile away?”


“Nothing human, that’s for sure,” Patience said.  “I mean, the only time that you can hear voices that far away is from a PA system.  Like when there is a football game at Amnesty Catholic HIgh, you can hear the announcer across town in the Wiccan Quarter.”


Amnesty was predominantly Wiccan, but its second largest religious demographic was Roman Catholic.  While the majority of Wiccans lived in the southern, older part of town, known as the Wiccan Quarter, most Roman Catholics were found in the Catholic Quarter, which comprised a large portion of the northern sector of Amnesty.


The Amnesty Catholic Friars were cross-town rivals of the Amnesty High School Black Cats in baseball, softball and basketball.  The one sport that was not included in this rivalry was football, since Amnesty HIgh School did not sponsor a team.


Charity perked up at Patience’s analogy.  “That’s almost what it sounded like,” she said.  “But it was more distorted.  It sounded like there were more than one voice, and it was coming from the Amnesty Woods, not from the town.”


Patience was thoughtful.  “Do you think it was coming from somewhere over on Amnesty Road?  Maybe from the reservoir?  Or maybe something was going on over at Zeeland?”


“Both of those are scary thoughts, girlfriend,” Charity said.  “If you can hear a PA system at the reservoir, most likely there’s a problem with the water level or something, and they’re telling us to evacuate.”


“True.”


“And I don’t have to tell you why a PA system at Zeeland would be scary.”


“Because there’s no one there.”


“Exactly.”


The fundamentalist Christian town known as Zeeland, located on the other side of the Amnesty Woods, had been abandoned for a couple of years, ever since it went bankrupt and shut down after scandal rocked its very foundations.  This scandal revolved around the arrest of the pastor, after it was proved that he knew about the murders of three young girls (known as the Girls in White Dresses) carried out by members of the Klan in the 1920’s.  The pastor, named Noland, was a descendant of the murderers, collectively known as The Angels of Death.


“But, I know that it wasn’t an announcement from the reservoir,” Charity said, “because it would be clear.  Not garbled and distorted like this was.”


“Right.  So, should we do anything about this?  Go down to the woods and check it out, or something?”


“I don’t--” Charity started to say, but was interrupted by the ring of the store phone on the counter.  She picked it up.


“Thank you for calling Pandora’s Box.  This is Charity.  How can I help you?...  Hey, Pan, what’s up?...  Sure, I can.  You’re at home?...  OK, no problem.  Give me fifteen minutes….  See ya then.  Blessed be.”


“That was Pandora?”  Patience asked.


“Yeah,” Charity said.


Patience checked her watch.  “At ten o’clock on a Saturday morning?  She’s usually still in bed.”


“I know,” Charity said.  She shook her head in disbelief.  “Pan said that something important came up and she wanted to know if we could spare one of us to go over there for about an hour or so.  So, I said I would.”


“No problem,” Patience said.  “It’s slow here right now, anyway.  I can handle it.  Guen and Yarra will be in in an hour and a half, so it won’t be so bad.  Go ahead.”


Pandora Osbourne was the mayor of Amnesty.  Saturdays and Sundays were her days off.  But apparently, not this Saturday.  Charity and Patience, who were witch queens along with Pandora and therefore prominent citizens of Amnesty, were also deputy mayors under Pandora.  So, it was not uncommon for them to assist Pandora with certain mayoral duties.


Although, this was not usually the case on weekends.


*****


When Charity arrived at Pandora’s house, the Amnesty mayor sat at her kitchen table.  She intensely studied what looked to be a set of Polaroids spread out on the table’s surface.  She was so focused on this task, she did not look up when her daughter Constance (“Connie”) announced that Charity had arrived.


“Mom?  Charity is here.”


Constance “Connie” Osbourne, who had just turned seventeen two months before, was eight months older than Guen, who was sixteen..  She was a very attractive, voluptuous girl with shoulder-length, styled raven colored hair and dark blue eyes.  Whereas Guen was studious, Connie was a bright girl known for her quick wit and morbid cynicism.  She was also a quiet girl that mostly kept to herself, and did not easily make friends beyond her inner circle of childhood companions.


“Thanks, Connie.  Come in, Char.”


Charity was puzzled.  “Both Connie and you are up on a Saturday morning?  What’s going on, here?”


Pandora motioned for Charity to have a seat on the opposite side of the table.  The elder Osbourne sat back in her chair and rubbed her eyes.


“At around six o’clock this morning, there was somebody knocking on our back door.”


“Your back door?”  Charity asked.


“Yeah, I know.  Weird, right?”


“Yeah.  Nobody goes to the backdoor around our area.  So, who was it?”


Pandora shrugged.   “I have no idea.  They were long gone by the time somebody got to the door.”


At this point, Pandora gathered up all of the Polaroids on the table, stuck them in a small manilla folder with a small note and tossed the whole thing onto Charity’s side of the table.


“But that’s what was left behind.”


Charity picked up the envelope and pulled out its contents.  Pandora had wrapped the note around the photos, so Charity examined this document first.  It read:


LADY OSBOURNE,                        


THERE IS A SIREN HEAD IN THE WOODS.  THOUGHT YOU SHOULD KNOW.


The strange note was unsigned.  There was nothing written on the manilla envelope.


“What is a--” Charity said.  She abruptly cut off mid-sentence when she saw the first photo.


“Oh, my God, what is that?”  “Is that real?  That can’t be real.”  She looked at Pandora.  “Is it?”


Pandora sighed.  “Apparently so.”


What did Charity see?  A strange creature that stood somewhere between twenty and forty feet tall.  Its body was totally emaciated, as if it was being starved to death.  Its skin was dried out and tough, like a piece of dried beef.  Its arms and legs were very long and thin, disproportionate to its body.  The fingers and toes were not webbed, but also very long and thin; wire like.  But, in truth, this was not the strangest feature of this hellish creation.  Its neck was little more than a series of cords or cables that seemed to originate from the core of the body, wrapped around what appeared to be a metal post.  Connected to the post, instead of a head, were affixed two large bull horns or sirens, set at right angles to each other.


“So, this thing is alive?”


Pandora nodded.


“And it’s in the Amnesty Woods?”


“If those pictures aren’t Photo Shopped in some way,” Pandora said.  “And I doubt they are.  Look at the one picture, there.  Look what’s in the background.”


Charity flipped through the photos until she came to one with two very familiar landmarks in the background.  One was the Amnesty River bed.  And the second was the tops of various buildings and the water tower located at the abandoned town of Zeeland, seen above the treeline on the slope opposite the river.


“That’s the Amnesty River and Zeeland, all right,” she said.


Pandora just nodded.


“So, how did this thing get in the Amnesty Woods?”  Charity asked.  She looked at the note once again.  “And who put this on your doorstep?  Does this person have something to do with it?”


“Connie, come in here a second.”  Pandora called out to her daughter.


“Coming.”


“So, did you find anything out?”  Pandora asked Connie when she entered the kitchen.


“Most of what I found is about this guy named Trevor Henderson and some video game,” Connie said.


“OK, what--”


“Everything I’m seeing is saying that this thing is a creation of this guy named Trevor Henderson, who is some kind of artist that makes creepy paintings of these weird creatures,” Connie said.


“That doesn’t make sense,” Charity said.  “How could an artist create a creature that has life?  Unless he’s God.”

             

“Or Dr. Frankenstein,” Pandora said.


“Same difference,” Connie said.  This got a few chuckles from the witch queens.


“Anything else?”  Pandora asked.


“Mostly everything else was about this video game based on this thing,” Connie said.


“Are you familiar with the game?”


“Mom, why would I be familiar with it?”


“Oh, I don’t know.  Because you’re a teenager in the twenty-first century?”


“Mom, I’m a teenager in the twenty-first century that reads.  I don’t know anything about video games.  I could care less.”


“So, I guess you never read about them?”


“No!”


Pandora and Charity shared a laugh.


“There’s got to be more information on this thing than that,” Charity said.


“Yeah, and I doubt some artist is solely responsible for this,” Pandora said.


“Can I make a suggestion?”  It was Connie.


“Sure, honey.”


“Get Yarra to research this Siren Head thing on the Internet,” Connie said.  “She’s way better than Guen or I am.”


“OK,” Pandora said.  She looked at Charity.  “Are the girls working today?”


“Yep,” Charity said.  “In about a half hour, forty minutes.”


“So they would be home.”


“Most likely,” Charity said.  She walked over to the dining room window and looked out at the Smythe residence across the street to see if any sign of Yarra could be seen.  She took note of the fact that the Smythe Range Rover was still in the driveway.  “The car is still in the driveway at Patience’s, so they haven’t left yet.”


Pandora turned to Connie.  “Con, call Yarra.  See if you can tell her to bring her laptop to work with her.”


“I’m on it,” Connie said.  She pulled out her cell phone.


Pandora turned to Charity.  “Let’s all go back to the store,” she said.  “We’ll have the girls research this thing, and we can see what we come up with.”


“Sure,” Charity said.


III.


Connie reached Yarra and told her that Pandora said to bring her laptop to the store.  Of course, Yarra had questions, but Connie did not provide her friend with answers.  Instead, she promised Yarra that her questions would all be answered when Guen and she arrived at Pandora’s Box.


Pandora, Charity and Connie left the Osbourne residence about ten minutes later.  Pandora told Charity to go on to Pandora’s Box, that Connie and she would be over shortly.  Pandora wanted to stop by the Amnesty sub shop to get everyone lunch.


Guen and Yarra arrived at the store at their usual quarter to twelve.  Charity had returned about ten or fifteen minutes before the girls got there.


“I brought my laptop,” Yarra said.


“Good girl,” Charity said.


“Sometimes,” Patience said.  She looked at her daughter with a devious expression.


“Mawm!  How could you?”


“Because I can.”


Laughter.


Yarra Smythe was sixteen, six weeks younger than Guen.  She was half Indian and half English.  Yarra was a very pretty girl with large dark eyes and shoulder-length, styled black hair.  Like Guen, she was petite, but sported a more curvy figure.  Whereas Guen was studious and introspective and Connie was witty, cynical and independent, Yarra was known to be cheery and upbeat.


“So, what are we doing?”  Yarra asked her mother.


“I have no idea,” Patience said.  “I’ve been here the whole time.  Ask Charity.”


“Charity what are we doing?”  Yarra asked.  Guen and her burst into a fit of giggles.


“When Pandora and Connie get here, you guys are going to be doing research.”


“On what?”


“Let’s wait until the Osbournes arrive,” Charity said.  “It’s complicated.”


“It’s complicated,” Guen said to Yarra.  She playfully mimicked her mother.


“Oh, boy!”  Yarra said.


“This wouldn’t have to do with why you woke me up before seven o’clock this morning, would it, mom?”  Guen asked.


Charity thought about this.  “That’s a good question, Guen.  You might be right.”


“You don’t know?”


“Actually, at this point, I know very little about this, honey.”


“Oh.”


“What about you, mom?”  Yarra asked.


“I know even less,” Patience said.


*****


A few minutes later, Pandora and Connie arrived, with a variety of subs and drinks for everyone.  The store usually closed at two o’clock on Saturdays for lunch hour.  As everyone ate, Pandora filled everyone in concerning the events of the early morning hours.  In addition, Charity and Guen’s experience that morning was also discussed and conjectured upon.  Pandora turned to Guen and Yarra.


“So, what I need you guys and Connie to do is find out whatever you can about the real Siren Head creature.  Connie found a bunch of stuff on an artist affiliated with it and a video game, but ignore that and just concentrate on real facts.  I doubt the artist and the game gave rise to the creature.”


“Got it,” Guen said.  “Connie and I can check the books in the store, while Yarra does her thing online.”


“My thing?”


“Your thang.”


Giggles.


The witch queens looked at each other, amused.


“All right,” Charity said.  “When you’re all finished eating, you can get started.”


Approximately fifteen to twenty minutes later, the girls got underway.  As it turned out, Yarra did all of the searching on her laptop, because Guen and Connie could not find any print material on the Siren Head, or any record in the local history section of an earlier appearance of the creature in Amnesty.  So, basically, Guen and Connie watched while Yarra searched, and provided suggestions and assistance when needed.  Soon, the girls had enough interesting material to present to their mothers.


“OK,” Pandora said.  “What do you guys have for us?”


“Alright,” Yarra said.  “First of all, you guys were right.  The Siren Head has been around for a very long time.”  She turned her laptop around in the direction of the witch queens.  “This is a photo of a drawing on the wall of a cave by a prehistoric man done thousands of years ago.”


“I knew it,” Pandora said.  The image drawn by the prehistoric cave dweller was an exact match to the photos taken by the unknown visitor to the Osbourne’s back door earlier that day.  “This thing has been around a while, like Yarra said.  It most likely predates man.”


“Is it an alien?”  Connie asked.


“It could be,” Pandora said.  “It’s definitely from another dimension.”


“Or a parallel universe,” Patience said.  “Those sirens or bull horns or whatever are common to our time and space now.”


“Very interesting,” Pandora said.  “Which opens the door to a lot of speculation about what is really unique to this place and time, this dimension.”


“Apparently, from this, it’s not so unique.  Things can exist outside of our realm and even predate it.”  Patience said.  “Things that we think we invented on this planet might have existed elsewhere for far longer periods of time.”


“Yes.”


“Should I continue?”  It was Yarra.


“Of course, honey,” Patience said.  “Sorry.


“Apology accepted,” Yarra said.  “So.  Moving right along.  The first modern day sighting of a Siren Head was in 1966.  A man and his wife were on vacation, visiting old cemeteries.”


“That’s so cool!”  Connie said.


“Yeah ‘cause everyone visits cemeteries on vacation,” Guen said.


Laughter.


“So, anyway,” Yarra said.  “The woman got out of the car, when she spotted a Siren Head standing among the graves.”


“What happened?”


“The Siren Head started to say a bunch of random stuff-- numbers and words-- of which, the last word was ‘vile.’”


“‘Vile?’”  Charity said.  “In reference to the woman and her husband?”


“I don’t know,” Yarra said.  She quickly scanned the material.  “It just says random numbers and words.”  She shrugged.  “Maybe they don’t mean anything.”


“To us, at least,” Charity said.


“So, they got away?”  Patience asked.


“I guess,” Yarra said.  “It doesn’t really say.”


“They must have,” Pandora said.  “If they’re saying that those were the numbers and words spoken by the Siren Head.”


“True,” Patience said.  “If they didn’t make it, then we wouldn’t know what was said.”


“Some of this stuff is not that clear,” Connie said.  “They don’t really explain everything.”


“Well, that’s what happens when you’re dealing with the Internet and not written material like books,” Pandora said.


“Plus, the fact that the real information is very little,” Guen said.  “Most of it is about this Trevor Henderson guy and the video game.”


“Exactly,” Connie said.  “That’s what kept throwing me off.  It’s all about this guy ‘creating’ the Siren Head.”


“But he didn’t,” Yarra said.


“Right.”


“So, why would they say that, if it’s not true?”


“Because it’s the Internet,” Guen said.


“Well, that,” Pandora said, “and also the fact that everyone’s collective consciousness seems to be in denial these days about anything otherworldly or supernatural.  They would rather believe that this guy made all of this up and that its only reality is virtual, as in the video game, because, lacking imagination from not being a reading society and/or having a belief system in a higher power, they have nothing else.”


Everyone nodded in silence and thought about what Pandora just said.  Finally, Yarra continued.


“So, anyway.  Getting back.  In 1986, there was a second sighting of the Siren Head.  This one was in the HImalayas.”


“Really?”


“Yep.  And this one doesn’t have a happy ending.”


“Tell us.”


Yarra proceeded to tell the bizarre story of how in 1986, strange siren alerts were heard in the Himalayas.  The government sent in a team of military investigators.  As a result of the sound of a huge ringing alarm caused by the Siren Head, several of the men experienced hearing loss, while others’ brains literally exploded from the high intensity frequency.  There were fourteen deaths in all.  As a result of the tragedy of what was known as Operation Radio, the government designated the area a no fly zone.


When Yarra was done, the witch queens studied each others’ faces.


“Well, that’s not good,” Pandora said.  “”We’re obviously dealing with something here that is very dangerous.”


“What’s the chances of this thing coming into town?”  Charity asked.


Pandora turned to Yarra.  “Anything about something like that happening?”  She asked.


Yarra shook her head.  “I didn’t see anything like that.”  She turned to Guen and Connie.  “Did you guys?”


“No,” Connie said.


“I don’t think that’s their style,” Guen said.


“Go ahead, Guen,” Pandora said.


“Everything we’ve read says that these things live in wooded areas and like to be hidden,” Guen said.  “I think that they like people to come to them."


“Although there is supposed to be a species of Siren Head called Lamp Head,” Yarra said.  “Instead of sirens, it has a street lamp for a head.”  At this point, Yarra turned her laptop screen around to face the witch queens.  “See?”


Just as Yarra said, the creature depicted in the drawing had a long metal post for a neck that ended with a street lamp for a head.


“What the--”


“But, most likely, this particular species is not real,” Yarra said.  “At least, that’s what we think.”


“Why not?”


“Because there’s only sketches of Lamp Head,” Connie said.  “So, we think that Trevor Henderson made it up and drew them or something.”


“Good point,” Pandora said.


“Plus, a street lamp doesn’t serve any real function, except light,” Guen said.  “It’s not a real form of protection for the Lamp Head.”


“Very good.  So, anything else?”


“Yeah, one thing,” Yarra said.  “It’s pretty sick.”


“Sick?”


“Yeah.  The Siren Head has the ability to record the moment when it kills its victims,” Yarra said.  “It uses its victims’ distress cries to lure in other victims.”


“Usually those that are related to the murdered victim,” Guen said.


“That is sick,” Patience said.  She made a face.


“If you think about it,” Charity said, “there are definite parallels between the Siren Head and the ancient Sirens of Greek myth.  The ancient Sirens, like the Siren Head, lured in their victims through a call of some sort, usually singing.”


“You’re right,” Patience said, “but I find the differences between the two more significant.  For example, the ancient Sirens were beautiful, seductive females, whereas the Siren Head is an over-sized, emaciated male, most likely.  Instead of a pretty face, it has two bullhorns. And whereas the ancient Sirens were part female human and part bird, the Siren Head is part male.  Human?  Could be debated.  But the other part is more or less what?  Mechanical?  Technological?  What would you say?”


“I would say that both are representative of their times, in a symbolic sense,” Pandora said.  “The ancient Sirens are more earthy and naturalistic, and the Siren Head are some kind of b*****d offspring between man and machine.”


“Postmodern,” Charity said.


“Exactly,” Pandora said.  “And the ancient Sirens mimic the Classical period.  The implications from a societal perspective are fascinating.”


“OK,” Connie said.  She rolled her eyes.  “Just because you guys have Master’s degrees doesn’t mean you have to show them off.”


The three witch queens each held Master’s degrees in Occult and Magical Studies. 


“Sorry,” Charity said.  “We were just thinking out loud.  We weren’t trying to steal your thunder.”


“No.”  


“Good job, girls,” Pandora said.  “What you found out gives us some idea of what we’re dealing with.”


“Something evil, I would say,” Charity said.


“Definitely,” Pandora said.  “And dangerous.  So, now, we have to figure out how to get rid of it.”


“I think that maybe it’s a good idea to consult the Keepers about this,” Patience said.


“I agree,” Pandora said.  “Let’s approach them tonight.”


The Keepers were the ancient lords of the Amnesty Woods.  They were basically wood elves and fairies, presided over by their king and queen, Alderon and Celestia.  The Keepers were said (by the early witch queens) to have lived in the woods for thousands of years.  When Amnesty was founded in 1692, the first witch queens made a pact with Alderon and Celestia that the Keepers would protect and bless the town and people, as long as they were respected and remembered.  No one could approach the abode of the Keepers except by invitation, or through the realm of dreams.  And the only citizens of Amnesty to do so were active witch queens.  However, under extreme circumstances, former witch queens or witch queen candidates (such as Guen, Yarra and Connie) were also permitted.


So, it was decided that no further action would be taken concerning the Siren Head until advice was received by the Keepers.


To accomplish this, the witch queens made a corporate request in the form of a prayer for the Keepers to visit them during the night.  These visits were always carried out between the hours of midnight and three o’clock.  The witch queens only had to make sure that all three of them were in bed an hour before midnight.  The Keepers would take care of the rest.


IV.


The Keepers visited the witch queens the next morning, through the realm of dreams.  Charity, Patience and Pandora were escorted by one of Alderon and Celestia’s elf attendants to the Keeper Tree, a massive, ancient oak tree said to be at least two thousand years old.  This tree was the abode of the Keepers.  It was located in an enchanted area of the Amnesty Woods, which was revealed only to the witch queens.  If anyone happened to enter this enchanted area without permission, he or she would be subjected to the sleep of fairies.  In short, they would awake from a deep, dreamless slumber in a totally different part of the woods.  They would also not know how they got there, or remember any of the details of their unauthorized time in the Keeper’s abode.


The following is a summary of what the witch queens were told by the Keepers concerning the Siren Head:


  1. The Siren Head belonged to an ancient race from a parallel dimension.  They  were dangerous to humans, although among their own kind, their behavior was normal and acceptable.


  1. There was no danger of the Siren Head entering the town of Amnesty, as it would not be able to penetrate the invisible magic force field surrounding the woods.  This force field was activated by the Keepers, as part of the protection pact agreement between the Keepers and the first witch queens at Amnesty’s inception.  Also, as explained by Alderon and Celestia, there seemed to be a natural law present that did not allow creatures such as the Siren Head to contact society on a blatant, wide scale.  Other than spirits, aliens and demonic activity on a controlled level, fantastic creatures were not allowed to be seen by large populations in the earthly realm.  Apparently, these were prohibitions instituted by the Deity at the beginning of creation.

 

Although the Siren Head could not enter Amnesty, any Amnesty citizen that entered the Amnesty Woods was in potential danger of the Siren Head.  Because the protection pact between the Keepers and the early witch queens only concerned the actual town of Amnesty, the woods and the temple area were to be regarded with caution.  The Keepers in this instance could provide advice and suggestions to the witch queens, but when the witch queens left the safety of the clearing and entered the Amnesty Woods, they were basically on their own.


The one thing that the Keepers did assist the witch queens with (because not to do so would put them at an unfair advantage against the Siren Head that would most surely result in their demise) was how to protect themselves against the Siren Head’s dangerous and potentially fatal call.  They were instructed to wear three necklaces featuring large crystals that the Keepers created and blessed themselves.  These necklaces hung from  the necks of the witch queens the next morning when they woke up from their nocturnal visit to the Keeper Tree.  The Keepers related that these were not any ordinary crystals, but were indigenous to the realm of the Siren Head.  For this reason, upon the conclusion of their use, the Keepers informed the witch queens that they would take them back, for the materials, not found on earth, could not stay there.


  1.  According to the Keepers, a young, inexperienced coven opened up the portal and brought the Siren Head into the earthly realm.  Apparently, the coven-- made up mostly of teenage girls (the identification of whom were revealed to the witch queens)-- fooled around with advanced ritual magic that they had found on the Internet.  Pandora was informed that the letter found on her back door was, in fact, penned and placed there by the frightened and remorseful leader of the coven in question.  The witch queens were permitted to deal with the offenders in whatever way they thought best and fair for all concerned.  But, in truth, at present, the witch queens just wanted to get rid of the Siren Head and make sure that it could not return.


  1. To bring about the Siren Head’s fast and effective absence, the Keepers suggested the following actions:


a.)  to get rid of the Siren Head, first, the portal area would have to be completely surrounded by a magic circle.


b.) Once it was established that the Siren Head was trapped in the portal area within the circle, a banishing spell would then be recited (the contents of which was psychically made known to the witch queens by the Keepers).


c.) Finally, after these first two steps, the portal door would be re-closed and locked.  The Keepers provided the witch queens with detailed instructions on how to close and lock the portal door.


Of course, it was strongly emphasized by Alderon and Celestia that for the process to work, it must be established at the start that the Siren Head was, in fact, within the portal area and contained within the magic circle.  And if this was not the case, it would be necessary for the witch queens to bait and lead it there.  


As can be imagined, this was a dangerous venture.  But, as with the other details of the mission, the Keepers had some helpful suggestions.


          “So, Alderon and Celestia said that it would be a good idea to make supplication to the elementals before we enter the woods,” Charity said.


“Right,” Pandora said.  “Particularly the air elemental, because it is in charge of weather and lightning.”

 

“And what we need to do, according to the Keepers,” Patience said, “is to get help from the lightning elemental.’


“Exactly.”


And so, the witch queens began to plan their strategy.  First, it was decided that because of the danger of the mission, Guen, Yarra and Connie would not enter the Amnesty Woods with their mothers, but would be limited to the edge of the clearing, where they would be protected by the force field that surrounded the entrance to the woods, activated by the Keepers.  Second, the witch queens asked for protection, and made supplication to the lightning elemental to help them in their quest to rid the woods of the Siren Head.


“I think that we should have a back up plan, just in case the Siren Head manifests outside of the temple area,” Charity said.


“Good idea,” Pandora said.  “What do you suggest?”


“I was thinking of having more than one magic circle, so that we have more chances of trapping it quicker.”


“I like it,” Pandora said.


“So do I,” Patience said.


In truth, because of the inherent danger attached to the Keepers’ original plan, Charity’s backup plan soon became the witch queens’ primary mode of operation.


“We could help with that,” Guen said.  Of course, the corporate “we” referred to Yarra and Connie, as well.


“You could,” Charity said, “if we’d let you.”


“But you’re not.”


“No.”


“But, there is something  that you guys can do,” Pandora said.  “And it doesn’t require you to be inside the woods at all.”


“OK, what?”


Pandora looked at Connie.  “I remembered your father told me that one time you visited him and he showed you how to operate one of the police drones that they have at the sheriff’s department.  He said that you were really good at flying it.”


Pandora referred to County Sheriff Aleister Anderson, her former common law husband and Connie’s father.  A few years before, Pandora and Aleister broke up, and Aleister married a non-Wiccan woman.


Connie looked at her mother, confused.  “Yeah, but what--”


“Do you think you could do it again?”


“What?  Where?”


“Operate a drone.  From outside the woods?”


“I guess so, but--”


“Great.  I called your father earlier.  He suggested a smaller, cheaper drone that wasn’t made for government officials.  You don’t need a licence to operate it.  So, while you were getting the subs, I was at the gadget store in town and I bought one.  It’s in the car trunk.  It has a built-in camera, and the control module has a monitor screen.  It can also be hooked up to a computer monitor.”


“OK, but--”


“Cool!”  We can help out,” Yarra said. 


“We?”


Yarra nodded, all smiles.  “Guen and I.”


“Yeah,” Guen said.  “This technology stuff isn’t my thing, but I’m sure you’ll need my insight at some point.”


“Awesome,” Pandora said.  She tossed Connie the keys to the Osbourne Mercedes.  “You guys go get everything set up and test it out.  We’re rolling on this first thing in the morning.”


When the girls had left, the witch queens got to work on fine tuning their offensive against the Siren Head.  First, it was decided to carry out the mission very early in the morning.


“Do you think it matters how early it is?”  Patience asked Pandora.  “I mean, Connie and you found the note on your door at, like, six o’clock in the morning.”  She turned to Charity.  “And Guen and you were hearing the Siren Head less than an hour later.”


Pandora looked at Patience with a wry grin.  “You’re just trying to get more sleep, aren’t you?”


Laughter.


“Of course.  But, no.  I--”


“Concerning the letter,” Pandora said, “the girl that put it on the door most likely had just come back with her coven from conjuring the Siren Head up in the woods.  So, the fact that the Siren Head was audible and active at just before seven o’clock when Charity and Guen heard it is, to me, more the girls’ doing than the Siren Head’s.”


“OK.”


“I agree,” Charity said.  “The Siren Head was active at that time because of the girls.  But with no one around, I don’t think that will be the case.”


“Exactly.”  Pandora said.


“Works for me,” Patience said.  “So, what time do you want to do this?”


“I say five o’clock,” Pandora said.  “We’ll need an hour to set up our circles in the various locations and call on the lightning elemental before we go into action.  Action time will be somewhere around six o’clock.”


“And we also have to make sure the girls are ready with the drone set-up,” Charity said.


“Right.  So, this is what we’ll do.”


Pandora’s plan was threefold.  The first twenty minutes would be dedicated to getting Connie, Yarra and Guen set up at the entrance to the woods with the drone.  This would involve an equipment check, to make sure that the drone, its control console and the monitor were all in working order.  It would also involve a small test run of the drone in the clearing in front of the woods by Connie.  The witch queens and their daughters would communicate to each other through text messages, so that the Siren Head could not hear anything, and therefore could not interfere with a signal.


Once everything was set up, phase two would be executed.  This would involve the witch queens getting to their various locations in the Amnesty Woods to lay down their magic circles.  Three circles would be employed.  One would be set up on the main trail through the woods, near the exit.  The second would be on the hidden connecting path that formed a bridge between the temple area and the main path.  And the third would be located near the bank of the Amnesty River, next to the abandoned town of Zeeland.  Thus, all areas that the Siren Head might manifest itself in outside of the temple area would be covered.  It would be the job of the witch queens to lure the Siren Head to the nearest magic circle trap.  It was also decided that Charity would set up the circle on the main path nearest the exit/entrance to the woods.  Pandora would set up her circle on the connecting path, while Patience was responsible for the circle near the Amnesty River.  In truth, Patience had the most involved task for, to save time crossing the width of the woods, she would drive to Zeeland, enter the woods on the Zeeland side and cross the Amnesty River to get to her location.


Of course, once the creature was trapped, it could possibly be destroyed by the lightning elemental.  This action would be entirely up to the higher power.  The witch queens, powerless to stop such an action, would not condone or request it.  Being Wiccan, it was not their intent to harm another living thing.  But, either way, the witch queens knew that the fate of the Siren Head ultimately rested with the elemental.


But the ones with the most responsibility happened to be the girls.


“Alright, you guys,” Pandora said to Connie, Yarra and Guen, “we’re gonna be counting on you.  You guys have to keep an eye on the Siren Head at all times and tell us where it’s manifesting as best you can.”


“And make sure the drone doesn’t get too close to the Siren Head,” Charity said.  “If the drone gets destroyed, we’re not going to know what location the Siren Head is in.”


“We know,” Connie said.  “We’ll keep it safe.”


“We’ll keep you informed,” Yarra said.


It was decided among the girls that while Connie was in charge of the drone operation and Yarra would assist, Guen would be in charge of messaging and receiving messages from the witch queens.


“Alright.  Everyone knows what they’re doing?”


“Yes.”


“OK, good,” Pandora said.  “Let’s make sure we all get some sleep tonight, because we’re going to be in the clearing tomorrow at five o’clock sharp.”


V.


Five o’clock.


The witch queens and their daughters stood in the clearing in front of the Amnesty Woods.  Each of the witch queens had small messenger bags that held the materials necessary for their magic circles.  And while Pandora and Patience had their bags with them, Patience had hers still in her Range Rover.  For, of course, Patience would not enter the Amnesty Woods at the same point as Charity and Pandora, but would enter it at the abandoned town of Zeeland a few miles away.


The girls, on the other hand, sported other equipment.  Connie carried the drone with a built-in camera, while Yarra carried the drone’s remote control unit with its small monitor.  She also carried her laptop, to utilize its bigger monitor for a clearer picture than the small monitor on the drone’s remote control could provide.  And Guen had her smartphone, to be able to send and receive text messages from the witch queens.


The first action taken by the witch queens and their daughters was to make supplication to the lightning elemental. They asked for assistance to banish the Siren Head and what steps to take against it.  In truth, if any of the six women expected a visible manifestation as proof of their supplication heard by the elemental, there was none.  But, the witch queens had faith that they were heard.


“All right, Connie,” Pandora said, “why don’t you give the drone a test run around the clearing.  Let’s see if everything is in working order.”


“Sure,” Connie said.  She took the remote control unit from Yarra.


Yarra opened up her laptop, which she had programmed the evening before, to be compatible with the drone’s built-in camera.


Connie sat the drone down on a level part of the clearing.  “OK, here goes.”


With the remote control, Connie lifted the drone vertically off of the ground to a height about equal with the highest tree tops.  She did not go higher, so that the drone was unseen by the Siren Head.  Connie maneuvered it around the clearing while Yarra watched on her laptop screen.


“Oh, there we are,” Yarra said.  “Everybody wave!”


Everyone followed Yarra’s cue.  Laughter.


Pandora had an idea.  “Connie, fly the drone over top of our houses really high, and have Yarra or however you do it pan the woods.  We can see if the Siren Head is visible anywhere.”


“OK,” Connie said.  “Good idea.”


Once the drone flew over the Goode, Smythe and Osbourne residences at a height of approximately two-hundred feet, Yarra positioned the camera lens back toward the Amnesty Woods. The keys of her keypad served as directionals.  She zoomed in.


“See anything?”  Pandora asked.


Yarra shook her head.


“Nothing,” she said.


*****


The witch queens had what they hoped was the element of surprise. They embarked on their dangerous mission as soon as Connie had the drone safely back on the ground.  Charity and Pandora entered the woods at the entrance that most efficiently brought them to their individual destinations.  Patience walked across the clearing to where her Range Rover was parked, by the Cemetery Way Fence gate.  She left for Zeeland a few minutes later.


Charity had the easiest task of the three witch queens.  She entered the Amnesty Woods at the main path, and walked down to where the main path reached the point where the hidden path to the temple of the Keepers was accessed.  This is where she would lay down her magic circle.  Of course, because she was the farthest from the temple area, Charity completed her task without any problems.  When finished, she texted Guen that her circle was ready.  


Meanwhile, Patience arrived at the abandoned Zeeland and parked her Range Rover at the back of the parking lot to the once chapel and seminary building, near three massive oak trees collectively known as “The Witness Trees.”  They were called such because of the fact that the three trees were used by the Zeeland Klan to hang victims upon.  Therefore, in a sense, they were “witnesses” to multiple murders that spanned a twenty year period.  Patience felt an uneasy tingle when she remembered that two of the Girls in White Dresses were hung here by the neck until dead by the infamous Angels of Death, Mother Black’s (the founder of Zeeland and a spokesperson for the Klan) evil henchmen.  And even though the Amnesty Murders Case had been wrapped up and Zeeland shut down for several years, Patience still felt uneasy about walking on the empty, decaying grounds. She moved quickly past the three spooky trees and made her way down the slope that ended at a tall, rusty chain link fence topped with barbed wire that marked the boundary line of Zeeland and Amnesty, on the Zeeland bank of the Amnesty River.


Patience reached into her messenger bag and pulled out an item that would not be found in the corresponding messenger bags of Charity and Pandora: a small pair of pruning clippers.  These, of course, would be used by Patience to cut a hole in the chain link fence. This task she accomplished without difficulty, and soon entered the cut out in the fence to reach the Amnesty River bed.


The Amnesty River at this point in its ten mile meandering path was only a few inches deep, weed choked and stone laden.  Therefore, it was not difficult for Patience to cross its twenty or thirty foot span and make her way up the bank on the Amnesty side of the river.  Patience felt a relief once she was safely back on Amnesty ground.  But, once the fact that there was a Siren Head in the Amnesty Woods approximately five-hundred feet away sank in, even her own woods did not serve her any comfort.


Whereas Charity’s circle was to cover the area from the beginning of the woods on the Amnesty side to the temple area and Pandora’s circle was to take care of the area around the temple area, Patience’s area was to cover the area behind the temple area, in case the Siren Head decided to migrate or manifest itself in the area from the temple to the Amnesty River.  Patience was able to lay down her circle without difficulty.


Pandora, on the other hand, had a much different experience.  And this was by design.  For, since she was in the realm of the temple area itself and therefore, by proxy, the portal through which the Siren Head came and went, Pandora’s mission was of a much different focus.  Unlike Charity and Patience, who lay down magic circles for reinforcement, Pandora’s objective was to bait the Siren Head out of the portal (or wherever it was), and attempt to lead it into her magic circle to entrap it.  Therefore, as already stated, Pandora’s mission was much more dangerous.


Because of this fact, Pandora’s circle was of a different nature than her fellow witch queens.  In truth, it was the exact same circle as the others, but Pandora’s circle was prefabricated, to save time.  It was created on a white sheet by Pandora the evening before, so that it could be conveniently folded up for transport and quickly spread open for use.


As Pandora walked down the hidden path that led to the temple area, her instincts as a witch queen immediately indicated that something was not right.  She felt as if she were being watched.  While still on the trail, several hundred feet away from the temple courtyard, she texted a message to Guen:


GETTING CLOSE.  IT IS NEAR.  I CAN FEEL IT, BUT CAN’T SEE

OR HEAR IT.  NOT YET.


Guen immediately texted back to Pandora to wait until she texted both Charity and Patience, to see if either one was in a position to provide assistance.  She also told Pandora that she would have Connie send in the drone.


As a result, Guen got back three texts.  Two from Charity and Patience saying that they were on their way to the temple area from their respective directions, and a third from Pandora.


NO.  NO DRONE.  IT'S BETTER IF IT IS NOT STIRRED UP JUST YET.

I’LL GIVE THE SIGNAL.


To which Guen texted Pandora back:


OK, NO DRONE.  CHARITY AND PATIENCE ARE ON THEIR WAY.  

CONNIE WILL WAIT FOR YOUR SIGNAL.


Pandora continued on.  In a couple of minutes, she reached the edge of the temple area.  There was no visible sign of the Siren Head.  Pandora was alone.  Apparently.  For she might not be able to see it, but her very strong sixth sense worked overtime, and let Pandora know that the Siren Head was close.  Very close.


A few minutes later, Charity joined Pandora at the edge of the temple area. And a few minutes after Charity’s arrival, Patience was seen across the courtyard, on her way to the opposite edge.


“See anything?”  Charity asked.  She spoke in a voice barely above a whisper.


“Nothing.  But it’s here, that’s for sure.”


“I can feel it.”


Pandora nodded, and then motioned to Patience across the courtyard to stay where she was.  Patience replied with an “A-OK” sign and held her ground.


“So, what do we do?”  Charity asked.


“Well,” Pandora said, “if our friend doesn’t want to come out and play, then we’re gonna have to get it to.”  She surveyed her surroundings.  “I’m going out on the courtyard and lay down my circle.  Hopefully, I’ll be noticed, and we can get this show on the road.”


“Be careful,” Charity said.


“Don’t worry,” Pandora said.  “I’ll have the circle for protection.”


Charity nodded.


“Here goes,” Pandora said.  To Charity’s surprise, Pandora did not run out on the courtyard at the closest point to where they were.  Rather, she went left, to the back of the courtyard and entered at that point.  The reason for this was that Pandora believed that the Siren Head was still in the portal area, so she wanted as much room between that area and herself as possible.


Pandora opened up her messenger bag and pulled out the white sheet that contained the pentagram.  Quickly, Pandora spread it out on the ancient stone courtyard.  Then she entered the circle and stood at its center.


Still there was no visible manifestation of the creature.


Pandora reached into her messenger bag and pulled out something that the other witch queens did not possess in their bags- a portable radio.  In truth, this item was something that Pandora included in her bag without the knowledge of her friends..  She turned the volume all the way up and turned the radio on.  After approximately ten seconds, she would switch stations, in imitation of the random frequencies of the Siren Head.  


Pandora’s strategy worked.  Suddenly, a huge, horrific creature appeared, as if from out of thin air.  It stood higher than any house found in Amnesty.  Its body was an emaciated mass of dehydrated flesh and muscle, combined with wire and steel.  There was no head, just two ominous megaphones that served simultaneously as the monstrosity’s head, brain and eyes.  And those makeshift, blank eyes were now trained on Pandora.  


Instinctively, Charity and Patience ran across the courtyard and joined Pandora within the circle.  With a deafening electronic screeching sound, the Siren Head began to speak:


“SIX, TWELVE, EIGHTEEN, GIRL, THREE, REMOVE, VILE.”


Remove.  Vile.  The witch queens knew what came next.


As soon as these random words were said, the Siren Head moved forward towards the circle that contained the witch queens.


“”Get ready to back out of here on my signal,” Pandora said.  She intently watched as the creature got closer.  


As long as the women were inside of the magic circle, they were protected from harm.  But the witch queens knew that in order to trap the Siren Head inside of the circle, they had to vacate it at the precise moment that the creature committed itself to entering it.  They also hoped that the creature’s intelligence was not aware of what the pentagram was, or what it was used for in this instance.


The Siren Head loomed high above the witch queens now, mere feet from the perimeter of the circle.  Pandora knew that the creature was capable of reaching out and grabbing them from this distance, without further forward progress.  So, the women gave it an incentive to step inside.


“Start to go out, now!” Pandora ordered Charity and Patience.


“What about--”


“Just go!  Go!”  Pandora yelled.


Charity and Patience did as they were told.  This move worked.  The creature thought that the women tried to escape and continued to move forward.  Pandora’s focus was on the perimeter of the circle nearest the creature.  She waited until some part of the Siren Head’s body broke the plane.  That would be the point of no return, for a creature as big as the Siren Head would not be able to stop its forward momentum. 


The Siren Head’s next step broke the plane, half of its foot inside the circle and part of its wiry hand.  Pandora knew that once that hand swung upward, it was fully able to grab her. As soon as she saw the upward swing of the arm, she stepped backwards.  Charity and Patience pulled their coven sister out all the way. 


The Siren Head saw Pandora’s attempt to escape, and arced its arm upward in an attempt to grab her.  However, that arm slammed against a solid wall, not empty space.  As if in a vacuum, the witch queens faintly heard an electronic scream of pain that, if not protected from the sound, would have reduced their brains to shreds and killed them on the spot.  The Siren Head’s body bounced against the invisible walls of the circle, as it attempted to maintain its balance inside the very narrow space.  When it finally succeeded and stood upright, the Siren Head soon realized that this was all that it could do.  Its long arms and legs would not be able to move inside such a small space. This resulted in more piercing electronic sounds and random word salad.


It was trapped. 


Then, as plain as day, a thunderous voice came from out of the sky, accompanied by sharp bolts of lightning.


“Banish it.” 


“Let’s do this,” Pandora said.


Charity, Patience and herself stood at the “head,” and two “legs” of the pentacle located inside the magic circle that contained the Siren Head and joined hands.  They started to walk backwards, and resembled young girls engaged in  “Ring Around The Rosie.”  In unison, the witch queens recited the following chant given to them by Alderon and Celestia:


“Siren Head

go back, go back

from whence you came;

we banish you, banish you

in God’s name,

never to come back again.”


Pandora, Charity and Patience recited the chant seven times and walked backwards around the entrapped Siren Head with hands joined together.  They picked up their pace each time around.  By the fifth turn, the witch queens fairly ran around the circle.  At the end of the seventh, a huge clap of thunder and sharp lightning was heard and seen by the three women before all three collapsed in a heap of exhaustion.


The women seemed to have blacked out for a few seconds or a few minutes.  There was no way to tell.  When they came to, the circle was empty.


The Siren Head was gone.


“Close and lock the portal.”


The witch queens walked over to the portal area and closely followed the instructions given to them by Alderon and Celestia to close and lock the portal door.  Soon, they had accomplished their task.


For a third and final time, a celestial voice spoke to them from out of the sky.


“It is done.”


The next thing heard was the vibration of Pandora’s cell phone, which indicated an incoming call or message.  It was a message.  From Guen. 


           Are you guys all right???  We heard the thunder and saw

           the lightning flash.  Do you want us to send in the drone?


Pandora smiled as she texted Guen back.  


We’re fine.  The Siren Head has been banished.  It’s over.

We’re on our way back.  We’ll see you soon.


“Well, like we really had a lot to do with that,” Connie said.  “I could have stayed in bed.”


Guen and Yarra laughed.

*****


A few days later, the witch queens paid a visit to Amnesty High School, to meet with the principal and the girls responsible for the conjuring of the Siren Head.  The girls broke down and told all-- how they were fans of the video game based on the Siren Head and into the artwork of Trevor Henderson, and how they thought it would be fun to try and see if the Siren Head really existed, so they used a conjuring spell found on the Internet.  Of course, the girls did not really believe that a creature such as the Siren Head existed.  They thought, based on the artwork and the video game, that the Siren Head was just a creative figment of the imagination, most likely that of Trevor Henderson.


After the witch queens lectured the girls on the belief of Amnesty Wiccans that all fabulous things literal or figurative exist in parallel dimensions, they related the dangers that they personally had to face to banish the Siren Head back to its own dimension. 


The girls, truly remorseful for what they had done, were fearful of their punishment.


Pandora addressed the leader of the coven, a sixteen year old girl with dark brown eyes and black hair in a bob cut with bangs.  It was the same girl who knocked and put the message about the Siren Head on the Osbourne’s back door.   “Melody,” she said, “since you are the leader of your coven, you will spend three months working in the mayor’s office with me after school, twice a week.  We’ll figure out the exact days.  My daughter Connie works there too, so you will work with her, as well.”


“Sure, anything,” Melody said.


Now, it was Charity and Patience’s turn.  “And Adelaide and Violet, you will both help out Patience and myself and our daughters Guen and Yarra at our bookstore Pandora’s Box after school, twice a week for three months.  It will most likely be on a weekday that Guen and Yarra will not be at the store and Saturday mornings.”


“We’ll do it,” Adelaide said.  Violet was also more than willing to comply.


“Now, the first month is only going to be on a volunteer basis,” Pandora said.  “You won’t be paid.  But, after that, we plan on paying you, if you’re working out.  Deal?”


“Deal.”


“Alright, girls,” Pandora said.  “That’s all.  We have your phone numbers.  You’ll be hearing from us in a few days as to when you’re starting and what days you’re working and at what time.”


“Thank you,” the girls said in turn.


The principal dismissed the girls and they went back to their respective classes.


*****

Later.


“See?”  Pandora said.  “I’m not blaming young teenage girls, but this is what happens when people deny the existence of the supernatural and make it into a ‘game.’”


“Exactly,” Charity said.  “This stuff is not a game or a figment of the imagination.  It’s real.  And to not believe in or distort the facts concerning this stuff can have serious consequences.”


“Yes.  Just because someone doesn’t believe in it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist,” Patience said.  “Existence doesn’t stand or fall with belief.  Australia does not not exist because I’ve personally never been there and/or don’t believe it does.”


“You don’t believe in Australia?”


“No, I didn’t--”


“She doesn’t believe in Santa Claus, either.”


“Wha--?”


“Probably because she’s never been to the North Pole So, it doesn't exist.”


A dirty look from Patience.


“I’m just saying.”



__________










 
  















© 2020 Bud R. Berkich


Author's Note

Bud R. Berkich
If red editing marks show up in published draft, please ignore. This is one of many stories that are called Amnesty Stories, and feature the same characters and setting. Many of these stories eventually become parts of my Amnesty Series novels, while others are submitted as part of a collection or on their own.

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In this, from start to finish, it's a transcription of you telling the story to an audience. But that presents an insurmountable problem:

Verbal storytelling is a performance art, where how you tell the story—your performance—counts as much as what you say. Unlike a film, there are no actors to live the story as people watch. To make up for that, the storyteller makes him or herself the conduit for the emotional portion of the story. They vary cadence, intensity, and use all the vocal tricks of the storytelling professional. They make use of expression changes to illustrate the emotional component of the story. They visually punctuate with gesture, and amplify, or moderate the emotion with body language—what I like to call the storyteller’s dance.

But how much of that performance makes it to the page? Not a trace. You, of course, hear your own voice, all filled with emotion when you read. You literally act out the visual performance. And, the things you leave out of the narrative because they seem so obvious to you as you write are filled in as you read. So the story lives....for you

The reader? The only emotion they have is what punctuation, and what they already know of the story, suggest. Have your computer read it aloud (A useful editing technique that all writers should use). You can tell the reader that a given character reads a given line angrily, or with a chuckle. But you can’t tell the reader how you read it.

Added to that, since readers lack the context and intent you have, they must make due with what your words suggest to them, based on THEIR background—unless you make the reader live the scene AS the protagonist, viewing everything through their viewpoint.

But how to do that is a subject our teachers never mentioned because their goal wasn’t to make us professional Fiction-Writers. It was to prepare us for future employment by giving us the nonfiction skills employers want us to have. It’s why we were assigned so many reports and essays and so few stories. And the goal of nonfiction? To provide an informational experience.

To aid in that, the writing skills we were given are fact-based and author centric, which is precisely how you’re presenting this story. We’re not on the scene living the story as the protagonist. Instead, we’re with an unnamed speaker who is presenting an overview of the events, with explanations given, as needed, to clarify.

Look at a few lines, not as the author, but as a reader, or an acquiring editor, must:

• It came from the Amnesty Woods one early October morning, as she stood on her bedroom balcony and looked out past her large back yard, across Cemetery Way and the clearing to the ancient oak and maple trees with their still full, multi-colored plumage some five hundred feet away.

How much of this 49 word run-on sentence relates to moving the plot? The first six words. Would the story change were it May instead of October? Do we care what the area between the sound and her are called? Does the kind of tree matter, or that the leaves are pretty? Given that the sound is distant, Does it matter of the trees begin 500 feet from the house of are brushing the house?

The answer is no to all of them. So, 6 out of 49 words are necessary, the rest are fluff that makes reading the paragraph take seven times as long, and dilute the impact by that. Every unnecessary word you can remove makes the story move faster, for more impact.

Look at the rest of the section, in general. She goes to wake her daughter. Does she think about where the daufghter works? No. Do I need to know where she works? No. Would the story change if she didn’t work there? No again. So why waste a single word on that. As James Schmitz said: “Don’t inflict the reader with irrelevant background material—get on with the story.”

• What did she hear?

You just told the reader it was a "call" (though it doesn’t seem to be one to them)

With this line you tell the reader they’re not on the scene, and that the protagonist is not their avatar. But they must be. E. L. Doctorow put it well when he said, “Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader. Not the fact that it’s raining, but the feeling of being rained upon.” No way in hell can a dispassionate outside observer writing an essay on a series of events do that. Think about yourself reading a horror story. Do you want the narrator to explain that the protagonist feels terror? Or do you want the author to terrorize you?

For all your life you’ve been choosing fiction that was created with the skills of the Fiction-Writing profession—skills we weren't given in our school days (and a CW undergrad class doesn’t count toward learning the skills of the profession). You don’t see the tools and techniques as you read, any more than you learn the skills of a chef by eating. But you expect the result of those skills, and can tell in a bite if they weren't used, just as your readers will know in a paragraph if you’re not using the skills of the fiction-writing professional.

In reality the entire first section could be replaced by:
- - - -
Good Morning, patience, Charity Goode said as she came into the little bookstore. “You’re not going to believe what happened this morning.”

Patience turned from arranging the little bookstore’s stock, smiling. “And a good morning to you too, Charity. So…assume I won’t believe what happened, and change my mind—and start by telling me what happened.” Before Charity could respond, she added, “But before you do, Syd Marra called to say he’s decided. He wants that Robin Goodhope book. I told him to stop by.”

“Oh…how nice. Anyway, I was on my balcony this morning, and…”
- - - -
So we rip out 635 meandering words and replace it with 96 that:

1. Tell us we’re in a bookstore.
2. Tell us that the two women work there and that it's morning.
3. Establish that something important to the plot happened.
4. Set it up so the information will be given to the reader as they experience the conversation, and come from the protagonist, not someone neither on the scene nor in the story.
5. We place the author in the prompter’s box where they can’t intrude on the action and kill the illusion of reality.
6. The scene is live, and in the protagonist's viewpoint, not explained in overview.

Here’s the deal: Nothing we learned in our school years provided the skills needed for writing fiction. So it’s not a matter of talent, or of how well you write. It’s that you cannot use the skills of a medium that requires the audience to see and hear the narrator in one that cannot reproduce that performance.

The solution: Add the skills that the pros take for granted to those you now own. Will it be a simple list of of “Do this instead of that?” Of course not. We’re talking about a body of professional skills that take time, study, and practice to master. But, if you are meant to write, you’ll find those skills fun to learn, and filled with, “Why didn’t I…how could I miss something so obvious?”

The library’s fiction-writing section is filled with books on the subject. And the best one I’ve found for explaining the nuts-and-bolts issues is free at the site I link to below this paragraph. It’s the book that resulted in my first novel sale.
https://ru.b-ok2.org/book/2640776/e749ea

So grab a copy before they change their mind, and dig in. Most of the writing articles in my WordPress blog are based on his teaching, so for a preview, you might dig around there.

I know this is pretty far from what you were hoping to see, but I thought you might want to know.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/


Posted 3 Years Ago



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Added on September 19, 2020
Last Updated on September 19, 2020
Tags: Siren Head, Amnesty Woods, NH; witch queens, Amnesty

Author

Bud R. Berkich
Bud R. Berkich

Somerville, NJ



About
I am a literary fiction writer (novels, short stories, stage and screenplays) and poet who has been wrting creatively since the age of eight. I have also written and published various book reviews, m.. more..

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