Chapter I

"And so the Sanderson sisters were hanged by the Salem townsfolk, and young Tania Miles along with them had the girl not escaped. There lies no record of the girl ever turning up again in history. Some say she was never accused, others that she never existed, yet many of the townsfolk that chased her into the wood claim she disappeared in a flash off light. Either way the girl, like her friend Thackery Binx, was never heard from again. However, one thing may prove the girl's existence. For on her prison's wall was carved an answer to a question most beings will pose to themselves at least once in their time here in the land of the living. 'What does one do when all hope is lost?' Do any of you know?" Mrs. Olin asked her class, yet, like all classes, most weren't paying attention and the few that were didn't offer anything. Mrs. Olin sighed as she looked at her class in disappointment. Gone were the days that her class would hang onto every word of her stories. "Oh where is your Halloween spirit? Go home and play your X-box or whatever you kids spend your time doing these days – Sit down Mr. Binx!"

For a kid had risen from his seat to do just as she had asked of them. This boy was a trouble maker, anyone could second that. Even he would say that he's always been and always will be no matter who would try to influence him. Holding up his hands to pacify his teacher he made an attempt to explain himself.

"Just thought I'd listen to the teacher."

Mrs. Olin was not amused.

"Well don't. Why break the habit of a lifetime?" The boy shrugged and returned to his seat, a smirk prominent on his face. "For those of you who bothered to pay attention: these words were carved on the side of the wooden shed that was Tania Miles prison." She turned to the board and wrote out with chalk the answer. "What does one do when all hope is lost? Wait until dawn to hope again. It's a pleasant way to start off the Halloween month." She was about to continue on with the lesson plan when the phone on her desk started to ring. "Alright do what you want, except leave Mr. Binx, while I take this call." She moved slowly to her desk to answer the phone while the class broke out into hushed voices.

The boy, who was called Binx, leaned back in his chair smirking. "Teacher takes the fun out of everything."

"Got that right." His neighbor and friend commented. "Her and her Halloween gibberish. Everyone knows magic don't exist. What 'bout you Zack? Do you believe in witches, and ghouls, and ghosts? All the scary superstitions that crawl around this town?" He mocked in an eerie voice causing those around him to laugh.

"I don't know, it probably exists somewhere, or once upon a time like all the teacher's stories begin." His friend didn't even have time to reply as Mrs. Olin hung up the phone. "Alright class we have a new student joining us. His name is Tannic Milesius now everyone please welcome him to James Bailey and be courteous. This means you, Mr. Binx." A knock rapped on the door as Zack started to protest. Mrs. Olin eyed him with warning as she opened the door muttering; "Now we can only pray it isn't another tie-dyed Californian."

"Sorry, but I'm not from California." A soft voice said that made Zack sit up straight, serious, and alert for the first time in his entire school career.

"Come in, come in." Mrs. Olin gestured. "So you're Tannic Miles-"

"What's with the boy's name?" Someone called out laughing but stopped abruptly when she glared at them. For standing at the front of the room was indeed a teenage girl giving the one who called out a more icy look than was thought possible. But it wasn't the cold and unfeeling look that made Zack Binx freeze in his seat; oh no, but the familiar air of the girl. It wasn't just her voice that brought back long forced forgotten memories, but her face as well. The last time he looked into those eyes had been a different life, centuries ago.

"It's pronounced Tana-quill, and yes." She confirmed with the tone of explaining a quite simple problem to a naïve child. "It is a girl's name."

"I've never heard of such a name. What is its origin?" The girl called Tanaquil looked up from the boy towards the teacher. Her icy glare turning into a look that was as alluring as it was curious.

"Latin."

"So you're from out of the country?" To the girl it seemed like a stupid question as she answered in a slow voice, "No, just Pennsylvania."

"Oh, so it's a dutch girl." Zack's friend called. Her gaze shifted quickly to him and like the offender before he fell silent.

"Enough now. Miss Milesius, why don't you take a seat next to Mr. Zachary Binx. Mr. Binx, raise your hand." But it was unnecessary. From the moment that she heard his name, Tanaquil had been gazing directly at him. Yet unlike its previous encounters it was not to punish or demean. They were soft, sad, and something else, and he returned it with curiosity and question as he raised his hand vaguely. She took a seat, taking her eyes off of him for the time.

"Now on with the lesson, wouldn't you say?" Mrs. Olin began, grabbing the attention of her class back from her new student. "Take out your texts from inside the desks and turn to page 384. We'll be learning about the literature of late fifteenth century during the age of the old Puritans and the Salem Witch Trials." She didn't seem to catch the slight flinch her newest student gave in her seat at these words; however, it did not go unnoticed by a certain boy. "During this unit, we will have a partner project, in which I will assign partners." She said causing a damper on most of the class. "Now, now I want you to read a passage from…"

The class dragged on slower than the others, as is the normal rate for the last class of the day. When the bell finally rang the students bolted, all except for Tanaquil, who spoke with Mrs. Olin on the parts of class she needed to catch up on. It was late when she finally left the school. Textbooks from all of her classes were stuffed into her school bag, and as she swung the bag over her shoulder she looked to the west toward the dying sun.

"It really is late." She said to herself, brushing her hair back from her face as it blew freely in the wind. "Nearly twilight." Kicking off the pavement, she pedaled into the street. Salem, she noted, hadn't changed much. A quiet town, that already had all of its cars in their places, a suburbia, was what the town of Salem had become. And yet the old manor atop the hill still remained, probably harboring a rich family that knows not what to do with its many rooms. She shook the thought from her head as she turned down a wooded street almost deserted by the lined houses. She tried not to think about how the last time she had taken this route no pavement existed and it had been entirely overgrown. The strong breeze, as strong as it had been that All Hallows Eve, blew back her hair from her face as she quickly stopped at the large iron gate.

It had a haunting look about it. A demolished sign lay just beyond the gate as though no one bothered to fix it following its destruction. The watermill no longer operated in the drought tortured creek and the house was overgrown with ivy, yet still it was the same house. The Sanderson house, she'd recognize it against all others.

"Well, only one way to find out the truth." She whispered as she picked the lock with a small pick she had taken from the stash in the side pocket of her backpack. The gate, rusted with wear, had to be kicked open, and even then it resisted her force. She only needed to slip onto the ground, so a small slit in between the metal was sufficient. The door swung open and closed freely in the wind, and the entire plot of land gave off an abysmal eerie aura. She could feel the presence of the sisters' evil on her very skin, it was enough to make her want to run from this place and never return. Yet she could not, for the only way to find out what had happened was all in that house.

So she climbed the steps of the house and slipped into the place unnoticed. A light switch was by the door, but a few clicks proved that the electricity had worn out long ago. Tanaquil lit a few lamps with her magic, showing the deserted house in a new light. By the looks of things it had once been a museum, but hadn't been used for a long time. The postcards on a rack by what appeared to be the register were yellow with age and a case was on display; however, the object had been smashed over five years ago by the amount of dust and webs within it. She glanced at the cases card and her eyes widened in fear.

"The book. It was found. And by the looks of things, stolen." For the spell book wasn't to be found anywhere within the house and when she lifted the old floorboards she found the old well sealed off. "If they found the book, they probably found the candle. So it should be here, unless someone stole it as well." She reasoned trying not to panic. What is the book wasn't stolen, but taken by its rightful owner. "Then they'd be here right now, and there wouldn't be any children left alive." Yet if it happened years ago… "Stop it Tania." She scolded herself scanning the cards until she found what she was looking for.

"The black flame candle." She whispered in awe, though it was no more. All that remained of the fabled object was a pile of wax. "So they have returned, and taken the book with them as well." She glanced at the broken case with unease and wariness. "So where is Thackery?" Even as the words left her lips, the image of the kid from her English class floated into her mind. His awareness of her presence: as though he recognized her from another life. "Zack Binx…ridiculous." She dismissed the thought and left the house, shutting the door behind her knowing that it was pointless for the wind would soon loosen its boards to dance with it again. She left through the iron gate, pulling it shut and locking it up again.

"The Sandersons were summoned, but by who and when?" She thought, pedaling back into town. But when she pasted the gates of Salem's graveyard she hesitated, pressing her fingers to the wrought iron metal. The answers may be within these stone walls, yet would the answers be worth the pain of seeing the many people she had seen alive and well marked with marble and decaying into dust below her feet? And dear sweet Emily.

Before she could make her decision, however, the loud sound of teenagers reached her atone ears and she moved away from the gate just as a group of boys came into view beyond the gate. Their jeering and laughter annoyed her. They were disturbing the site - that much was obvious. Only one of the boys looked uncomfortable at their place. To her utmost distaste it was that Zack from class. Just as they left the cemetery one of the boys spotted her, slamming the gate shut behind him he jeered, "Well, well, well if it isn't Tana Miles. What's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this, late at night? You should stick with us along these streets we can protect you from the weirdoes."

She eyed him contemplating, almost amused. "But sadly, how would you protect me from yourself?"

The boy looked at her, confused, while Zack smirked, being the only one who wasn't puzzled. It took the boy over a minute to realize the insult; once he did he scowled at the girl, which she returned ten-fold.

"What were you doing in there anyway?" Tania asked, glancing toward the cemetery gates.

"Oh, nothing you need to know." Said one of the others, tossing a spray can up into the air a few times and catching it.

She glared at them all, though only Zack seemed to be affected by it, as he refused to meet her gaze.

"Who?"

"Tch, no one important - just some Marx person from, like, 300 years ago."

"Elijah." She whispered, horrified, looking toward the graveyard.

"Yeah him, 'sides that ain't have as bad as what happened…oh 20 years ago or so."

"Yeah, my cousin said one of the graves was opened the entire coffin and body not a foot deep."

"We can show you, if you want." One other said, Dan Something from her Calculus class. Two of them moved to either side of her bike, grabbing a hold of the handles. "Ever been in a graveyard at night?" Dan whispered, his face not too far from her own. She could practically smell the smoke on his breath.

"Alright guys, that's enough, let the poor girl go."

"Poor Girl? Excuse me?" She was annoyed, very annoyed. Tanaquil nor Tania Miles was by no definition a weak little girl or a damsel in distress. "I can take care of myself. Thank you very much, Binx! And you ought to be ashamed. Defacing the dead, I hope they haunt you for the rest of your miserable lives! How could you, attacking people that can't even fight back. Things like you make me sick."

"Aw, come on Miles. It's just a little artwork. 'Sides the guy's been dead hundreds of years, probably nothing more than dust now." Anyone who looked at her closely would have noticed Tanaquil close her eyes in pain or regret, but this situation seemed to apply to both. "Artwork ain't half as bad as what happened to Billy Butcherson." This caught her attention, for her eyes flew open and came to rest on the boy that spoke.

"Billy Butcherson?"

"Yeah, the one whose grave was opened."

She looked at Zack now, and he nodded ever so discreetly. "So they did return," she muttered, thinking quickly. The boys looked confused as she pushed her bike forward, ignoring them.

"Hey! Where you going?"

She looked back, but instead of answering the question she asked another. "Where is the book, Binx?"

Everyone of the guys turned to Zack, looking to him for the answers to their unasked questions. "What book?"

"Yeah really, Zack read a book, that's a good one." His best friend said, laughing which started the rest of them off.

Tanaquil just shook her head in disappointment, giving up. She turned back to the road and pedaled on when a voice rang out loud and clear. "They moved it to a museum near town hall!" Her head whipped around so fast you'd think it would have hurt, but she just looked visibly joyous, releasing a sigh of relief as though she had been holding it ever since she went to the house.

"Thank god." She whispered and then she shouted back to Zack. "Thanks!" In a laughing tone that only a little kid could have managed. Her shoulders seemed to have an entire world lifted off of them, maybe what she once said was true that new hope did come with every dawn. And for that short period of time when she pedaled home and went to bed, she forgot all about the second curse. Until the morning, when realization came crashing down all around the poor girl. Sadly, the war with the witches was not over; though the first two battles had been fought, the last and largest was still to come.

-DD
October 8, 2009

(c) Disney 1993