Back to the Beginning

by nofurylikewiccansscorned

Their road won't be easy, but a rising sun awaits their journey's end. The day of reckoning is both far off and very near, but they can't afford to be afraid. And who knows: maybe starting a new journey isn't so hard. Or maybe it has already begun.

12. Superstitions

Disclaimer: Call me a dork, but I'm really enjoying writing this story [giggles], and I hope you guys are enjoying reading it. In response to a review on "Sweep: The Random Parodies" to a certain lover of darkness [cough] ... you know who you are ... your time of darkness will soon come, if you know what I mean. Which you should. Because we spent whole PE periods discussing it. So you should know. Anyway, message for Madman (in addition to the previous one) and Devil Woman: I miss you guys so much! Writing these stories without you isn't the same! To the rest of you, if you think that the quality of the parodies is slipping, it's only because the humor-writing team of nofurylikewiccansscorned has been divided down the middle. [sniff] Anyway, here's Part XII! Enjoy! The song is Dar Williams' "Calling the Moon". {}'s indicate dreams. The line about The Exorcist comes from BtVS. If you don't know what BtVS stands for, don't worry about it.

Summary: Morgan, upon discovering an old Ballynigel cemetery, visits her grandmother's grave and falls victim to a mysterious illness.

Part XII: Superstitions

MORGAN'S P.O.V

I felt sort of guilty for sneaking out and leaving Hunter and the others at the lodge, but sometimes one needs privacy and time to think without constant interruptions. It wasn't that I didn't love my friends or want to talk to them; I had just been around them so much lately that I felt that a bit of a break would do us all good.

I was pretty sure that I had been annoying everyone for the past few days with my constant complaining. Not about them or anything, but about the headaches.

I couldn't exactly pinpoint the date that the headaches started, but I was about 90% sure in my mind that they had started after I had that first dream ... or nightmare ... on the plane into Ireland. My head had felt like my brain was trying to pound out of my skull for the rest of the day, but I took some Advil and shrugged it off as just a lack of sleep. The trouble? I had been having the same dreams every night since then.

Every night. I felt like Harry Potter in the fifth book, you know, where he's having all those dreams and he can't explain them. My dreams, while not about dark corridors and a door that won't open, are about something else.

Death. Pain. Sadness. Utter grief.

I didn't know how to explain it, but I knew that they couldn't mean anything good. Obviously. All I knew was that when I woke up, shaking and sweating profusely, my heart pounding so fast that it almost hurt, I was crying. When I woke up, each time, there were tears running down my cheeks and I couldn't stop them. I lay in bed next to Hunter, who slept peacefully away, his dreams not plagued by unimaginable fear, and cried silently until I finally realized, night after night, that I didn't know why I was crying.

I had considered telling Hunter about the dreams, about seeing the moon full and blood spilling from an unknown source. But I could barely explain them in my head; how could I possibly give them words with my voice?

I walked down an abandoned road somewhere in the Irish countryside, trying to mull over my dreams in my head while ignoring the pounding migraine that was harassing my thoughts, and sighed with frustration. It was no use. I had taken more medicine (unfortunately not anything very strong, because Hunter, much to Sky's embarrassment, had forbidden any of us to possess painkillers any stronger than Tylenol in her presence), but nothing had helped. I had a slight feeling that Hunter was just joking, but it was best not to test him.

The moon wanted more of my night
I turned off the engine and the headlights
The trees appeared as they'd never been gone
I promised the fields I'd return from now on
And the moon kept on rising
I had no more to say
I put my roadmaps away
And surrendered the day

Something was calling me towards it. My eyes narrowed as I looked around the countryside, the rolling hills providing a wonderful sense of security. What was telling me to keep walking? My feet hurt, my head was aching, and a cold breeze that had just flown by had reduced me to one big human goosebump. I didn't want to keep walking.

But I did. My sandals slipped over the rocks lying haphazardly across the meadow pathway and my skirt blew out behind me, but I kept walking. I shivered and rubbed my arms in an attempt to encourage circulation. I was freezing cold suddenly. It vaguely occurred to me in the back of my mind that it was the middle of July; I shouldn't be this cold.

I could see something in the distance. It was so faint, but it was definitely there. It looked like a cemetery. I could see what looked like a mausoleum hidden behind a grove of trees.

And I know you'll be calling me soon
And if I don't answer I'm calling the moon
Calling the moon
I was calling her then
I'm wondering will she take me again?
Oh, I am calling the moon

As I got closer, I saw that it was unquestionably a cemetery. I shivered again slightly as I stepped off the main road and walked through the grass towards the cemetery, my skirt picking up burrs and grass bits. The wind was blowing with such force that I almost took a step backwards when I lifted my foot off the ground in mid-step.

Suddenly the high grass disappeared and I stepped down on grass that was short and stiff. The wind stopped blowing almost instantly. I stifled a shudder and looked around me. About sixty or seventy graves were arranged in a massive circle with a single solitary headstone in the middle. The stone in the middle was slightly larger and taller than the others surrounding it, the inscription upon it faded with time and wear.

MACKENNA RIORDAN
BELTANE 1939 – IMBOLC 1982
M'EUDAIL MATHAIR
ALAINN BEAN CHEILE

My breath came in short, quick gasps; I stared at the gravestone, a mix of horror, amazement, and shock on my face. Mackenna Riordan ... she was my grandmother. My real grandmother.

M'eudail mathair ... beloved mother.

Alainn bean cheile ... beautiful wife.

This was where my ancestors was buried. This was the Ballynigel cemetery.

I whirled around, staring at the other headstones around me. I saw one that evidently belonged to Kelleher Riordan, born around Litha, 1931, and died on Imbolc, 1982 ... my grandfather? Other names jumped out at me ... MacQuaid, Shanley, Colleen, Ailidh, Aingeal ... all dead on Imbolc, 1982.

The dark wave ...

The thought was so sudden and clear that I gasped aloud; when had I thought that? I hadn't. My mind hadn't even been close to making that jump. But I knew that it was true, somehow ... I knew that it was true.

This was what the dark wave had done. It had murdered my family.

Suddenly I felt the urge to run. I wanted to run so far away from here that I would never have to return, never have to face what I had found here.

Morgan.

I heard my name being whispered, so quietly that it sounded as if someone had just spoken softly in my ear. But it came from inside me.

I started shivering. It wasn't cold, but suddenly I was shaking so hard that I had to forcibly stop my teeth from chattering. Why was I shaking so much?

I was running. I ran so quickly and so blindly away from the cemetery, back up the meadow road, that I nearly tripped over loose rocks and stones as I sprinted. My lungs were burning and I couldn't breathe, but I kept running. My muscles were seized up and I was laboring for air, but I knew that I had to get out of there.

HUNTER'S P.O.V

I was surprised that I hadn't sensed Morgan enter the lodge that after she had left an hour ago for a walk. She had insisted that she go alone, and I, realizing that she may need some time to herself, had agreed. However, the look on her face as she walked into the kitchen, where Sky, Raven, and Bree were making dinner and Robbie and I were playing Egyptian Rat Screw – some American card game that he was struggling to teach me – argued that the walk had done her more harm than good.

"Are you all right?" I asked, instantly concerned. She just looked at me, an exhausted look of weariness on her face. I noticed the large bags under her eyes; had she been sleeping lately?

"God, Morgan," Bree said in horror. "Have you been sleeping? You've got huge bags under your eyes."

Am I perceptive or what?

"I'm fine," Morgan said firmly, leaning against the counter and narrowly avoiding a bowl of marinara sauce. She eyed with apprehension the food that Sky had just placed on the counter: some kind of weird pasta thing and a huge basket of fresh-baked breadsticks.

"Do I want to know?" she asked with her eyebrows raised.

"The only cookbooks in the cupboards were Italian," Sky explained. "So we're having Lasagna Florentine. Dig in."

"So what all is in this?" I asked, eyeing it.

"Cooked sausage chopped with spinach, ricotta, and eggs, seasoned with garlic, mixed with Asiago, parmesan, mozzarella, and provolone, and baked to perfection," Sky said all in one breath.

"How did you just say that?"

Morgan collapsed down at the table next to Robbie as I dished up plates of lasagna for us. She rested her head on her arms and slumped against the tablecloth. Robbie looked at her warily.

"You're just begging the question, Morganita," he said slowly. "What's wrong?"

She sat up quickly and smiled briefly at me when I set down a heaping plate of pasta and a couple breadsticks in front of her. "Nothing, really. It's just been a long day."

"Yeah, considering how much you helped us in cleaning up the lodge, you must be really exhausted," Bree said sarcastically, although she was grinning as she sat down on Morgan's other side.

"Sorry," Morgan said with an apologetic grin as she stabbed the lasagna with her fork. "I've just been feeling out of it lately."

Hmm. That was true. I had been able to tell that recently she had been acting very out of it. She seemed distanced from us somehow, and I couldn't help but feel that when I talked to her she only picked up on half of the words I said.

I took her hand in a gesture of comfort. "What you need is some sleep. Why don't you take a nap after dinner?"

Her eyes widened slightly for some reason. "Um, no," she said quickly. "I-I'm not tired." She didn't make eye contact with anyone for the rest of the meal and rushed out of the kitchen after a hurried compliment to Sky on the quality of her breadsticks. I noticed, however, that she hadn't eaten any. As a matter of fact, she had barely touched her lasagna or breadsticks.

Bree looked miffed. "Yeah, Sky, how'd you get the breadsticks so good? I made half of them and mine didn't turn out nearly as well as yours. I followed all of the instructions."

Sky shrugged. "I decided to try a trick that Ma told me once. Fry them in extra-virgin olive oil and a few herbs in a cast-iron skillet. Supposedly, it never fails."

"Oh, please," I said. "You've been able to cook like this since you were a kid."

"Big Easy-Bake fan?" Bree asked dryly. Sky just nodded.

"My favorite toy from ages 5-10."

"You should try her chocolate walnut pie," Raven said. "It's killer."

What?

I glared at Sky accusingly. "You said that you only made that for me!" Now I was hurt. "It was a cousin bonding thing!"

Sky immediately excused herself to the bathroom. Still feeling slightly betrayed, I headed upstairs. I would get her for that. The next time that she made chocolate walnut pie, I would refuse to eat any. That'd show her.

Taking my mind off my petty problems, I found Morgan in our room, sitting on the bed in a daze, staring off into space.

"Morgan?" I asked, slightly uneasily. "Are you feeling all right?"

Once again, she was on the defensive. "For the fifth time, Hunter, I'm fine! Why can't you guys just drop it? I'm fine." She locked herself in the bathroom after that. I stared at the door for a moment, quite confused as to what had just happened. I knew that Morgan would prefer to have her privacy if she was in a touchy mood and so I went downstairs to help my traitorous cousin clean up after dinner.

When I called the moon back to me
I thought she wanted my beauty
I shone in the best that vanity buys
I covered the path where my life turned to lies
And the moon kept on rising
But I felt nothing at all
She comes when the empire falls
And shines on crumbling walls

MORGAN'S P.O.V

I leaned against the sink in the bathroom, breathing heavily and trying to clear my vision, which had gone blurry. I reached down, fumbling for a moment, and turned on the faucet. As cold water spilled into the sink basin, I splashed some on my face and shook my head to clear my vision. My head was aching so badly that I was on the verge of running down to the local pharmaceutical and demanding that they supply me with morphine. Anything to get rid of the pain.

I dried my face off on the fluffy pink towel hung up by the bathtub and sat down on the toilet with the lid down, my head in my hands.

Why did this hurt so much? My entire body was pulsing with agony, but I knew that sleeping would only bring more dreams, more nightmares.

I suddenly found myself thinking of my grandmother. Mackenna Riordan. I had never seen a picture of her, never even really wondered who she was. I knew that she was my biological grandmother, but I had never concentrated on learning about my other family members. It was all about Maeve and Ciaran. Why was I concentrating on Mackenna so much? Why was she the only thought on my mind?

I needed help. It was then that I decided it time to swallow my pride and personal issues about whatever was happening. I needed help, and I needed to tell someone about my dreams.

Still shaking slightly, the pounding inside my head ever stronger, I unlocked the bathroom door and wandered downstairs to find Hunter.

He took the news of the dreams better than I thought he would. I had expected that he would immediately jump up, phone the council, and let the entire witch world know that Morgan Rowlands was seeing things in her dreams again because dreams always mean something. But no. He just looked at me in confusion for a long time.

"You can't remember anything about them?"

I sighed in irritation. "Hunter, I've already told you. I wake up and all I'm left with is this terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. I know that what I'm seeing is a premonition of something, but I ... I don't know what it is."

He looked at me in that pitying way that I've always found incredibly annoying. It's nice to have someone concentrating fully on you, but not when they've got that look on their face.

"Well, I suppose I could ask Sky or Kennet what they think of the dreams ..."

"No," I said quickly. "Don't involve any more people in this. It'll just ..." I sighed. "It's not worth it. Not when I don't know anything for real about them."

"They might be able to help," he said weakly.

"Help how?" I asked cynically. "I barely know anything about these dreams in the first place. All I know is that I see death and pain and destruction and I wake up crying and I'm afraid to sleep!"

By now, I was struggling not to cry. Hot tears were burning my eyes, and I ducked my head quickly, wiping them away. Hunter was immediately there, whispering consolingly in my ear with his arms around me.

"It'll be all right, love ... we'll figure this out."

"I don't know how we can," I whispered, my voice scratchy. "If I don't understand them, how can anyone else?"

It was with the utmost reluctance that I allowed myself to crawl into bed that night. Hunter was there and I felt physically safe, but not emotionally. Would I dream about death again? Would I have to live through fear that I felt was mine, not knowing what it was I was so afraid of?

{Why can't I move? This stone is so cold ... I can't feel my hands.}

{Sky and Hunter ... they're in trouble ... somehow I know ... why are my friends here? I told them to stay away ... }

{A crack ... something is opening ... the ground is splitting ... I can hear the shrieking ... it sounds like someone is dying ... but, wait, someone is dying ... I know this, too. But who is it?}

{Oh, Goddess ... not him, please not him ...}

"Morgan! Morgan, wake up!"

I couldn't see even though my eyes were open. My vision adjusted to the darkness after a moment and I realized that Hunter was shaking me, his voice frantic.

Calling the moon
By the name that she chose
As Tennessee wandered in moth-eaten robes
Oh, I am calling the moon
Calling the moon
Oh, I am calling the moon

HUNTER'S P.O.V

"Morgan, are you okay?"

She was staring at me, a wild and fearful look in her eyes. She backed away from me and out of the bed, flattening herself against the wall. She made a noise in her throat between a cough and a gasp, and I stared at her. What the hell was going on? She started coughing more loudly, grabbing at her throat as if she were choking. She fell to her knees, still clutching her throat and gasping.

Instantly, I rushed over to her, fumbling slightly in the darkness, and turned on the bedside table light. She was sitting on the floor, gasping for breath, no longer clutching her throat. I stared.

"Morgan –"

"I'm okay," she whispered, her voice hoarse. She coughed slightly. "I'm okay." She stood up slowly, wobbling on her feet. I took her arm and gently guided her back to the bed, where she sat down.

She looked awful. Her hair was tangled and there were, once again, huge bags under her eyes. She reached up and touched her throat gingerly.

"I couldn't breathe," she whispered. "I couldn't breathe. I woke up from a nightmare, and I couldn't breathe." She turned to stare at me, looking thoroughly frightened. "Why couldn't I breathe?"

"I don't know ..."

"I think I know," Sky said the next morning when I conferred with her before breakfast. Morgan hadn't slept the entire rest of the night; I had stayed awake with her, just being there, and now I, too, was exhausted.

"What?" I asked in surprise. "I haven't been able to think of anything."

"I guess girls are just smarter," she said, grinning. "Anyway, about Morgan ... does she have an obsession with death?"

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, is it something that she thinks about or has thought about a lot lately?"

This question thoroughly baffled me. "Um ... I don't know? It's not something that we regularly discuss."

"Um ... I suppose maybe a little," Morgan said after breakfast when Sky asked her. "I mean, I just visited my real grandmother's grave yesterday, so I guess I've been thinking about it a little ..."

"You didn't tell me that," I said, shocked that she could conceal something like visiting Mackenna Riordan's grave from me. She looked sheepish.

"I didn't think you'd be interested."

"Of course I would be," I said seriously. "Anything that you ever need to talk about –"

"Okay, I'm interrupting the lovey-dovey type stuff to share my official opinion," Sky said quickly. "Morgan has ghost sickness."

I swiveled my head around to stare at Sky. Had she gone mad? "What do you mean, ghost sickness?"

"It's a Native American cultural superstitious disorder, although it does have a basis in fact," Sky said knowledgably. "A preoccupation with death, sometimes associated with the practice of witchcraft and occasionally with symptoms of nightmares, dizziness, weakness, feelings of danger or anxiety, dizziness and fainting, an occasional sense of suffocation, and poor appetite."

Morgan and I both stared at her. She motioned a book that she was holding, aptly labeled Cultural Superstitions of the Comanche Native American Tribes.

"It's a bit of light reading," she said airily. "I think it has merit, don't you? It describes your situation perfectly, Morgan."

"It does," Morgan admitted. "But how is it cured?"

"Um ... I don't want to say an exorcism, but ..."

"No!" Morgan said quickly. "No! Exorcisms aren't an option! I saw that movie! Even the priest died!"

Apparently, no amount of persuading would do any good; Morgan unfalteringly refused to allow us to perform an exorcism on her. Sky wanted to try to convince her by saying that she had done one before, but I stopped her, reminding her that her last one was on our cat at age eight. Sir Whiskerson was never quite the same; he always seemed rather twitchy afterwards.

Make sense of me, night
I can see so much from this cold height
The moon said, "Oh, darkness, my work is done,
I've poured this bottle of light from the sun
But their anger keeps on rising
And they don't understand
I've shown them all that I can
That the world is at hand."

MORGAN'S P.O.V

I was not going to have an exorcism performed on me.

I'm sorry, but that movie was really scary.

Instead, my course of action to rid myself of ghost sickness will be to get rid of it at the source by performing a spell that I had found in one of Hunter's many spell books. It was just a simple ritual, but I hoped that it would work. I grabbed one black candle out of Hunter's suitcase and a match, feeling overall too drained to attempt to light the candle with my mind. As I lit the match, I wondered if I was doing the right thing. I knew that spells affecting the mind in such a direct way could be dangerous.

Thinking about my nightmares, I was sure.

"Take away my dreams excess," I whispered, quietly so that none of the others would hear me. "Let dreams not me stress. Let the wings of night enfold; let dreamless sleep me hold."

HUNTER'S P.O.V

When I walked into my lodge room that night, Morgan was lying on the bed, sound asleep. Her breathing was deep and even, and I could tell even without casting my senses out that she was asleep.

I smiled to myself and settled down to bed.

My relief that she had managed to calm her subconscious down, however, was not assuaged for long. She was not awake by noon the next day, and I knew that, while Morgan was not a morning person, she never slept that late.

"Morgan?" I asked gently, shaking her shoulder slightly. "Morgan, wake up, love. It's already noon."

Her eyelids fluttered and she smiled sleepily at me, a smile that made my stomach do flip-flops. In the next second, though, she was out of bed and racing towards the bathroom so quickly that I wondered vaguely why she wasn't on the school's track team; however, the sound of her vomiting brought me immediately into the bathroom.

"Morgan!" She was lying in front of the toilet, gasping heavily for breath. She turned to look at me for a brief moment before her eyes closed and she fainted on the bathroom carpet.

Goddess, what was wrong with her?

And I know they'll be calling me soon
And if I don't answer I'm only the moon
I can see by her light
This one's going out to the moon tonight
Oh, I am calling the moon
Calling the moon

Because I know what it's worth
To tug at the seas and illumine the earth
Oh, I am calling the moon
Oh, I am calling the moon