Chapter 5:

It was unthinkable. Not even an option, not one I had thought of, at least. It just wasn't a thing. I was raised in a mostly fundamentalist family. That hocus-pocus baloney was looked down on by my family. Just because I didn't believe a lot of the crap shoved down our throats in that church, didn't mean I didn't have my own thoughts on psychics, and mediums, and Witches, and all that.

I remember a verse from church that the pastor beat into us repeatedly. From Deuteronomy. 'There shall not be found among you any one that maketh his son or his daughter to pass through the fire, or that useth divination, or an observer of times, or an enchanter, or a witch." Also seen in Leviticus. 'A man or woman that hath a familiar spirit, or that is a wizard, shall surely be put to death: they shall stone them with stones: their blood shall be upon them'

I digress. But…if that meant Barbi was to stay in safety with me, then so be it. It was a sacrifice I was willing to make. We started to look up this Cricket Marlowe fella on the Internet. The news stories showed he was involved in FBI investigations, locating dead people and such. Compelling, but…I was still a bit scared.

So Barbi took the liberty of writing him an email, using my email address, and within a few days, we got a call. I gave the phone to Barbi, who spoke to him – apparently he'd been parked outside the house that Tuesday night. I had been working the entire day, so, I was beat tired when I got home. Too tired to hear baloney from some…necromancer.

Barbi welcomed him in. I stood by the door, still a bit dirty, wearing a tank top and jeans and my work boots. I had just gotten in an hour before. Cracked a soda open. He came in, and he had not only a thick Southern drawl, but…I reckon he was queerer than a $3 bill. His voice was so…girly-sounding. He was wearing a suit, had thick gray hair clipped in this weird bowlcut-thingy…and…he had this…it was a cane. One of those canes with a metal head on it. Apparently he didn't walk with it. All he did was carry it.

"I was called here," he said.

"Y-You're here really, uh…early," I said, trying to be a gentleman.

"Oh, sorry," he giggled. "I always assume my reputation arrives 'fore I do." He looked at Barbi, walking a bit toward her. Her hands were clasped lady-like in front of her. "It's been said by many that my ego certainly does, and I don't mean 'called' in any way you be familiar with, via AT&T, or Sprint...if you're particularly gauche."

He was a joker; I shook my head and continued to hear that girly-sounding voice.

"I was sittin' in my home in the uptown district of New Orleans, havin' a Café Du Monde beignet. I was checkin' my email to see…that a young lady I met before was callin' for my help." Cricket looked at Barbi, who nodded and smiled graciously. "My, what a lovely face. You've grown so much."

"You remember me," she smiled.

"Ah, yes. Indeed I do," he said to her, holding her hand and walking with her down the hallway of the first story of my house. "A spirit whispered in my ear that the mystery t' this abduction is only gonna be untangled by a man who knows the comin's and goin's of the other side."

I stopped them before they could fade from my sight into another room: "es'cuse me, but…I don't know where you think you're going with her."

"C-Cole…" I heard her mutter.

"Ah, a Christian man." Cricket's assumption was right, but…I still wasn't buying it. "You've read the Bible cover to cover, many times before. But I can assure you, my gifts are God-given. Gift came to me when I was only nine. My Granny couldn't find her car keys anywhere. I told her she'd accidentally tossed 'em out with a takeout food container. Sure enough…they were there."

I remember Barbi and I looking at his official website. It was all professional-looking and everything. It had a few news articles. One dated from 2011, where he was able to help the FBI locate a boy in the southern Utah desert. He was, miraculously, alive and well. We both had seen pictures of him with the southern regional director of the FBI. There were other stories of him helping find missing persons or dead bodies, murder victims, all over the country.

Compelling? Yes. God-given talent? Can't say that, I'm not the Big Guy. Could I say I was skeptical? Hell to the yes.

Until…he did something none of us could explain. We had gone up the stairs, and he whacked his cane against the floor a few times. I watched Barbi's eyes in amazement…but then I heard footsteps…and, well, a familiar voice.

"Damn it, stop that banging!"

Cricket was clearly stunned. But I looked behind us to see Sarah, her fiery hair messy, and her eyes looking deader than ever, her pale skin practically glowing in the dim light. Cricket's eyes were wide, and he approached a pajama-clad Sarah, who looked at him like the devil making a bargain with a mortal.

"Uh…hello," he said. "I…I don't remember you."

"Barbi, what is this bullshit?" Sarah asked her sister meanly, her voice summoning Barbi toward her.

"This is Cricket. He's a psychic medium. I…I thought you'd remember him. He visited the house when we were kids, remember? Mom called him to see what everything was all about-"

"You were taken to Raleigh," Cricket said.

Raleigh, I thought. Why would that be? So I just listened to Cricket…Sarah's reaction said it all. She looked like she was going to kill him right then and there, I swear it.

"Spent 5 months there," he continued. "I see it…y-you weren't here when I was last called. Your mother-"

"This is none of your damn business," Sarah replied.

"So much for introductions," he said rather graciously. "I am Cricket."

Then he kept banging the cane against the floor, but nothing happened. I crossed my arms, until he indicated something of importance…so it seemed.

"Sh!" he exclaimed. "Do you hear that?"

I listened – it was laughter. Children's laughter. I couldn't explain it. It was so weird, but…then again, nothing that happened there could be explained.

"Laughter," I said. I was interested now. "T-Tell me…who is it? Do you know?"

He went to what looked to be a small crawl closet on the side of the wall, one I had actually not noticed before, oddly enough…but…he opened it very slowly. Barbi was the first to speak.

"Is that a…"

"A bonnet," Cricket said, looking down at the object. It was more of a coif, really. He took it to his nose and sniffed it, closing his eyes. "Priscilla…"

"Who is Priscilla?" Barbi asked, seeing Cricket with Sarah standing behind her.

"This is ridiculous," the older sister grunted under her breath.

"Priscilla is real. Was real, actually," Cricket explained, looking at us with perfect eye contact. "She's a child spirit. She has a fondness for corn husk dolls. S-She died in the late 1500s."

Whoa, whoa. This house wasn't built until the 1700s.

"Wait, this house is 200 years younger than that," I challenged.

"But this is here, and Priscilla is here," Cricket replied. "I…I feel like many a spirit lingers here. It's dark…w-we need to perform a séance this evenin' at the strike of midnight."

Séance? I wasn't buying any of this. And I threw away $800 for him to visit the house…just for Barbi. God, if there was anything negative I could say about her, was that she was gullible.

But…this was for her. I kept my promise like a man should.

That night, we lit a fire in my living room, and we took chairs from the dining room to the coffee table we had. We powered off any lights, and in the center of the table Cricket lit a candle. On the candle, he lit this foul-smelling herb bundle. Sage, I think. But it was nauseating. I felt so awkward during it. Barbi and Sarah just looked at him, each with their own expressions. Sarah was to my side and Barbi was right in front of me. Cricket seemed to be praying or something.

"Spirits of the North, South, East and West. Archangels Uriel, Raphael, Michael and Gabriel; Gods of this earth and the next, please reveal to us what is hidden. Make yourselves known here."

Then he began talking to the air: "Priscilla?"

No answer. I sat back and crossed my arms, shaking my head.

"Priscilla? Sweet Priscilla? We mean you no harm. Come to us, my dear."

Nothing was happening, but within a few minutes of silence, we ALL heard a loud whack in the middle of the coffee table. LOUD WHACK! I'm talking gunfire. I looked the see the candle went out, and it was split. Right down the damn middle! I couldn't believe my eyes! If we had made a pact with Satan, I wasn't down for that. Cricket looked down at us. Barbi was clearly scared, rubbing the stone around her neck.

"Quick! Join hands!"

Sarah had no expression on her face, but all three of us held hands. Sarah's were cold and clammy, while Barbi's were warm and smooth, smelling of the lotion I had gotten for her the day after she moved in with me along with her sister.

"Why are we doing this?" Sarah asked.

"You need your combined strength to keep safe!"

"Priscilla was a little girl, though, right?" Barbi asked worriedly.

"Oh no, this ain't Priscilla. This is another spirit. A woman…a HORRIBLE woman!" he exclaimed.

I looked up at Cricket to see him pull out a card, a prayer card. He began to put his hand out in front of him, and his voice filled the room: "This is the St. John Gualbert, saint of mercy, saint of those who work and live in the forests! I summon his divine power to surround us in white light! YOU MEAN US NO HARM, WOMAN! DO US NO HARM! Our white light surrounds-"

It was only then that I heard a voice, clear as day. Not kidding. It was the same accent, Northern English or Scottish…it was there…and it was STRONG: "I am called The Butcher, and all that invade and threaten my land do me harm."

"Our white light protects us! Why do you haunt this place, dark spirit?" Cricket called out.

"This place is mine," I heard the voice say. "I protect this place, and I will stop at nothing to hold safe this colony."

I was literally shitting my pants. Well, not literally, but…close. This was all too real. No special effects. No wires. I was in that room. I was blown away by this whole situation. I saw tears in Barbi's eyes, but I looked at Sarah – no expression. It was so damn weird.

But even stranger – The Butcher came before us! I could see her. It was a female. Older. I'd seen her before, when she sacrificed Martin with those other…savages. Stringy gray hair, blood on her face, a colonial-styled outfit, very dirty, face wrinkled, and…I saw…a cleaver…just like the one I had seen Sarah holding. I was beyond scared, speechless, beyond that, even.

"I shall stack the bodies high as cordwood," the colonial ghost said. "Had I Priscilla, I'd have flayed and roasted her by now. The bastard seed hath hidden herself away on these hallowed grounds. As for this place, I shall never step a foot off of it. Ever. I must protect it from trespassers such as…thee!"

She pointed the cleaver at me. ME!

"Oh, honey, this land does not belong to the dead!" Cricket exclaimed. "You're the trespasser! Mr. Paterson bought this house and it is his now! He's alive!"

CRASH!

Everyone in the room, including Sarah, jumped at the sound and sight of ALL my windows in the room shattering into a million pieces. There weren't any rocks either. Nothing. The Butcher did it, or whoever…I remember seeing other savages.

"AHHHHH!" Barbi shrieked.

"CROATOAN! CROATOAN! CROATOAN!" Cricket began shouting, holding the prayer card out in front of him. It was the same word that Barbi had told me about, and the same word those retarded boys were saying in the police station in custody.

I felt one of the girl's hands fall loose from mine, and I heard a thud. I looked to see that Barbi had fallen from her chair. I gasped, and went down to her immediately to try and revive her. She fainted. I tried to lightly slap her cheek, but still nothing.

"Barbi! Barbi! Wake up!" I exclaimed. "C'mon!"

Still nothing. I looked to Cricket, speaking firmly – "can you give me a hand, sir?"

He rushed over, but Sarah just sat there, staring at me holding her unconscious sister.

"Oh my," Cricket said, feeling her neck. "She's alive, but don't worry. This happens quite a lot. S-She's receptive."

I just looked at him. "Huh?" That was all I could muster.

"Yes, she's receptive to these spirits. Put her upstairs in her bed. I'll come with you," he offered.

He didn't even need to help me carry her to the guest room I had for she and Sarah. She also happened to be feather light in my arms, and the one thing that kept me optimistic was the scent she carried on her. Light and flowery. When we got to the guest room, I set her down gently, looking to see her beautiful face with her eyes closed and her skin smooth.

"Oh, sweet angel," Cricket said, looking down at her. "The rush of it all…t-that malachite protected her from The Butcher's influence."

I just looked at him. "Huh?" Again, all I could muster.

"That stone on her neck," Cricket said, going over to touch the necklace sitting on the redhead's skin. "For thousands of years, malachite has been a favorite to wardin' off evil spirits. It was her momma's."

"She told me that," I told him. "But…y-you're gonna clean this house out, right?"

"I got all the answers you seek," he told me, patting my shoulder. "These spirits are dark and malevolent, but it's gonna take more than this session and consultation to try to clear 'em out."

I just stared at him. "Y-You…"

"I will help you further if you give me $30,000," Cricket said. "I take Visa, MasterCard, Discover…"

I was really mad by this point. How the hell could I have so stupid just to have two women living in my house under my watchful eye? I took him out of the room and grabbed him by the shirt collar, pushing his back up against the wall in the hallway.

"You con-artist!" I said with firm anger in my voice. "How dare you?! You come into my home, you bang a cane around, you break my windows, only to ask for more money?!"

He stuttered, and I was so close to pulling an Uncle Lucas on him: "How can your conventional mind explain away things that you've seen? Things you cannot be processed with terrestrial thinkin'. But my gift is real. I tell the truth. Even the FBI pays."

"But I'm not the FBI! For God's sakes! I ain't made of money!" I took the Lord's name in vain, but I didn't care at that point, considering I did some…unholy crap that night. "Does it take an innocent girl fainting for you to see things clearly?"

"I perform a service. I plunge my delicate soul into peril every time someone's home is crowded with uninvited guests…or if a cryin' momma has lost her chickadee. My desire is to help," he explained to me. "You can understand my predicament. When you're peddlin' pharmaceuticals, do you give 'em to all the dyin' children for free?"

I loosened my grip on the front of his shirt, but still held it. I was so mad. He came here to take advantage of us. Barbi was so damn gullible. My god.

"You made him leave the house, correct?" the interviewer asked.

I did. I just said to him: "Leave. You're an abomination."

And he just walked toward the staircase, saying something like, "You'll be callin' me back here. Guarantee it."

The hell I would.

I made sure he saw his way out. But then went back upstairs to check on Barbi. But what I saw was the strangest thing I had ever seen – she was awake, alright…but she was talking to someone in there. I only heard the conversation vaguely.

"Mom?"

"I don't know what happened. I'm in this bed."

"I have been fine, but miss you awful bad."

Then, even more chilling – "who killed you?"

I backed away from the doorway, pretending I didn't hear that, knowing full well it would escalate to a place I didn't wanna end up. I went to the bathroom, stripped down and jumped into the shower to wash the grime off. After, I went into bed.

I needed to figure out the window situation, how they'd be fixed. But further, I wanted to know why Sarah had been sent to Raleigh…what was there that she needed to be sent away?

I pulled Barbi aside the next day after coming home from work, asking her that question: "look, it's probably none of my business, but…I am really dying to know."

"I don't think you want to know," Barbi replied. "It was…really…uh…"

"Bad?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I'll do my best to understand and listen," I told her.

She was silent for a moment, sitting down on the porch steps like we had a few days before. I took a seat next to her and looked at her: "our parents sent her away…to a mental institution."

My eyes widened, clearly nervous, but I knew that I was right. There was something wrong with Sarah.

"W-What happened?" I asked.

"W-Well, this isn't easy for me to say," she told me. "But…since you ask…S-Sarah tried to kill me. W-When I was about 8 or 9, s-she held a knife to me…a-and tried to cut my throat. She was 13 when this happened…a-and she was sent away for 5 months straight…"

Her voice was shaky, and I was in shock. I could see the fear in her dark eyes, just…it was…quite a sight. Barbi's fear radiated…you know, when you're at a loud concert or…something like that, and you feel the waves of the loud music? Yup. That was her. With her fear.

Tears began to fall, and I held her to me closely. I was secretly fearing for my own life at that moment: "they took her away. I was…an only child for 5 months, but I felt safer without her. Yet…"

"Barbi…" I muttered, patting her back.

"When she came back…s-she was different…no expression," the girl said tearfully. "Not the same, but…I took relief in…that she was, you know…a bit better. It seemed that way…but…then our parents died…I-I'm so afraid to leave, but…I'm more afraid to stay…"

"You had no choice when you were that young, Barbi," I said. "There's no way you could'a left."

"I…I could leave now if I wished, but…"

That statement was a knife to my heart. I felt…I don't know…

"You let her and her sister move in with you," the interviewer said.

Yeah, and that's why I didn't feel so happy when she said that. So…I said something.

"Barbi…I said I'd do anything for you, but…I can't let you do that," I told her.

"What?" she asked, looking into my eyes deeply with her dark brown ones.

I took the chance – "letting you leave."

Before I knew it, our faces moved in, closer…closer…until we found ourselves kissing. My heart was racing. It was…so nice…and…my first kiss, actually.

"It was?" the interviewer asked.

Yes, it was. Barbi's lips were smooth and soft, tasted like…vanilla frosting…it was wonderful. Yup…one of the only GOOD events in that house…being with her, being able to protect her…her sister aside, because she was worth more than anything at all in my life.

"Uh…could you please tell us about the next event in your…uh, experiences?" Cole was asked.

Oh…uh…let me remember…

"Take your time, we are still rolling."

Oh, we are? Hm, can't you just stop so I can try to remember?

"We have to keep rolling," the interviewer said. Cole took a few extra minutes to fully recall and gather what he remembered.

I had these…crazy dreams. I…wrote them all down. But even without that, I remember them clearly because they were so strange. I was, again, really creeped out. I was not myself in these dreams.