Thunder rumbles in the distance, the sky continues to darken, and the wind blows harder.
The storm matches Damon's sullen mood. He's sitting outside on the patio with his betrothed Katherine. Tonight was supposed to be big, a fundraising party for her father who is running for Governor, and instead, he has to listen to her incessant nagging...again.
"I'm not talking about the whole house at the moment, Damon. That living room of yours is like a museum!" Katherine fumes and rises to go inside with the thunder crashing overhead.
"Katherine, now you listen to me!" Damon counters and follows her back inside to rejoin the party.
"Mr. Salvatore, Miss Pierce, please hold for a picture," The photographer stops them in their tracks. "Please hold it," he instructs them as he raises the camera.
Katherine maintains her glare while Damon smiles as Mr. Harper snaps the picture.
"One more."
"Father, I'm leaving." She spits out, narrowing her eyes at Damon.
"Smile, darling. Will you try to be more pleasant?" Walter Pierce grits out. "At least until after the wedding."
"Fellow members of the Salem Country Club..." Giuseppe interrupts as he proposes another toast. "I realize that lovebirds would prefer to be out on the veranda whispering sweet nothings." he pauses when the guests begin to chuckle.
"After a certain ceremony..." Giuseppe winks at Damon. "They will have all the rest of their lives for loving and cooing and making me a grandpa."
"Speech," Stefan calls out, leading the applause.
"I see getting married calls for speeches." Damon pauses as their guests continue to laugh. "I can truly say that a new life is beginning for me."
Thunder rolls overhead like the fury of the gods. A jagged bolt flashes across the sky and the room goes dark.
"Ladies and gentlemen, it's just a storm. While at the moment, the future seems a little dark," Damon laughs although it feels all too real as he locks eyes with Katherine's icy ones.
"One never knows what the next moment will bring."
Thunder rumbles and the wind blows harder, gusting against the walls, and screaming through the trees. A gigantic bank of dark clouds is massing above. They seem to writhe and twist, growing and swelling as they're alive.
The air shakes as the loud, booming wind hammers at the trees. Lightning rips through one of the dark clouds, and the thunder crashes like a huge fist pounding the sky
On the outskirts of the town, the branches and then the whole tree shudders as an immense, dazzling, guillotine blade of lightning streaks down to the earth splitting the tree in half and releasing its two imprisoned spirits as wisps of smoke.
"Where am I? What's happened?" Elena asks, confused.
"A miracle! An infernal miracle! We're free again. Free at last!"
"Who speaketh?" Elena submits.
"'Tis I, thy your father," Grayson states.
"But father, thou hast no substance."
"Nor hast thou, Elena. We are witches' smoke. But our evil spirits have survived."
Elena smiles. "Twill be sweet to plague the human race again."
"First we'll visit the cornfield and ruin the crop. 'Tis always a good way to limber up," Grayson proposes excitedly.
"Look, Father. The cornfield is no longer there."
"Well, we must expect a few changes in 250 years," Grayson laments.
"Were our spirits entrapped in the wood that long?" Elena asks.
"Aye. I counted the tree rings," he confirms.
"See? They've built a new house. It seems all ablaze. Is it on fire?"
Grayson cackles, "Not yet!"
They approach the home as a young man and woman step outside and watch intently.
"Caroline, how about we ditch this place?"
"I'd like that very much and maybe we go to that little secluded spot and watch the stars before we go home...if you happen to have a blanket in the trunk." Caroline winks.
"Let's get out of here. They'll never miss us." Stefan grabs her hand and they run back inside.
"What language is that, Father?"
"I don't know, but we'll learn it," Grayson states confidently as they peer into the window.
A song begins to play and a handsome man holds out one hand toward a beautiful girl.
She rolls her eyes as she accepts his hand and lets him lead her to the middle of the dance floor. He wraps one arm loosely around her waist and he uses his other to hold her hand against his chest. She lets her head rest against his neck as they sway to the music.
"See how they dance today," Elena remarks with a gasp. "They stand so close."
"Well, well, well. Things have changed," Grayson agrees.
Elena continues to stare in awe. "I never thought I'd see clothes like that in New England."
"These cannot be the descendants of the Puritans we knew," Grayson comments as they move to their left to peer into another window just as a couple leans in to kiss.
"There's something that hasn't changed in two and half centuries," Elena giggles as she watches them.
"Elena, keep thy mind on our business!"
"'Twould be nice to have lips to whisper lies. Lips to kiss a man and make him suffer," Elena muses. "Father, why cannot I have lips and eyes and hair?" she looks up when the door opens.
"Careful. Someone's coming. Quick! Do as I do! We'll hide in these bottles. Quick! Quick, quick." Grayson and Elena twist their smoke plumes into the bottles sitting on the tabletop.
"Whee!"
"Are you all right, Elena?"
"'Tis full of bubbles in here. They tickle!" she laughs.
"My bottle has the tang of maple rum!" her father retorts.
"Look, Father!" Elena whispers as she watches a man come outside. "Closer, man, so I can see thee better."
"Riddle-dee-dee, riddle-dee-doe...get thee hence and stub thy toe," Grayson sing-songs.
The man stumbles on the step as he goes back inside.
"There was something familiar about that face. Can we follow him?" Abruptly a man picks up their bottles and takes them inside, setting the tray down on the bar top.
"-What'll it be, Mr. Salvatore?" the bartender asks.
"Bourbon."
"Yes, sir, Mr. Salvatore."
"Salvatore! I knew I recognized those features." Elena states as she stares at him.
"Well, well, well. A descendant of the man who had us burned." Grayson Gilbert comments excitedly.
"No wonder he looks so unhappy. I put a curse upon his family," she giggles as another man approaches Mr. Salvatore.
"Well, I thought lovebirds always flew around in pairs," Giuseppe states as he slides onto the stool beside Damon.
"Katherine's talking politics. The whole marriage is just another campaign stunt to Walter insisting we hold it the day before the election. So he'll get a good press for election day."
"Damon, I think you've had enough to drink." Katherine comes to stand beside him.
"Not now, Katherine?"
"I'd like to go home," she retorts with an angry lilt to her voice.
"Yes, dear. Of course, dear," Damon throws a few bills on the bar as he stands up and follows Katherine out of the home.
Elena snickers. "The curse is working. She has the look of a shrew!"
"Elena, what's that curse thou wast chattering about?"
"Each Salvatore must marry the wrong woman."
"Ha! What a curse! Every man who marries...marries the wrong woman. True suffering cometh when a man is in love with the woman he cannot marry."
"Father, suppose a man was in love with a witch. With me. I would not marry him."
"Ha!" Grayson hiccups from inside the bourbon bottle. "Oh, pardon me. I need air. For tonight I'll merry, merry be. Tomorrow I'll be sober," he sings drunkenly.
"Let's get out of here and go for a little ride."
Their smoke wisps curl out of the bottles and escape through an open window.
"Father, give me a body," Elena asks as they float in the air.
"Oh, no," Grayson chuckles. "Thou didst get into enough trouble with thy last one."
"Thou canst not give me a body. Thou wouldst not even know how to begin," Elena counters, challenging him.
"No? I'd merely make a little fire as thy last body was destroyed by flame thy new one would be born in flame!"
"Prove it. Start that great house on fire."
"Ah, look." Grayson points to a building. "A hotel for pilgrims."
Elena snickers happily.
"'Twould be a pleasure burning that. All right, I will. Worra, worra, fizzle, drizzle... let the flame begin to sizzle!" He spells out the words. P-I-L-G-R-I-M...H-O-T-E-L!" cackling loudly when smoke begins to rise from the building.
"Goodbye, Father."
"Goodbye, Elena. Be a bad girl," Grayson calls after her as her wisp of smoke disappears inside the building.
Damon stares at the road as he drives Katherine home. Not in the mood to listen to any more of her foul mood, he switches on the radio, bouncing his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music.
He slows down and pulls over when the sound of a fire engine's siren begins to intensify. As soon as the fire truck speeds past him, he pulls back onto the road.
"That's the Pilgrim Hotel!" Damon states, pointing to the raging inferno.
Flames engulf the magnificent structure, spreading their boiling rage through everything in their path. The creature of fire refuses to be tamed.
"It would have to be on our way home," Katherine huffs as she rolls her eyes.
"Look at that. I never saw such a fire," Damon remarks with his eyes fixed on the bright orange flames that arc high above the building.
"Is there any way we can get through?"
"No, Katherine, it's all blocked off." Damon turns off the engine, steps out of the car, and approaches the fire engine.
"Some firebug must've touched this off. This is the craziest fire I've ever seen! Laps up water like a cat!" Chief Gerard yells above the roar of the flames.
"How did it happen?" Damon asks.
"Nobody seems to know. There was an explosion on the roof. The top floor went like that. Then the fifth, then the fourth. Now it's on the third. Soon it'll be on the second, and then the first then it'll all cave in on the basement."
"Mr. Salvatore..."
"Quiet," Damon interrupts. "What was that? Did you hear that?" Damon raises his voice so Marcel will hear him. "Someone's inside. Listen."
"I didn't hear anything." Chief Gerard replies.
"It was so clear. It was a woman's voice."
"Aw, there's no one inside. My men looked everywhere."
"Mr. Salvatore..."
"No, wait. There it is again," Damon states as the dizzying, radiant heat from the blaze pulls him inside the building and deeper into the burning abyss.
"Here I am, Mr. Salvatore," Elena calls out to him calmly. "I'm over here."
I apologize for the lateness. I've just felt incredibly fatigued for the last few days almost like when I had covid. Caught it 3 times at work. As you all, no doubt, I was transfixed with the Titanic Titan submersible story and hoping for a miracle. The irony of all cruel ironies is Stockton Rush's wife is the great, great-granddaughter of Ida and Isidor Strauss who died together on Titanic when she refused to leave her husband. Prayers for the victims and their families.
Thank you all so much.
Chapter title: 'The Witch' by The Cult.
CosmicAdventurers' stories are enthralling. She really writes DE so amazingly perfectly as does Florencia7. Wobalo has "A True Best Friend". Theirs are the only stories I'm reading. I used to be a voracious fanfiction reader and reviewer, it consumed me...I don't know, I'm just not anymore.
I hope you all have a fabulous weekend.