Second Sight

The Fire

The night was dark, but the moon was bright enough to pierce the canopy of the mysterious Salem Woods. Despite the haunting darkness that felt like a flood of black in the woods, there was a meadow in the heart of the forest that was bright as day, the moon reflecting from the ancient altar in the center.

A woman in long, flowing black robes with a blood red hood stepped into the clearing from the dark woods, allowing a short moment for her eyes to adjust. Her pupils shrunk back into her dark irises and she took in a long, deep breath.

"Now is the time," she crooned through her exhale. "Rise, my sisters! Rise, my brothers!" As her voice carried like a megaphone, the clearing continued to fill with several more figures.

Ghostly figures, donning clothing that resembled the remnants of a house fire-stricken family. The men, the women, the figures somewhat less identifiable, all resembled something of an image that was still loading, with legs that could be seen, but did not necessarily touch the ground. Their bodies, their faces, their clothing, every aspect of them appeared translucent, like they could walk through a wall and bear no harm. Their faces were pale under the bleak moonlight, given shape only by the soot that had been on their faces for a nearly infinite amount of time.

The ghostly quiet that set over the clearing with the appearance of the new crowd was suddenly interrupted by a victorious call to action. "You have been wronged," the woman in the billowing robes boomed, addressing the translucent figures directly. Her voice filled the massive, moon-drenched clearing

Hollow, tinny murmurs of agreement echoed from the crowd of ghostly faces. Some of their heads nodded up and down. The small movements from the pale crowd were accompanied by a symphony of solemn mutters of "yes," and "aye."

"But now! Now, the universe has come to bring our persecutors to justice!"

The murmurs from the crowd grew to proclamations and shouts of agreements. Ghostly, translucent hands were thrown into the air in fists. "Aye, she speaks the truth!" One man, slightly taller than the rest, stepped out from the rest of the crowd towards the woman.

The woman's face became pallid with shock, as though she had just seen an unexpected ghost. "Samuel," she breathed out, the air escaping her body as though she had just been dealt a blow to the gut. Slowly, the shock melted from her face, several tears welling up in her eyes. After what felt like a millennium, a smile came across her face, one that could have filled a room with light and joy.

The man who had caused this roller coaster of emotion for their leader reacted nearly the same way. His shocked face was accompanied with tears that fell from his face and disappeared into the void. "Bridget," he exhaled, as though the air from his body was being taken from him with a vacuum. His ghostly form meandered closer and closer to her. "Is it so?" He asked, wiping tears from his eyes. "Are you... did you...?"

"Yes!" Bridget nearly leapt into Saumel's arms, filled with a glee from seeing him for the first time in hundreds of years. "It was Belphegor, my love. The universe has brought her, has brought Arabelle, has brought me the promise of bringing our movement to the forefront once more!"

"M'lady," a smaller, mousy voice came from the crowd behind Samuel. "...M'lord." A young teenage girl dressed in traditional Colonial Salem clothing hovered towards Samuel and Bridget. "I hate to interrupt. But. The moon shall only be high enough for a ritual this powerful for a few more hours. The time is nigh, I urge us to continue."

Samuel looked back at her and nodded. "My love, I agree with our friend." He looked longingly into Bridget's eyes. "To be whole again. To feel my power again..."