Welcome Home!

Yesterday, I found my girlfriend kneeling on our bedroom floor staring into a moving box. She was the kind of still that only comes from being incredibly stoned or experiencing great emotional activity. With Eliza, it could very easily be either.

"Whatcha got there?"

She was slow to respond, but eventually reached into the box and pulled out a stuffed doll. It was a candy-green nylon witch, complete with a warted, comically-protruding nose and bright red mouth, adorned with a black dress and matching pointed hat.

Her voice, usually clear and resonant, was muted and wavering:

"I won her playing bingo at the senior citizens' center when I was four."

I certainly hadn't expected that.

"That's so sweet, and weird, and definitely on-brand for you," I said with a light chuckle. She didn't join. "Uh, Liz? Is something wrong?"

She barely waited for my question to end when she continued the story, "I used to go to the senior citizens' center with my nanny as a kid. It was pretty much the only thing in the little community I lived in before moving to what you know as my hometown, besides two Baptist churches and a general store. I absolutely loved this doll and took her everywhere with me. Mom hated her."

I'd been leaning against the doorframe to our empty dining room but left to crouch beside her. While I walked, she talked.

"I named her Kiki, after the Ghibli movie, because that was my favorite movie at the time, too," she continued, voice stronger than before.

I squinted, mentally comparing the thing in front of me with the adorable animated thirteen-year-old that Hayao Miyazaki blessed the world with in 1989's Kiki's Delivery Service. "I can definitely see the resemblance."

Finally, she looked away from the doll. Sure, it was to throw me a sidelong scowl, but it was something.

"So why haven't I seen this Kiki character before? Where's she been for the last four years?"

She shrugged, "Because I haven't seen her in over twenty years."

At the time I couldn't guess why that statement made the hairs on my arms stand up.

"I told you that I got her before we moved to town, yeah?" Eliza's voice was shadowed again. "Well, Kiki was nowhere to be found when we unpacked. I was inconsolable for weeks. Up until about five minutes ago I always assumed that Mom had thrown her out and just wouldn't fess up to it."

Lost on what to say, I just nodded in silent acknowledgment. A moment or two passed by with us just sitting there, staring at and thinking about the absurdity of our new situation.

"How did she end up here, then?" I asked, almost a whisper.

Silence landed, then expanded between me and my girlfriend as the room seemed to dim ever so slightly.

I think I saw her mouth move more than I heard her reply, "I don't know."

She shot up and headed toward her partially-unpacked working altar–funny that a witch-obsessed child would grow up to practice witchcraft herself–taking the doll with her and trailing me behind.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm cleansing and binding it."

I stopped dead in my tracks. Brows furrowed I asked, "Why binding? I know you cleanse everything for good measure but I think I've only ever seen you bind harmful intentions from people."

She stared at the doll in her hand, considering. "I don't know why, but something just feels off."

It could possibly be that a toy you've been missing for twenty years has surprised us by showing up in our new home eighteen hours away from where she was last seen, I thought.

She was confident as she gathered her salt, incense, jute, and shears. She cast a circle with her breath before frankincense filled the air around us as the doll sat unmoving in a dish full of salt, from which Eliza scooped and poured over it like a baby in bath water. She snipped and laid a long piece of jute tie across the work surface and scattered more salt over it. Then, with her left hand, she placed the doll atop the middle of the string.

With each line of her spell, Eliza crossed the ends of the string over the doll, pivoting and flipping it so that all limbs and torso were securely tied.

"With these blessed ties I bind you, whatever you may be. Warm intent or malice, whichever motivated thee–it matters not, you are not welcome; but unguarded you shall not flee. 

"You have no escape, no means of inflicting harm; this I say is so. These truths will not be altered until your identity is known. At which point I reserve the right to do with thee as I will. For now, however, I must assume that your aim is none but ill."

With the final knot, she finished:

"As I mote it, so it is."

We stood together staring at this mysterious doll, salted and bound both physically and metaphysically. I couldn't help but notice that the room got colder.

***

Sunlight crossed the floor of our new bedroom, brushing over stacks of labeled boxes and an Ikea dresser that we hadn't even begun to put together. Eliza was already up, though, and I heard her humming to herself over the aggressive bubbling of our electric kettle. The aroma of fresh coffee burst across my senses as she ground home-roasted beans left over from our last patio roast-and-toast session before we moved. I couldn't stop my smile; despite all the crazy, she still knew how to make me feel grounded and at home.

As much as the warm sunlight and warmer love made me want to burrow further under the quilt, I fought the urge and stepped into my houseshoes.

"Good morning, love," I said, wrapping my arms around her waist. She leaned her head over to nuzzle mine while she poured fragrant grounds into the filtered dripper.

"Good morning to you, too."

Reluctantly, I let her go so she could continue her favorite morning ritual. I needed to pee, anyway.

I didn't notice it right away. Too many things were in disarray as it was, so there wasn't really an "out of place" for the doll to be, really. There it was on top of the toilet tank, though, still firmly bound by salted jute and a well-practiced witch's intention.

Eliza was topping off the second mug when I returned to the kitchen. "So did moving Kiki onto the toilet add to the spell by associating her with flushing shit out of our home?" I asked lightheartedly.

The glass carafe shattered on the countertop where Liz dropped it, sprinkling shards all over and around her bare feet. She didn't turn to face me, or move at all.

"Liz, are you okay? What's wrong? Don't move, I'll get your slippers. Did you unpack–"

"I didn't move the doll." It was barely a whisper. Silence followed, providing a perfect blank backdrop for the accelerating heartbeat I could suddenly hear echoing in my ears.

I swallowed, then, "You… didn't move the doll?"

I couldn't stop her before she turned to face me, appearing unaware of the blood slowly seeping from the soles of her feet with each shuffled step.

"I didn't move the fucking doll, Vic."

I put my arms up to emphasize that she needed to stay still, told her I'd be right back with a chair and hydrogen peroxide and that we could discuss a plan while tending to her wounds.

***

Thankfully, the box containing all of our medical supplies was easy to access.

When I returned to the kitchen Liz hadn't moved; even now I'm not sure she so much as blinked while I was gone.

After placing the chair as close to her as possible, I helped her sit, then pulled a second chair over so I could clean her feet.

She stared at me as I gingerly brought her right leg up and laid it across my lap. "So, neither of us moved it," I began, dabbing at the bloody skin with antiseptic-soaked cotton balls. My voice cracked but I did my best to minimize the shaking in my hands, at least. "What does that mean?"

She inhaled deeply, which highlighted how shallow her breath had been without my notice. "It means that whatever that doll contains is stronger than my spell was, and that I need to think of the next step." She winced and hissed as I dabbed over a particularly tender spot. Her eyelids relaxed but remained closed. She was using the pain to focus her thoughts, letting her controlled breathing aid both ends.

"I chose a binding spell rather than a banishing one because I did actually want to investigate the situation–Ah!"

"Sorry," I winced sympathetically.

Eliza inhaled, exhaled, then went on with her explanation. "I should've known that this place is too new and untouched for my wards to have worked well enough for that work."

"What's the likelihood that it's just a really persistent and very misguided spirit that wants you to feel at home?"

Air blew from her nose in an incredulous laugh.

"I don't even want to think about that possibility. Doing so feels like I would be inviting something malevolent to trick us."

I dabbed silently, wrapped the foot in loose cotton bandage, then set her foot down on top of my own to keep it off the floor. Cupping the back of her knee I pulled the left leg onto my lap and started the process again.

"How would we find a support network? Are you meaning a coven or something?"

Liz shook her head, back to gritting her teeth against the sting.

"I think we're going to end up getting you to a hospital, by the way. I'll carry you to the car after this foot is cleaned and wrapped."

"I don't want to go anywhere," she snapped without hesitation.

"Liz, come on. There's only so much I can do with a first aid kit and this is worse than I expected." I glanced down. Pink was blossoming through the white bandages.

She grabbed my face and forced me to look her in the eye. "I don't want to leave this house until that thing is gone," she barked. This was the first time I had ever heard her sound aggressive.

I held her gaze firm while I searched my mind for a potential compromise.

"Fine. But you're not moving. I'm going to finish wrapping this, then I'll bring a folding table to you as a makeshift altar. I'll bring you whatever supplies you need from there. If the bleeding gets worse or it takes longer than one hour I’m calling an ambulance, period." I did my best to mimic the face she made at me when I used to overwork myself in grad school.

It was clear that she wanted to push back, but eventually nodded in assent.

“And,” I continued, “the second it’s gone we’re going to the hospital.”

“Okay, I’ll agree to that. Now go get me that table. Do you know where the matches are?”

Despite the circumstances, part of me wanted to smile. Instead I pressed a kiss to her forehead and took off.

The table I had in mind held the humidifier in our bedroom at the end of the hallway. I disassembled the setup as quickly as possible, grabbed a few ingredients and tools that I could safely carry, and strode back out down the hall.

Except that after three steps I stopped dead in my tracks, heart stilled.

A frayed length of twine twitched faintly along the baseboard as it was pulled down the hall, out of the bathroom and into the kitchen.

"ELIZA!!"

I dropped everything and ran, my beloved's harrowing scream slicing through my psyche. There was a string of commotions right before I got to the end of the hall where Eliza was once again in sight.

She had tried to get up and run but the bandages on her feet paired with the glass I still hadn't fucking cleaned up led to a nasty fall, leaving her whimpering on the floor. Blood welled and poured from a cut through her eyebrow where she hit her head, and a tinge of red along her silhouette hinted to the crust of glass shards digging into her skin everywhere it touched the tile.

"Eliza, I–"

"Careful!" she choked out.

I moved to her despite her command.

"Vic," she insisted, then silently pointed toward the ceiling using only her eyes.

At that moment I heard a shuffle from up on the counter as a box of silverware was pushed off the edge and tumbled down onto Eliza. She'd been able to cover her head and face, and thankfully the knives weren't in there anyway, but the thud of the box against her body was still sickening.

I growled under my breath and charged the kitchen, aiming first to pick Eliza up off the ground and lock her away behind some door, any door. Cradling her against me caused her pain and I hated it but I held her and ran to the bedroom anyway.

I'd planned to take her all the way to the bed and lay her down there but halfway down the hall we heard a tiny laugh following us. "Just put me down here," she demanded as soon as we got to the doorway, "and don't you fucking dare lock yourself out there with it."

I wanted to be proactive, to extinguish the little whatever-the-hell-it-was myself, but I recognized that Eliza was right; it made more sense for me to be in the bedroom with her.

In a burning whisper, she said, "Vic, I need you to cast the circle with me this time. I need your energy."

"Alright, whatever you need, but first let me help you lie down," I replied, balancing gentleness and urgency with everything I could. "Stay on your right side–are you able to prop your head up on your elbow?"

"Yes, now sit next to me, Victor."

I did as she said, and closed my eyes to start the process she taught me years ago: Deep breaths, visualize a bright golden light forming a sphere of protection around us.

The door started to rattle.

"Ignore it!"

"How the fuck am I supposed to ignore that, Eliza?!"

 "Focus on me, on us. Our circle cannot be golden light this time, understand? It has to be black. You have to envision a solid black barrier coating the inside of this room, as dark and unwavering as you can." The rattling intensified. "I need you to concentrate on this, Victor. Whatever it's doing…" she trailed off, pain finally catching up to her. 

"Whatever it's doing, it will continue. We have to protect ourselves. I'm going to rely on you heavily for this." 

She bore her eyes into mine as though she could give me a perfect plan to save us if only I could read her mind.

"Close your eyes and keep our guard up. Do not stop until I tell you we're safe. I love you."

She pulled my face down to hers and kissed me for what my worst nightmares told me would be one last time.

I got to work.

After just a few seconds the rattling became an impossible buzzing that grew, expanded, and deepened, until it seemed like Liz and I were sitting in the middle of a biblical cicada swarm.

Abruptly, silence.

"Not. Yet," Liz ground out, squeezing my arm for emphasis. I steeled myself and built our barrier thicker.

"Stay here, don't stop. I'll be okay as long as you keep the barrier up." She wheezed, then continued, "I have a plan."

My gut twisted, but I had no choice but to trust her. The place on my arm where she'd gripped me felt colder than it should have. I did as she instructed and kept my eyes shut.

From a few yards away I heard cardboard slide against cardboard, followed by muffled rustling, and finally a slight rattling–different from before. This rattling came from a box of matches that I knew Eliza was clutching as I heard her pull herself to standing.

She stumbled across the floor. Each step was agony for us both because every nerve in my body was electrified by the fact that she was in danger and out of arm's reach.

A deep snap sound came from the other side of the door. Then again, and again–it was chipping pieces of the door off from the bottom.

Schhtk!

Sulfur.

Smoke.

"You should've stayed gone, you little creep!"

I heard a ghastly screech on the other side of the door as the fire alarm blared overhead.

"Drop the barrier and get through the window, Vic! Now!"

***

I relive this string of events in vivid detail as I'm sitting here now, watching Liz sleep softly in her hospital bed.

We told the police there'd been an accident. We said that one of her altar candles fell over during meditation and we didn't catch it quick enough. We were just so exhausted from the move. Everything burned. Some things–physical things–burned up, or were scorched; other things… other things were burned into us.