Her Greatest Fear, Herself

Katherine shivers as she gets out of her car and immediately feels a gust of cold wind. She only stopped her car because of the human shaped ball of bright blue fire that she noticed travelling in her rearview mirror, seemingly consuming the entire road behind her in its wake. It was fire, it had to be. It makes absolutely no sense, but it’s the only explanation. She doesn’t know why she’s getting out of her car – everything in her body is screaming at her that it’s a terrible idea, she’s alone, a person on fire has been chasing her for several miles, and it’s somehow snowing in August.

As she steps out of the car, she’s entirely too aware of exactly how alone she is, and she grabs a shawl from the front seat before slamming the door, pulling it tightly around her. Her hands are dry and chapped from washing them constantly, and the cold air stings them. Her long fingers are wrapped around the paper cup filled with coffee that used to be hot. She doesn’t know if she’s grasping it for warmth, comfort, or strength. Although she was hot in her jeans and t-shirt when she left work at the café half an hour ago, she’s freezing now. Somehow, she knows exactly where she is, but at the same time, has absolutely no idea.

This looks exactly like the cornfield and set of barns where she sells coffee once a month for an ongoing craft fair. She can even sort of see the barns through all the fog. She’s parked exactly where she parks her car every month and unloads a tent, tables, and all of her coffee supplies. Somehow, though, it’s nothing like the field she’s used to. For one thing, it’s three o’clock on an August afternoon, and the fog is thick and dense. It was 95 degrees less than half an hour ago, and now it barely feels above freezing. For another, everything is too still. Despite the cold wind whipping around her, tangling her hair in itself and stinging her eyes and hands, there is no movement in the field around her. The corn stalks are perfectly still, the tree branches aren’t moving. She can’t hear any birds or squirrels or bees or any other creatures. She is completely, utterly, profoundly alone.

Almost.

Katherine takes a deep breath and prays to the gods she’s not even sure she believes in that whatever this fire person is, it isn’t dangerous. She turns around slowly, squeezing her eyes shut, clutching her shawl with one hand and her coffee cup with another. Every instinct in her body is telling her to throw the coffee cup in the general direction of the fire human, but her brain is screaming at her, telling her that’s an absolutely horrible idea and she should keep the coffee safely in her own clutches. Once she’s turned around, facing the general direction of the fire, she slowly opens her eyes.

The fire has stopped moving, and she finds herself standing in front of a very tall, very human-shaped, frighteningly still wall of fire. She’s awestruck. Her mouth hangs open, and her hands release their death grips. The first movement she’s noticed since she left her car is her cup and shawl falling to the ground.

“Katherine,” the fire wheezes, its voice ancient.

Katherine finds herself still unable to move or talk, still gaping at

the fire.

“Katherine,” it wheezes again. No, she wheezes, Katherine realizes.

The fire is a she, without a doubt. “I know you. I see you.”

Katherine takes an involuntary step backwards this time, tripping in a hole and falling backwards.

“Katherine,” the wheeze repeats, gliding closer to where Katherine now lays. “I know you. I see you. I am you.”

Katherine opens her mouth to speak, still laying on the ground, with absolutely no idea what is going to come out of her mouth.

“What the FUCK.”

Well, that’s certainly not what she thought she was going to say, but it definitely captures how she’s feeling.

“Katherine. Do you know who I am? Do you know what I am?”

Her sudden bravery gone, Katherine shakes her head hesitantly, tears stinging her eyes. Her ankle hurts, and she reckons she twisted it when she tripped in the hole. She’s cold. She’s confused. But most of all, she’s very, very scared. She supposes she should be scared because a giant wall of vaguely lady-shaped fire is talking to her, but that’s not what scares her.

No.

What scares her is that the fire lady already told Katherine who she is, confirming what Katherine had somehow, instinctively known. The fire is Katherine. Katherine is the fire. The fire lady is going to make Katherine her biggest fear, a fear that Katherine can’t even admit to herself that she has.

Katherine is going to have to face herself.

“You know me. You see me every day when you look in the mirror. I am the part of you that you cannot forget about. I am the part of you that you cannot kill, no matter how hard you try. Katherine. Katherine Jane Russell. I am you, and you are me.” With every word, the fire’s voice wheezes less. With every word, the fire grows more powerful and more indignant, glowing an almost pure white when Katherine’s full name is given.

Suddenly, memories slam Katherine, her head spinning so fast that she’s dizzy. Memories of a Katherine that she used to be, a Katherine from nearly four hundred years ago. She rolls over, vomiting into the corn, as the memories continue to flood back.

~

           “It’s her,” Katherine whispers hoarsely, “she’s the witch.” She points an accusatory finger at her best friend and lover, Elizabeth. “She made me do it, her witchcraft caused me to stumble in lust.” Elizabeth looks at Katherine for the first time since they were interrupted in their passion, and Katherine feels the heartbreak and betrayal in her eyes. Katherine, though, can’t bring herself to make eye contact back, afraid that the wall she quickly built around her heart will break. Her brother puts a hand on her shoulder, telling her that she’s done well and that her soon to be husband will be proud of her. Her soon to be husband. That word is like lead in her stomach, especially paired with her current sins. She knows what’s going to happen to Elizabeth, knows that she’s going to be killed. There will be a trial, but it will hardly be a fair one. Katherine has pointed the finger, and Katherine’s word will be believed. She’s the youngest daughter of the richest man in the village, betrothed to the colony’s magistrate. She’s to make a beautiful bride for the older man, expected to give him a large family. Yes, Katherine will be believed. She may as well have tied the noose around Elizabeth’s neck herself.

           After the farce of a trial, and the sham of the wedding, Katherine stands perfectly still as her new husband asks Elizabeth the Witch for any last words.

           “You’ll always know what you did to me, Katherine Jane, and one day, you will have to face yourself.”

~

 For four hundred years, a baby girl has been named Katherine Jane on the same day that another Katherine Jane has died. That Katherine has always been afraid of fire, intensely interested in witch trials, and has barely been able to look herself in the mirror. Although she never knew why, she suddenly understands why she has memories of this cornfield for hundreds of years, why she has always felt an intense connection to this exact spot.

Four hundred years ago, to the day, Katherine Jane stood in this spot with her husband, watching as her husband executed her best friend and lover. This cornfield, where she first built her successful business, used to be an execution ground for witches and treasonists, and Katherine stood right where she is now, having effectively murdered the love of her life in order to protect her own reputation.

~

Katherine had always believed in reincarnation, believed that she would be born again, given the chance to either right her wrongs or be punished for them. She anticipated a future version of herself being haunted by an unsettled ghost or spirit of Elizabeth. What she didn’t anticipate, however, was that Elizabeth would be at peace. Elizabeth was so much braver, so much smarter, so much kinder, than Katherine. Elizabeth knew that her love for women would be the death of her someday, she just hadn’t expected the woman she loved to cause the death. Elizabeth had forgiven Katherine long before Katherine had ever even pointed the finger at Elizabeth.

           What Katherine failed to realize, even on her deathbed, having lived to old age, being surrounded by her children, her children’s children, and her children’s children’s children, was that she was the unsettled, angry spirit. As she began to slip away, she realized that it wasn’t Elizabeth who would never forgive her, but herself. She died as she lived – terrified of herself and the unspeakable actions that she was capable of.