Witches Union 106

It was one of those deceptive days, the sky was clear with a soft blue hue. The sun shone brightly; a few golden leaves fluttered back and forth, still clinging to the tree it used to feed. The wind and ambient temperature did not get the same memo. The cold bit your cheeks and nose as soon as you stepped outside, letting you know that winter was still coming, and the Indian summer day yesterday, was just another of Mother Nature's jokes.

              She pulled the lapels of her jacket up and held them over her mouth and nose as she made her way from the parking lot to the courthouse across the street. Her shoulder hunched over as if to push against the wind. She stopped in the cluster of people at the front door to the courthouse. Each waited their turn to empty their pockets of all metal objects, walk through the scanner, and then retrieve their pocket items before they were able to continue to the interior of the courthouse. At least it would be a little warmer as you fished all the metal out of your pockets and stepped through the scanner.

“Are you okay?” A girl beside her asked as they waited outside. The question startled Fay.

“What?” She looked at the girl, “What did you say?”

“I asked if you were nervous, or just cold, your fingers seem to be tap dancing against themselves.”

Fay shook her fingers and then buried them in her coat pocket. “Yes, a little nervous, today.”

“I’m sure it will be okay.” The girl said with an innocent smile. The girl couldn’t have been much older than Denise would have been. The girl had her jet-black hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, with pale grey eyes framed by a pale face. She was wearing a long black coat button to the top, save the final top button.

“Yes, I am sure it will be fine. I just like talking in front of a crowd” Fay said trying to smile and the mantra she had been reciting to herself since last night continued to run in her mind.

“When my dad coached me for the debate team, he always said, don’t talk to a crowd, pick one person out and speak directly to them.”

              As the crowd surged forward nudging for the next spot in the line the girl and Fay became separated. Once inside Fay inhaled the warm air and tried to relax, as she followed the others through the security checkpoint and toward the elevators. Once on the seventh floor, Fay walked to the courtroom designated as 7B. Two officers stood at the entrance doors talking to each person as they entered. Fay told one of the officers who she was. The office told her to follow him. He led her inside and up the main aisle to the second row of seats, behind the prosecutors’ table and directed her to sit there.

              Fay recognized a few of the people in the same row and the row in front of her as the family members of other victims. She nodded to several of them as she removed her jacket, her shoulder still hunched forward, and then sat back down. As she gazed around the courtroom, it was full. Across the aisle were several girls wearing t-shirts that read FREE TARA FOR EVERY. Other than the white t-shirts, everything they had on was black including their hair. Other spectators and news crews milled about and whispered. Behind her two news reporters were discussing the case.

              “My producer wants me to include the old witch trials in Salem.” The report told the younger-looking male reporter.

              “Same here. Do you think we could find a carnival dunking tank and do the report from there?” The male said they both tried to stifle their laughs.

              Hearing this, Fay turned back around and focused on her mantra, while her fingers danced against each other.

              A loud clunk from the door by the defense attorneys’ table silenced the crowd as the door opened, two large deputies came through followed by her. The news had dubbed her the “Witch of the West” after a third ritualistic killing were all linked to one killer. The Witch of the West would kill six more before police were able to identify her as Tara McNeal arrest her and bring her to justice. When Tara was first arrested, she looked powerful, tall, thin, and sporting a full head of jet-black hair. She was extremely defiant, proclaiming her innocence to every camera and video feed she could. Her coven, as they called themselves, also claimed her innocence, holding rallies and ceremonies, to show their support for their high Priestess. Wicca was quick to denounce that Tara was a high priestess or even a member of their organization.

              After being in jail for more than two years waiting for the trial to start had taken its toll on Tara. Her hair looked flat and greasy, no longer the full bright black, her skin had taken on an almost jaundiced paleness. She held her head up and looked at all the people who had come to support her. She did not look at any of the family members.

“Now that is what I picture a witch looking like.” The male reporter behind Fay whispered to his station counterpart.

Two more deputies followed behind her and directed her to the seat next to her lawyer. Her lawyer leaned over to speak to her.

Everyone stood when the judge walked into the room and took his seat behind the tall bench.

“Please be seated. We are here today to give the family members a chance to speak. I ask that the family members stay behind the lectern and not approach Ms. McNeal. I have the names of six family members who would like to speak. As previously discussed with the attorneys we will go in order that they were murdered. I will let everyone in attendance, I will not stand for any outbursts of any kind. If you are unable or unwilling to contain yourself, I will ask the officers to remove you.” The judge paused and gave a stern look to everyone, to ensure they understood his rules. “Mrs. Penniford pleas come forward.”

Mrs. Penniford, whose daughter was determined to be the first victim of Tara eight years ago.

Mrs. Penniford made her way to the lectern and first thanked the judge. Then turned toward Tara.

“Ms. McNeal, you are no high priestess, you are nothing, but the leader of Witches Union 106 followed by lost little girls you have conned. It is my hope and dreams that you are forgotten quickly and die a slow painful death alone in your cell.” Mrs. Penniford took a deep breath. “I no longer will waste my breath speaking to or about you. Thank you, your honor.” She then turned and walked away.

Then the next four family member took their turn, some spoke of wishing her dead, or getting beat up in jail. Fay noticed that Tara did not bother to look at any of the people speaking instead just look straight ahead.

              Then came the time for Fay to speak, she rose and walked to the lectern, she, like the others, thanked the judge. Then turned her attention to Tara. “Thou silver deity of the secret night that once provided the light for you to rule under will now change, No longer will you have your minions to do your tendering. Now it will be a cruel dull reflective orb that chases the sun around the Earth, with you in your small cell. Going forward your nights will be full,” Fay paused and motioned to the other family members sitting in the gallery. “As all of ours have been, full of loss, sorrow, and heartache.” Fay paused and took a deep breath before continuing. “And pain. A pain that is not just mental but physical too.” She stepped back from the lectern, and moved her fingers, as she had been doing all morning, she closed her eyes, raised her arms above her head, and took a deep breath. She brought her arms down in a large arch. When she opened her eyes, she looked deep into Tara’s eyes and spoke.

“Tá sé seo ceangailte leat don chuid eile de do shaol”

Tara, who had been stoic during the other family statements gasped audibly, her mouth hung open, and her eyes went as wide as dinner plates. Tara leaned into her lawyer's ear and gestured with her arms as she spoke to him.

Fay turned toward the judge before speaking again. “Your honor, I hope you see it in your heart to spare Tara’s life and let her live the rest of her days behind bars. In my opinion, it would be better to see how captivity brings her true personality to the surface. Thank you for your time.” When Fay turned to return to her seat, she turned towards the district attorney and gave her back to Tara. Shoulders, back and head held high.

“That concludes the family statements, I will break now and return after lunch to impose sentencing.” He banged his gavel and stood up.

“Your honor, could we speak in chambers?” Tara’s attorney asked.

The judge looked at the attorney and then at Tara. Tara was not looking at either of them, but at Fay with a mixture of hate and fear.

“Very well.” He replied. The district attorney followed the defense attorney past the judge's bench towards his office.

              Everyone shuffled out of the courtroom, most gathered in groups. The family members gathered around Tara and asked what she had said to Tara. Fay began to tell them when the bailiff tapped her on the shoulder and asked her to come back to the judge's chambers.

              Inside the judge’s chambers, Fay was greeted by the judge, both attorneys and the court reporter.

“Ms. Crowly” the judge began with a smile. “Ms. NcNeal believes you put a spell on her in the courtroom during your statement.

“You also make had jesters to summon the curse you put on my client.” Mr. Atwood spoke up. The judge raised his hand to silence him.

“Mrs. Crowly, did you or did you not put a curse on Ms. McNeal?”

“Your honor, I did not put any curse on Ms. McNeal.”

“You spoke in tongue, what did you say?” asked Mr. Atwood curtly.

“I told her what my grandmother used to tell me as a child when I did something wrong. ‘This is attached to you for the remainder of your life.’ As far as speaking in tongue, that is Galic, the language of my Irish grandmother.”

Mr. Farrell, the district attorney, then spoke up. “I don’t think that qualifies as a spell, curse, or hex, your honor.”

“I am inclined to agree. Mr. Atwood, I do not see this as a spell, if your client took it that way that is on her.”

An hour later the judge sentenced the Witch of the West to six life terms in prison with no possibility of parole.

              That night, lying in her prison cot, Tara was left to her thoughts. Her mind raced on how to appeal her conviction. A loud click sounded, and all the lights went out. She shut her eyes and laid back to sleep.

              Her mind would not let go of the fact that that bitch in court put a curse on her in court today. She struggled with the language used; she had never heard it before, and her overcharging attorney could tell her it was from her grandmother. She would wait and look through the transcripts to find out what was said so she could reverse it.

              Tara tried to roll over but could only turn her shoulders a few inches. She raised her arms up but, they too only a few inches until her fingers felt something soft and silky. Opening her eyes she was enveloped, the light over her metal toilet was out, sitting up, her head hit the same silky softness her finger had felt, above her head.

“Guard” she cried out. Her voice was muffled sounding as if she were screaming into a pillow. She shut her eyes again, at least she thinks she did, everything looked the same, eyes open or closed. Then screamed again for the guard.

              Tara screamed and thrashed about but was unable to free herself, unable to sit up or even call for the guard. She continued to scream and thrash about for what seemed like an hour, to no avail. Laying there trying to think of what to do next she felt the first tickle of insect feet scamper across her ankle, this was followed by one across her cheek. This prompted another round of thrashing. Sweaty and exhausted, Tara lay still in her trap. Breathing heavily, she suddenly felt the cold breeze roll across her body, just as she began to shiver, she felt countless more feet crawling across her body.

Thus began the first sleepless night for the rest of Tara’s life.