Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 2.  Tea, cookies and local legends

   JIM

   "My mom says it's this figure that's calling out to them.  It wants to
know everyone arriving here, whether they're staying or just passing by."

   Jim looked at his companion again.  She looked like any ordinary girl
her age, but...  There was something off about her.  Not her behavior.  Her
words.  How plainly she discussed this rather unusual matter.

   "Why does she even say things like that?  Who is she?"

   "You can say...  She's a witch."

   Oh no, thought Jim.  Another crazy Wiccan babbling about energies,
sacred feminine and casting spells.

   "I think...", he wanted to say that he thinks she's crazy, that they are
both crazy, but instead he said:

   "...  I think there are no witches.  There are women who think they
are."

   He was angry.  Why did his mother decided to leave the city and move to
this madhouse in the middle of the rural New England?

   Jim turned around and began his walk back home.

   Home...

   Home was something he left behind.

   This was not home.  It was just a station on the journey.

   He approached the misty woods and realized that he barely knew how he
got here.

   Jim froze for a second.

   "Where are you going?"

   "Home", he said, without bothering to face Anna.

   "I'll walk you home.  You could get lost in those woods."

   He neither approved nor opposed.

   As they went down in silence through the dark wood, the fog began to
lift.  Eventually, they saw a road through the trees, and Walson's colonial
architecture.

   This was the part of the town Jim was already familiar with from his
stroll.  He looked to his side and saw that his silent companion was still
there.

   They passed by the abandoned church and reached the junction.  Jim
turned to the right, where he remembered his new home was.

   He looked at his companion.  She was still at his side.  Was she going
to follow him home?

   "Look...", he said, but he was interrupted.

   "This is me", said Anna, pointing at the house almost opposite of his.

   Jim recognized it.

   It was where he saw the smiling woman.

   So the creepy gal was Anna's mother.  And a self-styled witch.

   That was really comforting.

   He pushed the door open.

   "Mom?"

   Silence swallowed his words.

   "Mom?"

   "I'm here!", she replied from upstairs.

   She strode out of the improvised study, a bit sweaty but glowing, as
though she was through one of her workouts that, she claimed, kept her in
shape.

   "How was the walk?", she asked.

   "This town", he started, "It is...  The people here are completely
crazy."

   "Don't say that", she replied, "This is the country.  You can't judge
the locals by the urban standards."

   He nodded.

   "How long are we going to stay here?", he asked though he knew the
answer.

   "For as long as I need to kindle my creative spark."

   This could have meant forever.

   Jim just nodded and went back to his room.

   It was still slightly spartan - their things were to arrive later on
this week.

   He sat on his bed, at loss as to what to do.  And then he recalled the
book.

   Jim wasn't an avid reader.  Neither he was into religion or metaphysics,
and the book, it seemed, was all about that.

   But this was not an ordinary situation, nor an ordinary place, and Jim
wasn't his ordinary self either.  We are shaped by the circumstances,
whether we like it or not.  And so Jim went to the cupboard and reached for
the book.

   "I won't invoke the Merciful, as other Scholars do, for I have learneth
of His nature.  I have learneth the secrets of Creation, and the secret of
Creation is that it is not Creation, and that whom we call the Creator is
not who He claims to be.  Seeker of Truth, if Thou dost afraid of learning
it, close this Booke, for the Secrets it contains won't bring Thou Solace
but Despair.  If Thou arth brave, if thou arth willing to cast away the
Chains that bind Thou to the old Beliefs, read on, and perhaps learning the
Secrets will bring you Release from thy Bondage."

   So this is what Melanie was reading before she left for other
continents? Were all the locals members of some crazy cult?  At this moment
all seemed possible.

   Just at this moment, there was a knock at the door.

   "May I come in?", asked his mother.

   There was elation in her voice.

   KATE

   "How was the walk?"

   Jim, she noticed, was absent-minded, as though he just saw something
disturbing.

   "This town...  It is...  The people here are completely crazy."

   Very disturbing.

   "Don't say that", she decided she needs to cheer him on, "This is the
country.  You can judge the locals by the urban standards."

   All she got from him was an apathetic nod.

   "How long are we going to stay here?", he asked, a faint hope that the
life they led previously was going to come back.

   "For as long as I need to kindle my creative spark.", Kate knew that
this answer was dismissive, but she was unable to come up with anything
better.

   The boy nodded and went upstairs.

   He'll have to take time to adjust, but eventually...  Kate tried to
cheer herself with those thoughts, but inwardly she felt guilty about
moving there, and about making him come with her to this backwater town. 
But it was just for half a year, she thought, and then...  They didn't even
sell their old flat, they could always move back in.

   As she was about to lose herself in those troubled thoughts a doorbell
rang.

   Kate hesitated before answering, then scolded herself for her habits. 
It wasn't the city anymore.  It was a cosy, homely, if a bit desolate town
where her friend has lived for years without any harm.

   She opened the foor, not without hesitation.  At first she was reluctant
to widen the space between the door and the frame for more than a slit, and
through this slit she saw a tall woman, about her age, dressed all in
black.

   "Katheryn Whitehouse?", she asked.

   Kate nodded.

   "You seem surprised that I know your name", the woman smiled, "Melanie
spoke at volumes about you, mostly good things.  May I come in?"

   Kate opened the door a little wider.

   "Yes, sure."

   The woman stepped in as though she already knew this place...  Of course
she did.  She and Melanie knew each other.

   "I can see you haven't make yourself at home yet", she concluded, "How
long are you going to stay?"

   "I don't know", this time she gave an honest answer, "May I know your
name?"

   "Of course, how rude of me", Kate didn't know if the woman was genuine
or mocking her, "Sharon Moore.  I'm your neighbor."

   They shook hands.

   "So", Sharon took a deep breath, "How do you like Walson?"

   "Oh", Kate squinted, "I think it's great"

   There was a muffled giggle from Sharon, as though she recognized the
white lie and didn't even try to conceal it.

   "I'm afraid that you might find it a bit desolate", said Sharon, "But
believe me, in no time you'll SOAK in its atmosphere."

   "Speaking of atmosphere", Kate seized on the sudden opportunity, "Do you
know about the thing the people call the Lady?"

   Sharon stared at her intensely.  Did she say anything wrong?

   "Of course I do", she eventually said, "She's a part of the local... 
legendry."

   "Don't get me wrong, I'm just...  looking for an inspiration."

   "The history of the Lady of the Woods, or, as we say, the Lady, is a
fascinating subject.  Why won't you come over to my place this evening?  We
could talk at length about the local legends, and, oh..."

   "What is it?"

   "Melanie mentioned that you have a son.  Did he come with you?"

   "He's only sixteen.  I wouldn't leave him alone in a big city."

   "Bring him along.  I think he might find the story as interesting as you
would."

   She pointed at the old-fasioned house standing almost opposite of Kates.

   "In case you're wondering, this is where I live.  We'll be ready at
seven with tea and cookies and some really...  inspiring stories."

   "We?"

   "Me and my daughter."

   Sharon turned around and left without saying goodbye, and without giving
Kate a chance to say it.

   Kate closed the door.  So Walson wasn't the ghost town it originally
appeared to be.  It had friendly, albeit eccentric locals, and it had its
own lore.  Suddenly the prospect of finding an inspiration for her next
novel was within reach, and the move to Walson was no longer a mistake.

   "So, we've got the occult", she thought, "Now we need to spice it with
the erotic to make it sellable."

   Ancient cult?  Orgiastic ceremonies?  Human sacrifices?

   Perhaps the stories of the evening will get her creative juices flowing.

   She knocked on Jim's door.

   "Honey?", she said, "I've got good news.  We're having a party this
evening."

   JIM

   Calling the event a "party" was an overstatement.  It was clear that,
when she called it this way, his mother wanted to make him feel at home in
the place where he felt alien.

   Instead of booze, there was plain, old tea.  Instead of sausages, the
cookies.

   Sharon's house was quite homely in spite of being filled with various
bizzarre paraphenalia: occult art, oriental figurines, bells to ward off
the bad feng-shui, incense.  But her living room had a TV and Jim suspected
that when lady witch runs wants to do shopping and doesn't feel like
driving to the mall she buys what she needs online rather than conjuring
it.

   Just like their own new home, this one had a hearth.  Perhaps it was
customary among inhabitants of Walson.

   When they stepped in, Anna greeted Jim as if they knew each other for a
long time.  Kate was surprised they knew each other at all.  Now Anna was
serving the cookies, while Sharon was serving the stories.

   Jim's mind wandered as his mother engaged in small-talk with their host.
Anna drifted in and out of the living room, taking away the dirty dishes
and bringing fresh cookies and tea, with enigmatic smile, ghostlike in her
silenc

   "...  the first settlers came here in seventeen-forties", Sharon said,
"And found that the Indians avoided it.  They were afraid, they said, of
Metikwakani Ekwewa."

   The boy looked at his mother.  She seemed spellbound by the tale.

   "Meti-kwa...", she tried to repeat.

   "Metikwakani Ekwewa, the Wooden Lady.  They were afraid of both Her and
Her worshipers.  But the settlers laughed at what they thought to be pagan
superstitions.  They found the land bountiful and uninhabited, but for the
group of degenerate Algonquins who gathered about the wooden totem.  Those
of the Indians who left said it appeared out of the blue one day and began
to spread corruption accross the land.  Only the worst of them were tempted
to stay and honor the totem with human sacrifices."

   Sharon paused to take a sip of the tea.

   "The worshipers of the Wooden Lady would raid the villages and
encampments of the surrounding tribes.  The Lady mostly coveted women and
young girls, but she accepted comely boys and men.  The victim would be
stripped naked and bound to the totem for the night.  In the morning the
she would be gone.  Those who were brave or stupid enough to stay the night
at the accursed meadow said that a shadow emerged from the darkness and
took her.  But what really happened, nobody knew."

   Anna sat in the corner, quiet, still wearing her enigmatic smile.  She
listened intently to the tale, even though it was obvious she heard it
numerous times already.

   Kate looked at her son, troubled by the mention of nudity, but Sharon
went on, unfazed.

   "The Walson family was the first to arrive.  At first they wanted no
troubles with the Indian tribe, but when the natives tried to kidnap John
Walson's beautful teenage daughter, he enlisted the help of the other
settlers and together they killed the worshippers of Metikwakani.  Then,
when they tried to burn the effigy, something strange happened - it seemed
impervious to fire, bullet and ax.  Walson's companions were terrified and
left, but not John.  He remained in the otherwise hospitable land and
thrived for another three years.  Then..."

   Sharon took another sip.  It was a calculated pause, meant to build up
the tension.  Now all of her listeners were spellbound, Jim included.

   "John kept Metikwakani a secret.  Others came to settle and, with the
Algonquin worshipers gone, the worst seemed to be over.  But this was not
the case.

   John's daughter, Sheryl, turned seventeen.  She was beautiful and
coveted by a number of young men.  It seemed she had a happy life in before
her - until, one night, she was gone.

   She appeared troubled and distant already the day before.  Elliot Cox, a
young man and the son of Jeffery Cox, the farmer who had settled nearby,
said that he saw her on her way to the effigy.  He called after her but she
ignored him, as if she was in a trance.  Furthermore, she discarded her
clothing as she went, one article after another, until she stood naked
before the effigy.  Then, he said, a hole opened in the air, a shadow came
out and took Sheryl with it.

   Nobody believed his tale.  The discarded clothing seemed to speak for
itself.  The people didn't wait for the court to settle the case; they
judged the man guilty of rape and murder and hanged him.  There was only
one detail that bothered them, after the justice was meted for Sheryl: the
girls' body was never found.

   More and more people came.  The town was founded, named after John
Walson, the first settler.  It seemed to prosper, but the presence of
Metikwakani hovered in the background.  It was said that those who lived
here developed strange appetites.  There were rumors of incest and even
worse deviations being practiced behind closed doors.  And there were
disappearances.  But both seemed to be diminishing with time.  By the
second half of the twentieth century all of this was already regarded as
superstition, until, one summer evening of 2006, a group of teens decided
to camp near the effigy.

   It was meant to be an adventure, the night spent near the cursed totem.
You can imagine those kids, headed for the meadow, fresh-faced, perhaps a
little curious, perhaps a little frightened, no doubt excited.  Looking
forward to an interesting night and then coming back home to their families
and to the comforts of the modern life.

   Theo Cook, aged sixteen.  Matteo Clemons, his peer.  Harrison Edwards,
seventeen.  Grace Stevens, sixteen.  Hattie Ratliff, fifteen.  Jessica
Hayes, sixteen.

   Some said they heard the screams.  Others said the night was silent. 
But the kids didn't come home the next day.  A searching party, assembled
by the troubled parents and their friends, didn't have to try hard to find
what remained of them.  Tattered clothing and underwear that seemed to have
been torn from their bodies.  Their tents were destroyed.

   As hard as they tried, however, they could not find the bodies.

   Walson changed after this event.  Many people left.  Those who remained
became aware of the presence in the woods, emanating from the figure.  Some
said that the teens' expedition to the meadow had re-awakened the evil that
has slumbered for at least a hundred years.  That it re-awakened the Lady
of the Woods."

   This explained why the town was so empty.

   "What about Melanie?", asked Kate quietly, "She never told me about the
local...  legends."

   Sharon took another calculated sip of tea.  It was her ability to pause
at the right moments that made her tales so captivating, thought Jim.

   "Melanie was among those who came here after 2006", she said, "It seemed
she had some kind of agenda.  Nodoby really knew what was her profession."

   "She was a writer", said Kate, "That's how we met...  On the writers
forum.  Then we made it to Facebook and..."

   Jim looked at his mother.  She seemed embarrassed and troubled.

   "Melanie never told me about any of this", she eventually said.

   "Perhaps she was a writer", said Sharon, "She always seemed to have
money.  Also, she spent plenty of time on the meadow.  Nobody knew what she
did up there.  This alone was strange, for after the incident of 2006
everyone steered away from the totem, especially at night.  Then, she was
visited by people from outside of the town.  When they came, the lights in
her house were burning until late at night.  By the time she established
her presence in Walson it was almost certain that everything she had told
about herself was a lie.

   Whatever her efforts were geared at, they obviously failed.  Hers and a
few other people that joined her after the incident.  One by one, they
left. Melanie was the last."

   Sharon put down her cup of tea.

   "You said she was 'among those' who came here", said Kate, "Who were
they?"

   "They were a bunch", said Sharon, "Thrill-seekers.  Adventurers.  And a
few that seemed to be of the Melanie's circle.  These stayed here for the
longest."

   Jim began to digest what he heard.  A chilling thought crept into his
mind: they weren't invited here.  They were brought here.  Brought to
finish what Melanie and her strange 'friends' had started.
This explained the strange dreams, the emptiness of the town, his own

trancelike walk towards the effigy.

   "Did you find the story inspiring?", Sharon asked Kate with an ironic
smile.

   Kate nodded.

   "Indeed", she said.

   She took a sip of the tea.  A nervous sip, Jim noticed.

   There was something that Sharon was hiding from them, he decided. 
Nothing in this town was what it seemed, and nobody could be trusted.

   "There's a problem with this tale", said Kate, her voice slightly
shaking, "I don't feel any woodland presence."

   "Oh", Sharon bared her teeth in a smile that Jim recognized from earlier
this day, "I didn't mean to intimidate you."

   *

   The sun was rising over the distant mountains as the group of people
made their way throught the narrow passage.  Jim could only guess who they
were - but the impression was that they were refugees, perhaps from some
kind of war of catastrophe.

   The area they were moving through looked oriental.  Was it Himalayas? 
The people looked oriental as well - dark-skinned, with Indian or Tibetan
features, just like...

   Melanie.

   It suddenly struck Jim - they were Melanie's people.

   There were seven of them.  A bearded man who led the way.  Two hardy men
in their teens.  Four women and girls, the oldest being, by the look of
her, twenty-five, the youngest about thirteen.  They were pretty, thought
Jim, much prettier than European women.

   But what was he doing here?  Where he was?

   He was fast asleep, he realized.  His body was sleeping in Walson.  His
mind, on the other hand, was being shown something, a scene from a distant
place and time.

   The refugees moved fast.  There was, in their eyes, a terrible fright.
The men and boys bore swords.

   At one point the eldest man pointed at something in the distance.  The
end of the passage.  Salvation.

   The eyes of his companions widened in jubilation.  Whatever their
tribulation was, it was about to be over.

   The passage opened into the valley, where the now-cheerful group has
went into.  As they moved forward, their cheer was slowly fading, until it
was replaced with sheer terror.

   A column of riders stood on their way, barring it.  The riders were
tall, clad in black armor.  Their raised spears glistened in the rays of
the morning sun.  The rider that stood on the head of the column was a
female; instead of armor, she wore red silk.

   She appeared to be only twenty-five, but the malice and cold in her eyes
seemed ancient.  Long, black, shiny hair fell on her shoulders.

   For one, terrifying moment the two groups stood facing each other - the
refugees frozen in terror, the riders motionless in their silent, menacing
posture.

   At once the woman issued a single order, and her riders moved on and
circled the escapees.  The boys raised their swords, only to be cut down
where they stood.  Their dying screams terrified Jim, who, like almost
every American teen was not accustomed to sight of death.  He wasn't
accustomed to the sight of blood either; but whoever was presenting the
scene to him made sure he wasn't spared any of the gory details.

   Only the eldest man and the women were left alive.  The woman in red
silk issued another command, and few the riders disembarked.  They
approached the refugees and began to tear off their clothing.  No one was
spared - even the youngest girl has been stripped naked.  The bearded man
seemed ashamed not just of his nudity, but of not being able to save those
he was meant to protect.

   With a cold laughter the leader of the riders spoke again.  The
remaining riders began circling their captives, prodding their exposed
bodies with spears.  Jim hated to admit, but he found this sight arousing,
in spite of its cruelty - though he had to bear the sight of the naked man,
he was also treated to the curves of the females, and the lithe, but
likewise attractive figure of the youngest girl.

   It's wrong, it's wrong, it's wrong...

   The evil laughter of the woman in red thundered over the grisly scene.

   Suddenly, the scene of the distant valley disappeared.  It was dark, and
the darkness was excaberated by the complete blackness of the walls of the
cave.

   The contrast between two scenes was so stark that Jim would gasp if he
had a voice, rather than being a disembodied spectator.

   The cave was filled with faint, ghastly light.  As Jim's minds eye
adjusted to the darkness, he could make out what appeared to be human
skulls scattered about and heavy chains, some of them ending with cuffs,
hanging from the caverns ceiling.  One set of such cuffs was used to tether
a beautiful woman, whose naked body Jim could hardly perceive in the
darkness.  Yet her face was visible clearly, as if she wanted to be seen.

   It was the woman from the previous vision, Jim realized.

   "SET ME FREE!", she said, looking at him, as though she was aware of his
presence, "SET ME FREE, AND EVERYTHING YOU DESIRE WILL COME TRUE!"

   Jim recognized everything.  The darkness, the voice, the sensation.

   It was her who spoke to him in the dream he had when arriving to Walson.

   And together with the voice there came the familiar feeling - a feeling
of promise.

   Promise not of just life, but of eternity of erotic pleasure beyond
belief.  A pleasure that will never burn out, a bliss that will never end.

   He gasped as he opened his eyes.  He lay in his new house in Walson. 
His body was wet with perspiration, and his underpants were stained with
his freshly emitted semen.  We wanted to stir, but to his horror he
realized he could not move.

   And he was not alone.  There was something with him in the room.

   He could see it, a wispy contour of a woman clad in the silken clothing.
The image shimmered; it was unstable, just like a TV transmission that's
about to fizzle out.

   The boy felt a cold hand on his head.  The specter was whispering in
some unknown language, as though it was uttering a long spell.  Then it let
go.

   Jim flung himself upwards, suddenly being able to move.  He looked
around, but there was nothing in the room save for the silence and darkness
of the night.

   Then he realized he was tired, so tired, in fact, that he could not stay
awake for a moment longer.  He laid down and fell into stony sleep.