The Evil Inside

“But they can’t get rid of Peter Andres’s place,” Jenna said. “I was just out there, and I met with the Realtor.”



Cecilia shrugged, grinning broadly. “The Lexington House has a truly ghastly and grim history—the farm out in Andover had one bad thing happen, even if it was pretty bad. And that’s recent. People like historic ghosts much more than modern ghosts. Unless, of course, it’s a modern celebrity ghost. Everyone wants to stay at that Hard Rock in Florida in the room where Anna Nicole Smith died. But no one knew Peter Andres. Oh, come on, you don’t need to be a psychiatrist to notice the way that people just are!”



“So, historically, we all know about the Lexington family, and the Braden family after them—so the house was worth a good deal if you want to open a tourist attraction,” Sam said.



“Oh, yes, of course. I think that the woman I was telling you about—Samantha Yeager—wanted the house for work. She’s kind of a newcomer—okay, she’s from as far away as Plymouth—but she reads tarot cards and does palm readings, sells cards, herbs and all the same stuff that we do. Yeah, yeah, I remember someone saying that she said it looks like the Lizzie Borden place, which is now like a B and B or something.”



“People would go to her rather than someone else for the ambience of the house?” Jenna asked drily.



“Of course! I’ll bet you it will be worth a mint now. Hey, the Smith kid will be able to pay you, Sam, if they sell it,” Cecilia said cheerfully.



“I’m doing the work pro bono,” Sam told her.



“Well, that’s kind of you, to help such a nutty kid.”



“I guess that’s universally accepted?” Jenna asked.



They both stared at her.



“Universally, as in locally, I mean,” Jenna said.



Cecilia nodded. “It’s like knowing about kooks anywhere you live, you know. Everybody knew that family—although, usually we didn’t give them all much thought. And, of course, in this area, Lexington House is legendary. Everyone thought it fitting that the Smiths lived there.” She grinned. “And, of course, in Salem, you have all the curiosity seekers who come to see what modern witches look like! It may be ‘Witch City,’ but we’re still the minority. I mean, we should be the alternative people. The Smith family made us all seem part of the same fabric in a way….” Cecilia was thoughtful a minute. “You know, if it weren’t backward…”



“If what weren’t backward?” Sam asked quickly.



“Well, I’m trying to remember. My sister just started teaching at the high school, so all she knows is what others say about the past, but if I remember this correctly—and you should definitely check me out, because I’m just giving you hearsay or whatever—but Peter Andres was vocal about Abraham Smith. He said that Smith had his own money, and that he was still collecting some kind of disability. That he was a drain on the taxpayers, was the epitome of the worst of the system—stuff like that. He stood up for Malachi, but he hated Abraham. Malachi, of course, always defended his father.”



“What did Abraham have to say about that?” Jenna asked.



Cecilia shrugged. “Nothing—nothing that I know about. But he wasn’t the kind to have a drink and chat at the bars!” she said. She smiled at them. “A lot of the merchants around here are actually good friends, and if we don’t like each other—or don’t always share the same philosophy or vision—we still support one another. We get together to plan Halloween activities, we work with the city and the museums. That’s how we stay afloat through the cold, icy winter when tourism isn’t so plentiful! So, yes, of course, we chat when we stop at the brewery or one of the bars, and we usually do hear what’s going on around town. You know back when that incident happened at the high school, some argued that Andy and Cindy Yates had a crazy kid themselves, and even some smart people said that suggestion could cause people to do very strange things. Kind of like you can brainwash yourself. Then, the other half of the people argued on the superstitious side. There was something strange about Malachi Smith. Maybe the devil actually lived up at Lexington House and had gotten into him. But, anyway, old Abraham took his son out of school without a word, and people stopped talking about it so much.”



“Until Peter Andres was murdered?” Jenna asked.



Cecilia hesitated. A group had just walked into the shop. The three women were wearing beautiful velvet capes, and Jenna had the feeling that they’d just been purchased. One of the men was dressed in similar fashion, but his hooded cape was brown wool.



“A mortar and pestle, Johnny!” one of the women said. “Ooh, in marble, how pretty—I bet I could cook up some spells with that!”



“Excuse me,” Cecilia said, and walked over to the group.



Jenna could see that the newcomers seemed both fascinated and amused by the fact that they were in “Witch City.” She could also see that Cecilia was accustomed to the attitude and seemed entirely unperturbed. She suggested to the woman that the mortar and pestle were also quite useful for crushing garlic and herbs.



“She’s a good kid,” Sam said softly.



“And a talker…but a lot of help,” she replied. She couldn’t help watching the man in the brown cape. There was really nothing out of the ordinary about him; people were dressed up all around the city. But his outfit reminded her of her vision—the caped, hooded and masked person who had rushed in on Peter Andres, felling him where he stood.



“What’s the matter?” Sam asked her.



She shook her head. She wasn’t ready to tell him what she’d seen. He’d mocked her at the Lexington House, and she could only imagine what he would have to say if she told him a dressed-up and horned demon had killed Peter Andres.



“It’s Halloween. People like to play at being many things,” she said.



“People always like to play at being many things,” he told her. “I’ll let Cecilia know we’re leaving.”



Cecilia excused herself to her customers, hugged Sam and waved to Jenna, and the two left her shop. They walked along the pedestrian street by the museums and other shops. All around them, they could hear the delighted squeals of children as they watched jugglers or paused at various stations to take part in drawing, pumpkin carving or face painting.



Jenna wasn’t sure where they were going, but Sam was thoughtful.



“Assuming Malachi is innocent, what’s going on is calculated,” he said. “First murder a teacher, assuming that everyone would think that Malachi hated that teacher and would easily be suspected—which he was. And then a neighbor. But why the neighbor?”



“According to Cecilia, everyone hated the Smith family,” Jenna said. “So, we can assume that the neighbor hated them a lot.”



“So, it all looks like a series of events, with the killer, Malachi, having lost all hold on reality, and perhaps killing others before lashing out at his restrictive family. The question is…was there a real reason for the neighbor and the teacher, or were they just there, random victims in a plan against the family?”



“Or was there a plan, and they fit right into it?” Jenna asked.



“Well, the fact that Malachi and Peter Andres actually got on well together will help our case,” Sam said.



Jenna heard him speak, but she didn’t reply. She stopped walking.



Just ahead of them, moving through the crowd, was someone in a long brown cape, a monk’s cape with a hood. She couldn’t see the person’s face and she didn’t know if it was a man or a woman—or if they wore a mask or not.



She reminded herself that she had just seen a man in Cecilia’s shop in such a cape.



It was Halloween season, Haunted Happenings. People would be in costumes daily, participating in all the events, and dressing up because it was fun to dress up!



The person paused—almost as if they had felt they were being watched.



He or she turned and looked back.



Jenna froze.



The person was wearing the mask.



The same mask she had seen in her vision of the murder of Peter Andres.



It was the horned devil.



5



The horned devil stared at her a long moment, and then turned.



She couldn’t have begun to explain how, but the person in the costume knew she had recognized him.



If it was a him. It was impossible to tell.



Jenna found herself following the horned devil. Even as she quickened her pace, she wondered what she would say if she caught up with them.



Excuse me, but in my mind’s eye, I saw you murder Peter Andres, or at least, I saw someone in the costume you’re wearing….



“Hey, where are you going?” Sam called. She hadn’t realized that she’d been walking so quickly until Sam had caught up with her. By the time she looked up from where Sam’s arm was on her, she saw that she’d lost her target in the crowd. The horned devil had disappeared by diving through a group dressed as plums and apples and the rest of the Fruit of the Loom underwear set.



Halloween season. The season of the witch, so many thought. And in legend, the night when souls could return to earth….



And try to linger on.



But the dead weren’t really returning; the living created evil.



“Jenna!” Sam said.



“I—I’m sorry,” she said. “I—I thought I saw an old friend.”



“Really?”



“Yes, yes, of course.”



“Someone I might know?”



Jenna dead-blanked on the name of anyone she might have known in Salem.



“Just—just a girl I saw now and then. She might have been friends with Cecilia, too. I actually can’t remember her name.” Jenna tried not to blink, fidget, look downward or to the side, or do any of the things that automatically identified you as a liar.



“Oh,” he said, looking back at her. “Well, I can’t help you there.”



“Oh, nothing to worry about,” she said and shrugged.