River Witches (eBook)

Chapter 3

Mississippi Voodoo

Deputy Beckett was aware he was violating every lesson he had been taught during basic training at the Police Training Institute at the University of Illinois. He was proceeding into an unsecured and potentially dangerous situation without backup. His field of vision was nonexistent. But I’m no rookie. He had eight years of experience. Besides, night-duty officers routinely acted alone. He’d made dozens of arrests and locked down crime scenes many times by himself. His dad’s words came to mind. “Never be afraid to stop and back down. Your goal is to make it home after your shift.” Despite his father’s admonition, almost against his free will, Beckett moved forward inside the blanket of smothering darkness. He knew where he was but couldn’t see where he was.

Satan’s Landing received its name from an incident during the Civil War, when some captured Confederate soldiers, who were interned there, were found massacred and beheaded—their heads were never found.

The Landing was approximately seven square acres alongside the forty-six-mile Knuppel levee. It was six miles north of Quincy and west of the winding Great River Bottom Road. The levee had broken twice, in 1927 and 1993, resulting in widespread flooding in western Illinois. During the Great Flood of 1993, the Mississippi expanded nine miles, destroying crops, homes, and camps and causing damage in the billions of dollars. The reputation of Satan’s Landing again became the topic of local lore when the Landing mysteriously escaped the flooding. Pictures in the local newspapers showed how the massive flooding of 110,000 acres spared Satan’s Landing. Some people called it a coincidence. Others claimed a devil’s shield protected the Landing because “dirty water don’t flow on the devil’s playground.”

Beckett held the flashlight firmly in his right hand, ready to transfer it quickly to his left if he needed to pull his 9mm Glock 18C. It was a semiautomatic without a safety. He was an expert marksman.

He guessed the light was about one thousand feet away. He began his approach like a hunter stalking prey. He made no sound. The silence was church-like, but with an unholy feel. He felt the hair on his neck tingle and rise, but he could see no danger. All at once, for some reason, Beckett felt nervous. He resisted the urge to go back to the car. He clenched his teeth and resumed his approach to the light.

The heat by the river was oppressive even in the early morning. Beckett’s clothing was soaked through, and sweat dripped from his hands and face. He wished for a breeze. No such luck. No wind at all. He moved forward steadily but cautiously. He swung his gaze left and right, looking for any movement in the darkness.

He closed in on the weird light. It wavered eerily. The apparition disguised the objects inside the glowing sphere, but Beckett did see movement. He switched the flashlight from his right hand to his left and pulled his gun.

Don’t go there, John, he heard a whisper in his head.

I’m not a coward. This is my job.

Beckett’s feet sank into the soft, mushy ground. The heat was affecting his ability to breathe normally. His breaths were scorched in his throat like he was sucking on shards of glass. Even though the darkness made him invisible, giant mosquitoes found him. He’d forgotten to put on repellent. The marauding insects distracted him and he felt momentarily unnerved. He heard himself start to make squishing sounds as he walked.

You’re an idiot. If you’re going to be a complete imbecile, at least stop once in a while to maintain focus.

He stopped and dropped to one knee. Another mistake. The groundwater spread quickly up and down his trousers. Now he was soaked head to toe.

“Shit,” he muttered softly and thought he saw a slight shimmy in the light. Beckett was a hundred feet away and still couldn’t make out what was in the light.

He decided to move faster. It helped. His adrenaline mounted and his confidence returned.

“Who’s there?” he yelled at the light. “Show yourself!”

The light transformed before his eyes, growing in intensity and brightness, until it became a pulsating white beam. Like on a welding torch. He stopped fifty feet away and pointed his Glock at the illumination. As if on cue, the light dimmed to normal brightness, and then he saw them.

In the clearing before him, a campfire blazed peacefully. The flames changed in color to neon blue. Circled around the fire, facing away from him, were three people wearing black hooded robes. He got the impression that all three figures were women. Two of them were facing the fire with their arms outstretched. Beckett heard them murmuring in low, steady, melodious tones, repeating the same words over and over again. He couldn’t make out what they were chanting. Suddenly, a clap of thunder crashed around him and a bolt of lightning slashed into the nearby levee. It rattled him.

“Stop it,” he heard himself yell. “Lower your hands where I can see them.”

A second cannon blast of thunder shook the Landing. Beckett looked at the third woman by the fire. She was holding items in both hands extended over the flames. In her left hand she held a sharp stick—no, she had a knife. In her right hand, she gripped a small pouch. He saw it wiggle and twist in her hand. She was holding a baby over the flames, and it was alive and struggling to get free. Strangely, the baby made no sound. It occurred to him he had come upon a human-sacrifice ritual.

“Stop!” he ordered. “Turn around now. And drop that knife. Drop it, or I’ll shoot.”

The woman holding the baby dropped the object in her left hand.

“I said turn around,” he repeated.

At first no one moved. Then, as if they were attached to one another, they swiveled in one motion to face him. He couldn’t see their faces. The hoods draped over their foreheads concealed them. A soft rain began to fall.

Beckett decided to frisk and cuff the subjects. He turned his head to his shoulder radio to call for backup. Before he could do so, the woman with the baby flicked her head back and her hood dropped. Beckett found himself staring at the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She had long, wavy, thick, glistening platinum hair. In the firelight she was radiant. She stared at him with piercing luminescent green eyes, and he momentarily felt giddy and lightheaded. He started to lower his gun. There was no danger here, he surmised. Then he revived and sensed danger. She smiled scornfully at him.

“I’ll take that baby, ma’am,” he said.

She shrugged and raised the child up to her eye level.

“What? This old thing?”

Beckett watched the woman suddenly open her hand as she dropped the baby onto the muddy ground. It uttered no cry when it landed.

Beckett took a step forward.

“Don’t come nearer, boy.”

Beckett could only think of the baby lying helpless on the ground. He took a second step towards her, and a loud crack of thunder and a bolt of lightning exploded within his space. Beckett was knocked into the air and fell breathless on his back. The ringing in his ears distracted him from the wavering strobes of electricity in the air.

He was alone. The empty pitch darkness of night had returned. No witches. No campfire. No fire or embers. No baby. Nothing. It was as if it had never happened. The rain fell harder on the saturated ground around him, and its resounding staccato was all he heard.

Beckett stood up and tried to turn on his flashlight. It didn’t work right. He hit the casing against his leg and the tiny bulb flickered uselessly. Beckett decided to walk around the area to see if he could find anything. He used his feet as probes and swept them in half circles as he tried to touch something or someone, but it was hopeless.

Beckett was angry. It was like the entire event never happened. Yet, he knew it had. The whole night was etched sharply into his mind. Somehow, he had been manipulated. She had played him. He threw his useless flashlight as far as he could into the distance.

“Fuuuck!” he screamed in a loud voice.

He furiously shook his head and turned to go back to his car.

Suddenly, the eerie light appeared again—this time by the levee along the river. He saw crooked-edged lightning off in the horizon. It was a new campfire, and this time the circle of light was crystal clear. The flames of fire were reddish and emitted bright white sparks towards the sky.

There was only one person by the fire: It was the blonde witch who had dropped the baby. She motioned him to come forward. Her left hand was behind her back and Beckett got the impression she was hiding something. He pulled his Glock again and resolved to be more aggressive with her.

A clap of thunder welcomed his first step towards her.

“Where is the baby?”

“You are foolish to follow me, John.”

“How do you know my name?” He was fifty feet away.

“I know you, and I know you are doomed.”

She pulled the baby from behind her back and dangled it upside down in front of her face. Beckett was bothered that the baby was so ominously quiet. Yet it struggled violently to get free. The intensity of the rain increased with blinding effect. Beckett lowered the rim on his...