Willem stares into the flames, entranced by the pulsating glow slithering across the logs in the stone fireplace. He nestles into the furs gathered near his mother’s feet as she rocks in her chair, sewing up a torn hole in the knee of Willem’s pants. Outside, a blustery autumn wind batters the shutters of the small cottage.
“You play too rough, Will,” Anneke chides, glaring down at the wild shock of red hair sticking out from the furs.
His mother’s words break Willem’s hypnosis. “Sorry, Mother, I will be more careful not to fall when I play.”
“An impossible feat for the likes of you. Not when you’re runnin’ ’round with that Willard boy. He’s a rough sort, raised by an even rougher woman.”
“Joseph Willard is a fine boy,” retorts Willem’s father from the corner of the room where he is penning a letter under the dim light of an oil lamp. “He’s got no father. He needs a little guidance, is all. Elsje is doing her best.”
“If guidance is what the boy needs, why do they not attend mass? There’s an abundance of guidance to be found in the teachings of our Lord Almighty, for is there any greater father than He?”
Jan removes his wire-rim glasses and twirls the tip of his long mustache for a moment, contemplating his wife’s words. “Yes, I spoke to Elsje just two days prior and mentioned our concern for their absence and how it might jeopardize the fate of the boy’s soul. She claimed that her dead husband’s former position as a minister back in Amsterdam had secured their place in heaven and continues to grant them a private audience with God in their own home.”
“Home? Is that what she dares to call that hovel? It is dirty and in shambles. More a stable than a home, and certainly no place for a mother to raise a child. I’ve heard tell she keeps a boar in the house. A wild animal, Jan. If she beds not with the devil, then I am a goose.”
“Enough of your judgments, Anneke. The Willards endanger none but themselves. If you wish to do something useful for them, best you keep their names in your prayers each night.”
Anneke scowls and resumes rocking in her chair, albeit more vigorously, and returns to mending Willem’s pants.
“Your thoughts are as visible as the lockett of gold you wear around your neck, Anneke Van Naerden. I assure you, Elsje Willard is no witch. Now let us move on from such dark delusions so that we may heal as a village. We must put those misguided ways behind us if we are to reclaim our salvation,” Jan pleads.
Anneke says nothing, pulls her needle through the fabric, and yanks hard on the thread. She knots the final stitch and severs the excess strand with her teeth. As she folds the pants, she feels a lump in the pocket. Reaching in, she pulls out a small leather pouch cinched closed with a drawstring.
Glancing down at Willem, she sees he is fast asleep so she unties the drawstring and empties the contents of the pouch into her hand. There, in the glow of the fire, two yellowed human teeth rest in her open palm.
“Jan,” she whispers loudly. “Come, see what I’ve found in Will’s pocket.”
Jan brings the oil lamp close. He nudges the bridge of his glasses higher up on his long nose to get a better look at her discovery.
“What in the Lord’s name?”
“Teeth. The pointy ones.” Anneke exclaims, rubbing her finger across her own canine.
“Willem. Son. Wake up,” Jan demands in a firm voice before giving Willem a swift kick to the side. “Get up, boy. What do you have here in your pocket?”
Willem jumps to his feet, running his hand across bruised ribs, and stiffens when his mother presents the pouch.
“Confess now and be spared a harsher punishment,” Anneke demands.
A look of panic flashes across Will’s face as he stares from his mother’s stern features to the teeth in her hand.
“I…I found them near…”
“The truth, son,” the fire is reflected in his mother’s eyes, eyes that have always been able to see through his lies.
Will’s shoulders slump and he looks to his feet. After some hesitation, he finally confesses, “I traded Joseph for them.”
Anneke smirks at Jan.
“The Willard boy? Where did he get them?”
Willem starts to fidget.
“Tell us now, son, or it’ll be the belt,” warns Jan.
Willem blurts out, “He found the pouch under his mother’s pillow.”
A gasp comes from Anneke.
“I do not recall her missing any teeth,” says Jan.
“I’m telling the truth, Father. I swear it,” says Willem, tearing up.
“It is witchcraft, husband. Proof of her contract with the devil,” she yells, shaking a clenched fist holding the teeth.
“Please calm yourself, wife,” says Jan.
“We will have no part in it,” Anneke declares, flinging the teeth into the fire.
In that instant, a great ball of flame belches from the fireplace. Somewhere off in the distance, a terrifying squeal, like that of a hog at slaughter, echoes through the village. The cottage is suddenly lit by a brilliant flash of light followed by a thunderous rumble. A tortured moan rises through the walls as the shutters shake, and hail begins to pelt the roof.
The family huddles together in the corner of the cottage opposite the fire, which is now just a smoldering mound of charred ash. Willem whimpers while his parents hold their breath. The only light comes from the sputtering flame in the oil lamp on Jan’s desk.
Jan breaks free from the clutches of his wife and son and creeps toward the hearth. A spark pops in the fireplace, causing him to jump. He grabs the iron poker and kneels to inspect the ashes. As he drags the tip of the poker through the powdery remains, he moves a piece of charred wood, revealing two singed tusks of a boar.
Ooh, love the imagery and suspense—It stands on its own, but I would definitely be up for another installment!
This was a good read. Thank you for this!