Our Siren reveals her curse to Makayla and asks for help. But when she receives it, the nature of the message disturbs the witch. Now the two of them have to decide what to do next.
NARRATOR
This one was a long time coming. Sickness, family woes, travel and lost voices delayed this one coming to you. But here we are. When we last left you, our Siren, Jean, had given into the pull of the cursed ribbon and followed its current toward a small house on River St. in Salem. The sky turned gray and she saw a vision of her lost love sitting in a chair, his mouth starting to open. The vision ended and in front of her was the owner of the house, a powerful woman who was prepared to defend her home from this unnatural intruder.
Jean let her know that she needed help. That she was cursed. The woman believed her and demanded she show her face or arm before they continued their discussion. Jean, not sure what to do, was faced with another choice. You chose for her to reveal her arm. Witchever Path presents, Message in a Bottle Part 4: Open Up.
[sound of the street, music in the background]
“All right,” I say. I take a step back and I let go of my arm. As my hand starts to reach for her gate, I grab onto the gauze and begin to unwrap myself. I do it clumsily with my left hand and in my impatience it begins to wad up, hanging loosely. The first layers are still white, but what’s underneath is stained with my blood.
The woman watches from her yard. She makes no attempt to move forward. This hurts so much. But with a final tug, the pewter moth falls out from the gauze. Like it was coming out of a cocoon. The pendant swings wildly on its string, and then, the chain snaps and the moth escapes, crashing against her white gate and dropping to the sidewalk.
The ribbon is still sawing into my flesh. I cry out in pain.
”Please help. It won’t let go.”
She points at the gate.
“Wait here, I’m going to get this off of you.”
She walks into the house. The pain makes it hard for me to see. She returns, holding a jar in one hand and a knife in the other. Standing at the gate, she looks me in the eye.
“Here’s what we’re going to do. I will open the gate and have you sit in the chair. I’m going to get that off of you.”
“What if it attaches itself to you?”
”That’s what the jar is for.”
[latch]
She opens the gate. She mutters something, and my hand responds. The ribbon starts to loosen on my forearm. Its bloody ends float on the breeze toward her. She leans toward them, as though she were about to listen to the ribbon’s secrets. I watch them reach toward her, then arc back like snakes about to strike. And that’s when I feel the knife on the outside of my wrist. With swift, strong motion, the blade cuts through chain and cloth, and I swear I heard a small shriek.
The ribbon hangs in the air for a moment, and then the wind picks up, blowing through my hair and toward her.
She lifts her jar, and the ribbons fly into scraping the inner walls as though they’re trying to get through them to her hand. Dropping the knife, she fishes the jar lid from her pocket and screws it on.
Who is she?
“Come inside,” she says. I want to take a look at your cuts.
[sound of the door]
“Mom?”
“Hang out in my room, baby.”
“Okay.”
She points me to her kitchen. I smell herbs and burning incense. We pass a closet. I feel dread and fear coming off of the door. I shuffle past it a bit faster, nearly bumping her.
The kitchen is spacious, with a butcher block in the center. It’s covered in mail and random boxes of cereal. A stuffed sloth hangs off of one side.
She goes under the sink and takes out a first aid kit. She motions to an empty chair at her kitchen table. I sit.
[tin opens]
“What should I call you?”
“Jean. Thank you… I was…. AH! [hisses in pain]”
“Yeah, there’s no way for me to disinfect it without hurting. It bled a lot, but it’s pretty shallow. I don’t thint k stitches are needed. “
“I thoughI would lose my hand.”
“Maybe if you kept trying to fight it. But you’re here now.”
[small wrapping sound]
“Okay. Done. Do you remember what the message was?”
“She should know who I am. She’ll need me, too.”
“Was that it? Was that was all it said?”
“I’m sorry I don’t… does your name start wth a G?”
“No, it doesn’t. Why?”
“There were initials. G and L”
She looks at the jar on the table. The ribbon lays on the bottom, lifeless.
“All you did was open a bottle?”
“Yes, I was out at sea. When I sang to stop the pain, I hurt… so many things. I couldn’t keep doing this. Was this message for you? Is someone trying to hurt you?”
“No, they just don’t care if someone who read it before me got hurt. They wanted it to get me no matter what. But I don’t need to tell you what they’re like.”
“Fairies. You’re talking about the good folk.”
“I don’t to insult you, but your people aren’t really known to consider others the way I was raised. And I don’t trust your gifts. But I helped you now. I set you free.”
“I was born here.”
“What?”
“Not here. The coast of Maine. I am not what you say I am.”
She stares at my mask.
“You’ve killed people.”
“Several. Bad people. I don’t have to tell you your kind has bad people, too. I know what they are, and I stop them from hurting others. Have you not protected others like this?”
I hear a door open and then slam.
She stands up and almost calls out a name, but stops. She looks at me.
“You should leave now. I think your hand will be okay. I just…”
The jar tips over on the table. It starts to roll toward the edge. She grabs it and holds it. She picks up here knife and punctures the lid, like she was making airholes for it to breathe. She listens to the hole and when she does, the ribbon snaps to life. It swirls about the jar and then it just falls back down.
“Okay, that should be that. I think I need a favor from you now, Jean.”
“What is it?” I ask.
“I’d like you to take my reply back to the ocean.”
“How?”
“I’ve a bottle here somewhere. I’ll write a reply, and we’ll set it out to sea. It’ll find him.”
“Will it hurt anyone?”
“No.”
“What does he want? Does he want your little girl?”
“I don’t know, but I do know I won’t let him come here. Would you take this for me? You would be debt-free.”
I think about it. The Witch has power, and to say no might make her angry. But to do this means I might be caught between her and something else. Maybe … maybe there’s something I could do she wouldn’t expect.
Narrator
Our siren’s choices are
Decline
Agree to Help
Prove to her you’re not a threat
Make your decision now at WitcheverPath.com/vote. You have until October 23.
Valentine Buchanan is your Siren.
Journee LaFond returns as Makayla
Eva LaFond as Lilly.
The theme song was by Rydr.
The following songs come courtesy of EpidemicSound.com:
Warning Signal by Max Anson
Tourbillon by Edward Karl Hanson
Curious Incentrives by Anthony Earls
Mermaid’s Eulogy by Etienne Roussel
Foley by Witchever Path, with supplementary effects by Epidemic Sound, and Audio Hero.
If you like what you heard, there’s even more to this story at patreon.com/witcheverpath. Not only will you get extra episodes and behind the scene content, you’ll also help support our show. Consider a subscription today.
That’s it for today’s episode. Take care of yourself and sleep with a clear consequence. Choose the Path.
