Jean finds herself navigating a delicate alliance with the witch, Makayla, as she embarks on a critical mission to deliver a message to the sea.
Read the transcript below:
Narrator
When we last met the Siren, calling herself Jean, showed the cursed ribbon to the Witch. After inspecting Jean’s bleeding arm, the witch cut it off of our protagonist and trapped it in a jar, like a child would an insect. Jean was let into the witch’s home, where she heard the voice of the Witch’s daughter before getting her arm bandaged. She relayed what the message told her, and the news disturbed the witch. An old fae acquaintance of hers wants to see the witch’s daughter.
After patching Jean up, the witch asks for payment to remove the curse. The payment would be to bring her reply to the sea. Jean thought she could negotiate but was afraid of angering someone so powerful. And it looks like you were too. You voted, and here is Message in a Bottle, Part Five: Return to Sender.
[the kitchen]
“What do you say?”
“I’ll do it.”
The witch nods. She looks relieved. She squats down behind her butcher block.
[cabinet opens, rifles through bottles]
“okay…. Hold on. There we go.”
[cabinet closes, she places the empty bottle onto the butcher block]
“This will do…. Now I need some paper. Can you hand me the notebook over there?”
There is a notebook under a stack of letters. I read her name. Makayla. I assume it’s her name. It’s the only first name on any of the envelopes. After handing her the notebook, I stay standing. She finds a pen between two cereal boxes and starts writing.
“My kid is learning to put things away.”
“Oh. How is that going?”
“I know we’re nearly out of cereal.”
[both give a little polite laugh]
[scribbling]
I don’t know what to do, so I scan the walls for something to distract me. There are pictures hanging up. Her little girl playing on the beach. Makayla standing on a rocky shore, holding her daughter’s hand. The two of them are pointing to something out of frame and they’re laughing.
There are bouquets of dried flours. On the wall, there’s a series of symbols and words in Spanish I don’t understand.
A peacock feather hangs over a small broom.
[stops writing, rolling up of paper]
“Okay, let me just…. There. Now, let’s get some cork and wax.”
“Have you done this before?”
“No, how am I doing?”
“It’ll work. Picking the dark bottle was the right call. It’ll stay afloat longer.”
“Good to know. Thank you.”
[drawer opens lighter is flicked]
“There we go.
She hands me the bottle. The wax on the neck still warm. She’s sealed the bottle tightly. It will float fine.
“The beach is filled with people right now. I can’t bring it until they get the dolphins back into the water.”
“You can do it tonight.”
“Okay.”
“Did you really sing those dolphins to shore?”
“I just wanted help. They heard me. I didn’t mean to do it. If I’m not careful, people could get hurt.”
“Does that happen every time you sing?”
“No, I can usually control it. I can get people to do what I need them to do.”
“What made you decide not to try it on me?”
I pause. Because I almost did.
“You’re a mom.”
“Really?”
“You’re also scary. But you’re a mother. I don’t think I meet many people who protect their kids who aren’t somewhat good.”
There is a pause. Then she laughs a little. She looks up at the ceiling and mutters something I can’t make out.
“Well, I have to start my day so I want to head out in a few minutes. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get my kid ready without company.”
“Okay. Should I tell you I’ve done it tomorrow?”
“I trust you to do it, Jean.”
She hands me a card.
“But you can come to me at this address tomorrow if you have any problems. Don’t come back here unless I invite you.”
“Understood.”
As I leave, I pass the closet.
A clawing, cold fear emanates from it, so I walk faster. Makayla escorts me to her door. She hands me a shopping bag to put the bottle in.
We don’t say goodbye. The sun is warmer than it was on my initial walk. The town is more alive. On the way back to the main drag, I fish my debit card out of my pants, pay for lox and a green tea, and head to a park to eat. I find a bench next to an overgrown shrub and scan the area. When I’m sure no one is around, I unhook the mask off of one ear and pull it away from my mouth.
I gobble the smoked salmon down. The cool breeze on my lips feels heavenly. As it blows across my scars, though, it reminds me of my deformity. I inhale my small tea. It makes my throat feel better. Once I’m finished, I put my mask back on.
I wander through the parks and side streets for hours. The tourists that are out barely notice me. Those who do find my mask the most notable thing about my appearance. The attitudes around these masks have changed so much from when COVID shut down the world. Someone scowls at me and steps in my way on Pearl Street.
“You don’t need that.”
He is alone, but he is angry under his little red hat. I take a step to the right to go around him. He counters and is in front of me again.
So I take off my mask. His face falls in shame and horror. I open my mouth wide, hearing the pop of my jaw. He flinches.
“Be more respectful.”
It’s all I say before leaving him to his panic. What I did was risky. But it feels good. Around three PM, I head home. The beach is quiet. There are no emergency vehicles. A lone reporter is standing near the alleyway, talking to a camera about the dolphins. I get past them quickly.
When I enter my apartment, I lock my door, head to my futon, and fall asleep. I wake up at dusk. The world is quiet. I hear the evening traffic and the roll of the waves. The bottle stands on my counter. Then I see Richie, standing in my kitchenette. His dead eyes looking at the bottle. His wet hair hanging in his face. He reaches a hand for it.
When I stand, he’s gone. I walk over to the counter. Where is the bag? I didn’t take the bottle out of the bag when I got here. Did I? The kitchen floor is wet. I can smell the saltwater. Richie. What are you trying to tell me?
It’s getting dark. I should take this out to sea. But what did Makayla write? Is she telling me the truth? Is Richie trying to warn me?
What should I do?
—- END—–
Valentine Buchanan is your Siren.
Journee LaFond returns as Makayla
The theme song was by Rydr.
The following songs come courtesy of EpidemicSound.com:
- A Mermaid’s Eulogy by Etienne Roussel
- Fallen by Experia
- A Presence Felt by Gavin Luke
- Warning Signal by Max Anson
- Slow Revolt by Jon Björk
- The Kuna Yala Battlefield by Christian Anderson
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-scenes 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.
