In our last episode, the witch Makayla freed Jean from her curse and told her to return to the sea. But it was midday, and swimming the bottle out to her rock would surely bring attention. She stalled for time in town, taking a moment to eat, correct the behavior of an evil man, and then made her way home to nap. 

She awoke from her dream to see a vision of her lost love, Richie, gesturing to the bottle as though he was urging her to open it and read the message. She thought he was just a vision until she noticed the briny, salt water on her kitchen floor. Was he warning her? Was this a trick? She felt compelled to peel the wax off the cork and read Makayla’s message. But something stopped her: You. 

And so Witchever Path presents Message in a Bottle, Part Six: Out to Sea.

Transcript:
[The door opens, city street, and ocean]

Jean’s narration

Ghosts are real. When I first left Maine, Bella brought me to a haunted home. The spirit there was angry. It attempted to harm me. And I learned that my voice worked on it as much as it did the living. And I stopped the spirit from its attacks. If it is Richie I am seeing, then I will sing to him and have him confirm it. In life, I wouldn’t dare. But now, I have just been released from a curse. And if I want to avoid more pain, I need to know what’s coming. Seeing him again like that was frightening. But now, I am resolved. 

This bottle is meant for the sea. It’s time to go. 

The tide has swallowed up the shore. There’s no evidence of the beached dolphins anywhere, save for the litter on dry sand from people who dropped whatever it was they were holding to help get them back to sea. The pod’s out there somewhere. I hope they’re recovered.

I slip off my clothes again, in the dark… and I step into the summer water. I place the bottle in my knit bag and then dive in. 

[underwater sounds]

The water in my gills wakes me up further. I try to push the memory of Richie’s waterlogged face out of my mind by focusing on crabs scattering in my wake. 

With a few kicks, I get away from the shallows. My eyes adjust to the murky water. 

There is the smell of engine oil and spilled wine in the water. I dive lower clear the last boats in the harbor before finding myself near my rocks. 

I surface and I look out into the dark night, away from Salem. I take the bottle out of my bag and I inspect it above the water. Makayla’s reply to the original message is within. I visualize it reaching the hands of its intended recipient. I hope that this will work. 

I let go of the bottle and it bobs on the waves. The current gets hold of it and it begins to float away. I’ve done my part. I’m free.  I can – 

[pull under water]

Something has my leg. I’m being pulled down, away from the surface. The cold grip is so sharp against my ankle that I am immediately worried I’m caught in the jaws of something. But as I look down, it’s not the teeth of a shark or a tentacle that has me, it’s a skeletal hand. And just below that, I see the rotting, angry face of a dead man looking at me. 

I can’t kick free. And then his other hand is on me, digging into my calf. his long, black hair swirls around in the dark water. His lipless jaws gnash their teeth. He continues to pull me toward his eyeless face. Let me go… You will let me go. 

[siren song]

Within the first few notes of my song, he lets go of my leg, and begins to sink. The terror starts to fade from view. And then I feel the current change. Something is coming my way, something large and old. Something not of these waters. Fish are scurrying away, scallops closing their shells. And then I feel the jet of warmth around me and I am surrounded by black ink. 

[sound of the squid]

Its arms could around my torso and begin to crush the breath out of me, pushing the remaining air out of my lungs and stopping my song. But I don’t need that air to sing. 

The squid’s arms go slack, though the pain of their suckers is raw on my stomach. And I sing a tale of terror and fear at the colossal monster. And it flees. I have to get out of here before more things attack. 

I get to my rocks and leap up onto them, out of the water.  The air stings my wounds. My arm is throbbing. And there is Richie, waiting for me on the rocks, his mottled flesh wet from the surf. 

“You’re not him!”

”You have to retrieve the bottle. It’s a trap, It’s a trap.”

”Show me who you are.” 

I sing the song my aunts taught me. The one I have used a thousand times to lure bad men to their deaths. And the creature wearing Richie’s face stiffens and kneels on the jagged stones and slowly, it whispers. 

“You can’t let that message get to him. He will take her. He will take the little one away.”

I do not stop my song. He will show me. He will show me who he is.

”You cannot do this. She is mine. I won’t let them take her away.”

“She is using to you keep me away, to get her devils to do her bidding. You are being lied to.”

“I don’t know what you see me as. I can’t have a real face over here anymore, it was traded away!”

”I’m not the bad one here. I came to get YOUR HELP! Please! Please help me!” 

“You can’t keep me from my daughter.”

[song falters]

”You are lying.”

”Her name is Lilly. She is the only thing in the world I would give anything for. Her mother cursed me, but I can come back. I can come back and keep my baby safe.” 

“You are lying.”

”Your arm and stomach tell you otherwise. You are being attacked and cursed, as have I. There is only one person with that power. Only one. And you met her.”

The creature wearing Richie’s face covers it with his hands and sobs. He seems pathetic. I scan the dark water. I can’t see through the ink. 

“Help me. Help me make this right.”

The creature presses its hand together as though it is praying to me, while it begs. It claims to be the father of Makayla’s child. He called her Lilly. What do I do? Makayla helped me, the curse, everything I’ve seen, she helped me. This can’t be real. He has to be lying, but he’s now just weeping in front of me. Telling me he isn’t to blame. 

What do I do?

Eat him. 

Believe him.

Escape him.

Make your decision now at WitcheverPath.com/vote. You have until December 23.

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 AnsonSlow 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. 

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. 

Attempting to sing away the pain brought on by the cursed item digging into her wrist, the Siren found that her voice had brought calamity to creatures both in the sea and on the beach. Terrified and in agony, she was unsure what to do next. You chose for her to give in and follow the pull of the cursed message. Now our siren must walk the streets of Salem toward the message’s intended recipient. And so Witchever Path Presents Message in a Bottle, Part Three: Currents.

What Should She Do? *

• Show her face
• Show her wrist
• Sing to defuse the situation

Submit

This episode starred Valentine Buchannan as the Siren

Read the transcript below (spoilers beware):

Narrator

Curiosity killed the cat. But what if you’re not a cat but a siren from the sea? After opening the bottle and reading the message it contained, the siren found herself bound, quite literally, to the pendant and message as they wrapped around her wrist and tugged her toward shore. Her voice seemed to soothe the cursed object’s painful grip but at the cost of attracting the attention of predators and the beaching of a pod of dolphins. 

Desperate to remove the painful chain and ribbon from her arm, she considered her options: attempt to cut through the cloth and chain, risk more of her singing, or get dressed and allow herself to be led by the pendant to where it wished to go. 

The audience chose for her to follow the pull of the message. And so Witchever Path presents Message in a Bottle Part Three: Currents

[sound of ribbon and chain tightening, people still yelling outside]

{SIREN grunting a bit from the pain before the narration}
[drawers opening, looking for clothes]

Siren

I can’t sing now. My neighbors are on the beach, fighting over how to help the dolphins get back into the water. My call will wear off soon if I get further away. They’ll stop trying to land on the beach. But they were responding to my pain. This is my fault. 

I pull the wet sundress off, my wrist throbbing. 

“Just let me finish; I’ll take you where you want me to… just let me get ready.” 

I use the towel I had been drying over our chair to scrape some of the sand off. I change into a black jersey dress, struggling to get my right arm through without causing more pain. I need to wash my wrist and try to bandage it.  

[faucet]

{Siren wincing in pain}

[sound of package opening]

[faucet turns off]

There. The gauze over the ribbon and chain should help, but I can feel the cold pendant pressed against my forearm continuously shifting as though it’s trying to find its way out of the dressing. I find a new mask for my face, a black cotton one. One that breathes well. I grab my purse and sling it over my left shoulder—time to go. 

[the door opens]

[sound of the outside calamity. Rescue trucks coming, news vans]

The neighborhood is filled with screaming sirens, helicopters, and news vans looking for a place to park on our tiny streets. I take shortcuts through the little alleyways between the buildings to avoid reporters or the gaze of anyone who may use today to speak with me later. I get to Derby Street and cross the road. The laundromat is abuzz with excitement as the people inside are watching the marine rescue and crowds making their way in the opposite direction toward the beach. 

I’m cradling my arm and feeling the pain shoot up my arm. I’m unsure where to go. I raced here on my own, with the pain increasing with each step. I stop on the corner and breathe. I let go of my arm. And it straightens and lifts on its own, pointing toward the town center. Where most of the people who visit this little city will be. I pull my arm to my side and walk in the direction it pointed. 

I walk for ten minutes, and the morning sun gets brighter. I should have worn a hat. I just remembered that I forgot to bring my water bottle. I walk past a church and then a bronze statue of a Puritan who would have likely hanged the Catholics who had built that place of worship. My right hand trembles at the intersection, and I feel it pulled to the left, so I make that turn.  

My steps are not my own as I walk past a fake British pub and three shops owned by authentic witches if their signs are to be believed.  The smell of frankincense and jasmine floats on the breeze. The sidewalk changes from pavement to brick. Few people out here this morning notice me and fight the urge to stare. They avert their eyes and pretend they don’t steal glances when they think I won’t notice. My peripheral vision is better than most, and as I pass each of them, I see their heads turn. In the morning light, the thin scales on my arms and chest look like scarification or a skin condition. 

The pain in my arm and the people around me have my full attention, and so by the time I notice the dog, it’s too late. 

[barking]

[fall]

[apologizing and offering to help her up]

[dog stops barking but panting]

The owners are apologetic. The big black dog steps back from me and sits. The brown patches above its eyes make it appear puzzled and concerned, like it regretted lunging at me. It has a kind face now. I look at its massive paws, which look somewhat off. The toes look longer, set further apart. I accept their apology and take the man’s hand when he offers it. He helps me to my feet. He and his wife notice my hand and ask if I need help. Their dog sniffs at my bandage and then pushes himself between me and the man, growling lightly. His concern is gone. He is telling me to leave. 

I assure them I will be fine, but my voice is strained as the pendant scrapes against my inner arm, urging me forward. I follow its pull through side streets, further away from the tourists, into the old neighborhoods of tightly packed homes and apartment buildings. 

Far away from downtown foot traffic, I’m relieved the only people who see me are in their cars. The alleyways and small roads would be more interesting if it weren’t for the persistent throbbing of my arm. The smell of fresh water from the North River is in the breeze. And when I get to River Street, I feel the ribbon and necklace loosen for a moment, and I take a breath before…

[snap and twist]

[Siren grunts in pain]

The ribbon tightens again, and my hand is pulled up from my side and points to a small, yellow house wedged between two larger homes. 

All right, stop hurting me… I’ll go. 

The home has a little green yard and a white picket fence about waist-high.   There are window boxes filled with green herbs. My arm jerks toward the house, and I grab it with my free hand and pull it down as I walk toward the little gate. I start to reach for its side latch. 

[birds and city sounds stop]

Everything goes quiet. No birds, no cars. No white noise. It’s just my heartbeat. The world is still. The clouds swallow up the blue sky. Sitting on the Adirondack chair in the yard is the waterlogged form Richard… White cataracts over his pupils. His black hair is clinging to his mottled flesh in wet ropes. 

His neck is broken, and his head rests on his left shoulder. He has a look of terror on his face as though his last moments were a horror. And then his mouth starts to move…

“Mom, there’s a lady at the gate!”

[door slams]

[The sound of the streets comes back]

He’s gone. The sky is blue… and I look in time to see the door opening. A Black Woman with long braids tied up in a ponytail walks out of the house. There is movement behind one of the windows. A little girl is watching us. 

The ribbon saws into my flesh. The woman is holding a claw hammer.

“Can I help you?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “ I was led here.”

My right-hand gestures to the gate. The pain in my wrist makes my nails protrude out from my fingertips, and my claws are on display. The woman’s eyes are wide. She takes a step forward. 

“Don’t touch that gate. Why are you here?”

“I opened a bottle in the sea. What was inside… it led me here.”

My hand reaches for the gate. 

“Bitch, keep your hand off the gate.”

“I can’t control it… It’s hurting me. It made me hurt the dolphins… I’m cursed.”

And at that, the woman takes a step back. 

“What hurt you?”

“The message… I read it, and it… wrapped itself around my arm.” 

“Show me your face.”

She is squeezing the handle of the hammer tightly. She will attack me if I get closer. My hand is fighting me to free itself. 

“I can’t… I’m… you won’t help me. And I need help.”

“Then show me your wrist.”

“ I don’t know if I can control my hand anymore. It started pulling me here, and I don’t know what it will do.”

“You want me to keep talking; you’ll do one of those. Otherwise, you’re going to leave now. Your kind don’t get free help from me.”

My kind? She knows… And then I see in her eyes a power that I haven’t seen a human being possess since I was just a girl… And I am more afraid than in pain. 

“All right,” I say. 

Our siren’s choices are:

• Show her face.
• Show her wrist. 
• Or Sing to calm everything down. 

Make your decision now at WitcheverPath.com/vote. You have until September 25. 

• 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
• Rise From the Shadows by Hampus Naeselius
• Tourbillon by Edward Karl Hanson

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. 

Written by Etienne LaFond.

Featuring:

• Etienne LaFond as Philip, Sean, Pearl, search party, and others
• Jes Negrón as Sofia

Music in this episode:

• Idle Grin – Jay Varton
• Warning Signal – Max Anson
• You’re Not Hiding Very Well – Trevor Kowalski
• Witchever Path Theme – Rydr

Read the trancript.