“Is it time?” she asks, looking toward my father with a frown on her face, and his lips purse together.
“It is.” My father nods, and they both look at me intently.
An icy chill flows down my spine, and I get the overwhelming urge to run from the room and out of the house without looking back.
“There are certain things we’re required to do in life because tradition and society dictate it, Nyah. We have no choice in the matter. We do as we must.” My father’s words are ominous, and I get up from the couch and take a few steps away from him, my sensible court shoes clicking on the dark wooden floor as I move.
My body is still telling me to run. The air is heavy with something—I can’t place my finger on it, but it scares me even though my parents have never given me any reason to fear them.
My father continues, “Every generation before us has fulfilled their obligation, and we’ll continue to do likewise. We shall not be the ones to fail.” I take another step back as the door to the lounge slams shut behind me. I quickly turn around, cursing the gust of wind that caught it. “There are things in this world , Nyah, we can not see, but they are out there. They’re all around us, controlling our lives and our future,” my father adds cryptically.
His words are foreboding and fill me with dread. I want to yell at him to shut up, but I’ve been instilled with too much discipline and restraint to do anything so disrespectful, even in the grip of fear and uncertainty.
The room turns ice-cold, and I wrap my arms around myself to try to find warmth.
“Father, what are you telling me?” I question.
“I’m talking about magic, Nyah. It exists.”
I snort out a laugh at his preposterous declaration.
“Of course, it doesn’t exist. It’s nothing but a myth handed down through fairytales and fables. Claims of its existence in the past were used as a way of getting rid of people who were disliked for being different or for simply being in the way. If the Salem witch trials have taught us anything, it’s that magic is based purely on old wives’ tales and gossip.”
A flash of light blinds me, and I close my eyes and cover them with my hands.
“That will be the last time you mention Salem in my presence!” I’m interrupted by a male voice I don’t recognize. I squeeze my eyes even more tightly shut and hope I’m dreaming that someone has just appeared in the room out of nowhere. “What those people in Salem did to me was unforgivable. They are the reason I still reap what is mine. Look at me, girl.” the masculine voice commands.
I don’t uncover or open my eyes, fearing what I will see if I do. I know magic doesn’t exist. What the hell have my parents got involved in? Is this some sort of Halloween trick? They need to reconsider their timing. Halloween was two months ago, for god’s sake. It’s nearly Christmas! I pluck up the courage to tentatively part my index and middle fingers and peer out from between the gap. I can just about make out the figure of a man, standing next to my parents and surrounded by a swirl of black smoke.
“I thought you said she was obedient,” the man chastises my parents and then waves his hand in the air.
My hands start to lower from my face, but I’m not controlling them. I will my brain to replace them over my eyes, but they continue to lower themselves until they’re hanging useless down at my sides. My eyes then open wider of their own accord. Why can’t I control my body? What is happening to me? How is this even possible?
“She’s pretty. You’ve done well,” the man informs my parents with a malevolent smirk on his face, and I get to see him properly for the first time.
He’s much older than I am. I would say by a good thirty years although the gray flecks dotted throughout his hair could possibly be making him appear older than he actually is. He’s not attractive to me in any way. His nose is crooked at the tip, his eyes are small and beady, his body is thin, and he looks frail. I try to recollect if I’ve ever seen him before, but I can’t. He’s a stranger to me.
“Nyah, we’d like you to meet Malachi Hayes,” my father introduces us, and the politeness that’s been drilled into me has me giving him a smile in warm greeting, even though inside I’m in turmoil, terrified of this stranger.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nyah.” The man’s words are spoken slowly and deliberately. Everything about him is calculating—it’s like he’s not real.
“And you, sir,” I reply and flinch back when he goes to take my hand.
“This will be a lot of fun.” He licks his lips, and the strawberries, I ate earlier in the kitchen, threaten to put in an appearance again when my stomach churns. He looks me up and down and returns his attention to my parents. “What has she been told?”
“Nothing. As you requested,” my mother responds this time.
“But she’s been prepared as I requested?”
My mother nods.
“Exactly as you specified.”
“Good.” Malachi reaches out and takes my hand. His palms are icy cold, and I try to pull my hand back, but he’s gripping it too tightly. “It’s time for us to leave.”
In another blinding flash of light and a swirl of smoke, I feel myself thrown forward. I don’t understand what’s happened until the spinning in my head clears, and I see my parents and I are no longer at our home but in the grand hall to an old Gothic style building. It’s dark and full of statues staring at me with beady eyes—they’re joined by antique pictures hung on the walls of people from years gone by.
“W-Where are we?” I stutter, not truly wanting an answer.
I’d prefer, instead, to wake up from whatever nightmare I’m in. My parents step aside, and I see a man, another stranger, standing in the center of the room. He’s dressed in a long black cloak and holds a book in his hand. I try to read the title on the cover but the shadows falling across it prevent me from doing so. It looks likes an ancient Bible, but something tells me there’s nothing holy about this book.
“Welcome to your new home, Nyah,” Malachi addresses me.
“My new home,” I repeat, sounding like I’m learning a foreign language for the first time. “Mother, Father, please tell me what’s happening?” I turn to my parents.
“It’ll be alright, Nyah. You’ve been preparing for this your entire life,” my father responds.
“Preparing for what?” I shout, my confusion turning into anger.
I wish someone would give me an honest answer about what’s happening here. Why am I being kept in the dark about everything?
“Your marriage to me.” Malachi grips my hand tighter and tries to lead me toward the man in the black cloak.
I dig my heels in and stare at him like he’s grown two heads. Maybe being kept in the dark was the better option for me.
“I’m not marrying you,” I tell him point-blank in refusal.
“You are.” My father’s stern voice comes from behind me, and I turn to face him with a pleading look.
I can’t believe I’m hearing these words coming from his mouth. The man I’m being forced to marry is a similar age to my father. He’s also evil looking and scary. Worst of all, it seems he can do strange magical things, which until a few minutes ago, I didn’t think were possible.