Nobody Can Say It's You

36

Estill Orner knew her son was unhappy. The crystals told her that much. So did the fact that she was Dougal's mother.

Being a woman and knowing her son, it wasn't hard to figure out the source of Dougal's unhappiness. Girls. Namely, one girl named Chandra Elanor.

"That vixen had strung Dougal along for years," Estill muttered.

Since they were young teenagers, Dougal had been smitten. It was Chandra's aura, and she'd held Dougal under her spell. Chandra was a twin. Worse still, she belonged to Granny Dilcie's clan. Those two things were like double whammies. Dougal didn't stand a chance.

Dilcie was into healing and helping. She was an aged herbalist who looked to the Ancients and to Nature for remedies and charms. But for Estill, that kind of magic was child's play.

Estill knew that in the realm of the other worlds, the strongest magic lived in the darker spheres with demons and devils.

As a young girl, Estill had walked to the crossroads one pitch-black night.

***

The winds were howling. She ignored their screams. Estill's long hair blew across her face, covering it in a silken mask of darkness. The sky hung low and heavy. Jagged streaks of lightning traced from roiling cloud to roiling cloud. The anger in the air was palpable.

Every nerve in her body telegraphed danger, but Estill was eerily calm. It shouldn't be this way, she thought, careful to stay on the dirt and gravel path.

Why wasn't she afraid? Why not run home and hide under her quilt?

"Tonight," she muttered. "Tonight. Tonight."

A flash of lightning lit the sky. She caught the flicker of a dark figure up ahead in the distance.

A slow smile began to break across her face.

***

He was standing in the center of the crossroads. As she edged closer, her nostrils burned with the searing smell of acrid smoke.

She remembered nothing of the encounter save waking up with cold raindrops pelting her face. The mud was cold, and her body was shaking uncontrollably. She rolled over, dripping dirt and brown water, and rose to her hands and knees. She vomited once, felt slightly better, and rose shakily to her feet.

Tilting her head toward the sky, she closed her eyes, opened her mouth, and let the icy droplets slide down her throat. Suddenly, the rain stopped. The clouds parted. Estill watched as a sliver of silver moonlight peeked through the clouds. She followed the ray of light all the way back home.

When she arrived home, she took off all her clothes and left them on her back porch. The air was soupy, unusually humid. No breeze stirred. She saw a bat swoop low, diving in front of her face before flying off into the night.

Estill heard the hoot owl in the far distance. A whippoorwill trilled from some far tree branch. She knew exactly where to head. Her foot never stumbled. As she walked up to the crossroads, all noise ceased. An eerie silence, like the world was suddenly blanketed by snow, came down all around her. She saw heat lightning flash in the west.

***

Here was the Black Man. He was not, like some thought, called that because of the color of his skin. The name described his heart.

He was the real deal. Swarthy, handsome, with a voice as deep as a well. His eyes were black and fathomless. He smelled of char and soot, like smoked meat.

"Good evening, Estill," he said. "I was expecting you."

She stood in front of him, searching his dark eyes. Flames burned inside of them. Was it madness, she wondered?

His finger lightly touched her cheek. The long fingernail left a small dark circle, like a beauty mark, at the exact point of contact. He had branded Estill. From that second on, she was his. The mark never faded.

That had been long ago when the blood that pulsed inside her veins was vibrant and full of youthful energy. She was older now, with a grown son.

***

Estill was a small woman with long, thick, black hair. Here and there, the gray had streaked its waves. She gathered the unruly mop of hair in a rag string and tied it loosely at the nape of her neck. Unlike most women in the backwoods, Estill preferred to wear men's pants and work shirts. More practical, she thought. Especially when she took to the saddle on her horse, Midnight.

She never married, though she'd lived with Glenitt Selvin for many years. They had one son, Dougal. Glenitt refused to give Dougal his last name. That was fine with Estill. Orner was a fine mountain name and would do for Dougal as well as any other.

Glenitt came and went as he pleased. Theirs was a loose arrangement. He sent her money at irregular times. Twenty dollars here. Forty there. Not much, but enough to ward off starvation in lean times.

***

Estill lived off the land. She foraged in the woods surrounding her cabin, utilizing the plants and bark of trees for food, medicine, and teas. 

Dougal grew up wild and untamed and with Estill's blessing. Her own father had been a harsh disciplinarian, and Estill swore that no hand would ever hit her son in anger.

Estill read Tarot cards, tea leaves, coffee grounds, spider webs, and clouds, not unlike the other granny witches around the area, but she always dwelt on the darker omens and curses rather than the cures and protection. Despite this fact, many knocked on her door, for Estill Orner was the best around when it came to 'seeing" in her crystal ball.

Estill shunned the old ways of granny witches, of helping her neighbors and family just for the sake of helping. She charged her customers a fee. Whatever they could pay. If not in currency, then in an animal or herbs.

Estill wanted more. More for herself and more for Dougal. That was the one thing that had driven her all her life. She had little education, but what she did have was a very old book of spells and incantations.

Where did it come from?

Estill would never say. Some folks guessed it had been given to her by the Black Man she'd met that night at the crossroads.

Whatever its origin, it was all she needed.

Estill Orner had the power to make very bad medicine.