Page 13 of The Curse

For hours, I did online research to see what I could learn about Nicodemus Bailey and Corbin Hargreaves. There was a significant amount of information about Corbin, but none of it involved questionable tales of witchcraft or an illicit affair with Nicodemus. The internet contained plenty of information about his significant contribution to Marblehead society, his love of nature, and his dedication to the growth of their small community. When I read of his mysterious disappearance, tears had streaked down my face. He’d simply vanished, and eventually, his friends had put up a marker to him in the Old Burial Hill Cemetery next to his dear friend and acquaintance, Nicodemus Bailey. As far as Nicodemus Bailey went, there was mention of his birth on June 3, 1792, and his tragic suicide on June 3, 1717. He’d been born in Salem and died in Marblehead.

For Nicodemus, that was all the internet had to offer. I suspected the local libraries wouldn’t offer much more, but planned on digging around in the archives tomorrow. The one glaring tidbit missing was the mention of a child belonging to Nicodemus. The tiny obituary had said there was no family remaining and Corbin had paid for all the arrangements before he disappeared.

Since I was sitting in Marblehead, Massachusetts, getting shitfaced on whiskey while researching fucking witchcraft, there was a fairly significant problem with the fact that Nicodemus had no remaining relatives. There had to have been a child. Per the documentation my father and mother had left behind, his name had been Noel. He’d lived in New York, and he was born on January 5, 1718, and died on the same date, twenty-five years later. He was married to a neighbor girl, Tabitha Winstead, and they’d had one son, Nathaniel Bailey. Both Noel and his wife, Tabitha, had died during an Indian attack. When their bodies had been recovered, they’d been holding hands. Their son, only seven months old at the time of the suicide had been found completely unharmed.

It felt strange reading about the family I’d never known, especially because I’d finally found out about my own father and mother, the couple I’d spent most of my life disliking since they clearly hadn’t loved me enough to stay with me. After today’s shit-show, I questioned whether their suicides were beyond their control. There they were, staring back at me from the computer screen of my laptop—Nigel and Rosalie Bailey. It was a wedding photo, and they were smiling from ear to ear, looking at one another like they were madly in love. Apparently, my mother came from money, and the family had funded a rather extravagant wedding ceremony and reception. Like I already knew, they’d been married in 1991, and I was all too aware of when they died the following year.

My mother’s family, Edgar and Glinda Banks, may have hosted a huge wedding, but that was where their generosity had apparently ended. Maybe my dad was too proud to accept money from them. My parents had lived a lower middle-class life for the brief time they were together.

Like the rest of the Bailey men, my father didn’t leave much behind to be found online. He’d died from a self-inflicted gunshot wound, after ending the life of his young wife with the same gun. That was about it. It was as if the entire universe was working against me. Hell, when I couldn’t dig something up on the internet, the shit was buried deep.

Frustrated and about three whiskey sours past being sober, I closed the lid to my laptop, stripped out of my clothes, and tumbled into bed. As I closed my eyes, I realized I’d accomplished close to nothing today. Sure, I’d gathered more pieces of the puzzle, but I was still no closer to solving it than I was on the day I read the letter my parents left me. I was, however, very possibly, one day closer to dying.

It was that horrible thought that accompanied me off to a night of nightmares.

They were both beautiful people. My father was tall and lean, with dark hair like my own, and bright blue eyes…drowning in tears. My mother was petite and curvaceous, inky black hair that was a tangle of curls, and angry brown eyes. Like my father, tears streaked her face, but her eyes were flashing with defiant anger and hatred. The only time they would soften was when she’d look down into the crib. When she looked at her tiny baby boy, love would immediately overtake the other emotions swirling around. My father, though, was broken. The pain radiating from his body took my breath away and caused my heart to seize. The guilt he felt was only surpassed by his heartbreak.

I watched as they stood there together, gazing down at the infant and their hands locked in a tight embrace.

He looked upward and he said, “Please don’t make me do this. Please don’t turn me into this monster. Whatever has happened in the past has nothing to do with my wife and son. If you must take someone, let it just be me,” he pleaded as his voice quaked with emotion.

I had no idea who he was talking to. My eyes were locked on the scene in front of me, and my eyes wouldn’t stray from the parents and child.

A woman’s voice answered, “Don’t be such a pussy, Nigel. I detest a man who cries and you Bailey men always cry. It’s such a bore. I keep telling myself that one day a Bailey will finally generate a real man, but it never happens. You all cry your pathetic tears. It honestly makes me hate you even more.”

“Bitch!” My mother hissed. “You’re nothing more than a heartless bitch who’s terrified of something. You only keep doing this because you’re afraid and inadequate.” Her smile was absolutely sinister when she added, “My son will be the one to destroy you!”

The other woman laughed, but even in my dream state, I recognized a hint of fear.

“Perhaps I should kill him now then?” The woman suggested when she stopped laughing. “How would you like that? Want to watch your infant son die, Rosalie? I’d be delighted to grant you a final request.”

“No! Don’t antagonize her!” My father pleaded. His blue eyes turned to the mystery woman again. “I’m begging you. Let my wife and son go. You can end this. I know you can. End the curse with my death.”

My mother said, “Don’t beg her, Nigel. She can’t kill him or she would already have done it. She feeds on your heartache. It’s what keeps her young and powerful. Don’t give it to her. She can’t kill our son now, or it would break the rules of the spell. She has to wait for his twenty-fifth birthday.”

“Aren’t you such a smart one?” The woman teased. “My, my. A Bailey man finally did well for himself,” she remarked.

I watched as the woman reached down to touch the chubby cheek of the baby in the crib.

“Don’t touch him.”

The woman hissed at her as she pulled the hand away. “Anyway, it’s time. Nigel, take four steps back, please.”

I watched in horror as my father obeyed the commands the woman issued. I saw how he struggled with his own body, how he desperately tried to disobey. I also saw and realized he didn’t have the strength to fight against whatever hold the woman had over him. Tears coated his face as he silently begged his wife and child to forgive him.

“It’s okay, Nigel,” my mother said quietly. “This has to happen today, but I’ll go to my grave knowing that it will be our son who will eventually destroy the spell along with this horrible creature.” She turned and looked at my father. “I’ll go to my grave with you, my love.” She moved toward him without the woman demanding it of her and didn’t stop until she was standing directly in front of him. “We’ll watch from above and one day, twenty-five years from now, we’ll get to see our baby boy put an end to her.”

“Kill her, Nigel.”

I watched as my father pulled a gun from his back waistband, and without any hesitation, he placed the gun to my mother’s temple. As his finger moved to pull the trigger, I screamed, “No!”

He didn’t stop, though. He pulled the trigger, sending the bullet straight into my mother’s forehead, sobbing as he pulled the trigger. I watched as she fell to the ground, dead before she hit the floor. My father’s tears dripped down onto her lifeless body as he wept in despair.

He hadn’t acknowledged me when I’d screamed…but my mother had. Her eyes had flickered up and toward me, and her lips had formed the most serene smile when she’d heard my voice. She’d been smiling when he’d pulled the trigger and, even now, she lay on the floor with a soft smile on her face.

“And now yourself, Nigel,” the woman ordered. “Hurry along. I have places to be, things to do.”

I heard my father whisper to me, “I love you, Nicholas.”

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