Page 30 of Salem's Fall
“People say this place is a thin spot. A place where the veil between the living and the dead—between good and evil—is especially fraught.” Callahan inches toward the cauldron, though he takes care not to get too close. He lowers his voice. “You can feel it. Visitors here often report cold spots, whispers, strange sensations, invisible hands brushing against them.”
I suppress a shiver. I don’t know if it’s just his words, but I swear the air around me has grown colder, the dampness clinging to my skin. I notice several others in our group, rubbing their arms, as if they’re also feeling the temperature drop.
“Rubbish! I don’t believe in that sort of nonsense,” an older man scoffs, folding his arms across his chest.
Callahan smiles, a thin, knowing smile. “You don’t have to believe, friend,” he says. “But whether you do or don’t, there’s one rule you should always abide by: never come here after dark. That’s when things get really… unsettling.” He taps the floor with his walking stick. The sound seems to echo unnaturally, cutting through the air like a knife. “Shadows move where they shouldn’t, and if you listen closely, you can hear voices—whispers—from the other side. Some say it’s the spirits of the witches, crying out for justice. Others believe it’s something far worse...” Callahan licks his lips, almost eagerly, and continues. “Okay, let’s move on, shall we? I want to show you something truly special.”
He leads us outside the building, circling the grounds and steering us toward the middle of the glade. In the center lies alarge stone slab that looks positively ancient, its smooth surface cracked and weathered by time.
“Now here’s where the stories get really interesting,” Callahan says, gesturing at the stone. His voice drops to a low, conspiratorial tone, like he’s about to share a secret. “This stone slab you see here, folks, has more history than any of the books or records will tell you. They say this slab was once used for human sacrifices.”
Several people in our group shift uncomfortably. I hear Damien snicker beside me, a low, quiet snort escaping him. I glance over and give him a warning look, but he doesn’t seem to care that he’s being rude.
“What kind of sacrifices?” someone asks behind me.
“Legend has it there were real witches operating in Salem’s Fall during the witch trials,” Callahan explains. “These weren’t the poor innocent townspeople accused, mind you. No, these were truly evil beings, using the panic of the time to hide their own dark agendas to gain power and make pacts with supernatural forces.”
A couple of teenagers in the group laugh nervously.
“But that’s just a made-up story, right?” A young woman in the back shivers, pulling her jacket tighter around her shoulders. “That’s not true, is it?”
“Isn’t it?” Callahan asks, his eyes narrowing. “Of course, there are naysayers. Modern historians dismiss it as lore created during the hysteria of the witch trials, and it’s true there’s little concrete evidence to support it.” He grins wide, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “I suppose you all can decide for yourselves what you believe.”
The tour concludes shortly after that and Damien grabs me by the elbow, steering me toward the exit. “What a sham,” he says under his breath. “You ready to go?”
“I enjoyed it,” I say, a bit annoyed by his dismissiveness. “I thought his stories were entertaining. It’s part of the experience.Besides, if you think it’s all a big joke, why are you here? You’re the one who said this place is dangerous.”
“Oh, the danger is very real—just not the tall tales that guy was spewing,” he says.
I raise an eyebrow. “How so?”
He pauses, his eyes scanning the tree line. “Another time,” he says. “Let’s get out of here. This place has a way of getting to you if you stay too long.” He points to the little gift store over by the main entrance. “Some light shopping before we leave?”
“I’m working, Damien.” I snort. “I don’t have time for shopping?—”
“You’ll like it,” he says, grabbing me by the elbow and pulling me toward the store. “Trust me.”
He steers me inside, and I’m immediately charmed by the place. The tiny shop is crammed with magical goodies, its shelves lined with beautiful, handmade trinkets. Things like crystals, spell books, and lucky talismans. It smells like freshly made chocolate and cinnamon, both of which they sell inside, along with homemade teas and candies.
Damien leads me over to the jewelry counter, where an array of colorful baubles glimmer beneath the glass. Small tags label each gemstone’s purpose. Rose quartz for love. Amethyst for clarity. Garnet for strength. He barely glances at them, gesturing instead to a spectacular ring, sitting on a velvet cushion. It’s simple yet elegant, with a sparkling diamond band and a large dark stone set in the center that seems to glow in the dim light.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asks, his gaze fixed on me, studying my reaction.
“It’s gorgeous.”
Without waiting for help, he reaches behind the counter and grabs the ring. He slides it onto my finger, and I feel ashock at the contact, a buzzing sort of energy flowing through me.
I clear my throat, unable to look away from the mesmerizing ring. “What’s the stone called?”
“Black tourmaline. For protection,” he says. “It’s said to absorb negative energy, warding off harmful forces… or people.” A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “It also grants power to those who carry it. A solid choice.”
I flip the price tag and gasp out loud.
“Ten thousand dollars! For a gift shop souvenir? Yeah, that’s definitely not in the budget.” I shake my head, flabbergasted, and hand the ring back to him, albeit a bit reluctantly. “Besides, like I said, I’m here for work, not shopping.”
Damien keeps smirking, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Of course.”
As he puts the ring back behind the glass case, I have a hard time dragging my eyes away from the beautiful stone. It’s so breathtaking. Maybe one day, I’ll be able to afford things like that…
