M Sellars - Never Burn A Witch

The one subject that remained an absolute taboo on any and all occasions was my choice of religious paths; for you see, that was the one and true reason Shamus didn’t like me.

If asked about it, my stern in-law would return a blank stare and pretend to ignore the subject entirely. But, if one were truly inclined to press the matter, he could be made to speak of it, and speak of it he would.

The entire discourse would begin with him muttering a long string of Gaelic expletives under his breath. Soon, his ruddy complexion would flush even brighter, and he would begin gesturing with a stiff index finger while making his opinions adamantly known. Finally, he would proceed to explain how I had turned his fair daughter from the righteous path of God with my heretical Pagan practices. The story seemed to grow more heinous each time he told it.

My mother-in-law, Maggie, would simply roll her eyes and sigh then sternly admonish, “Oh Shamus, just you hush now!”

It didn’t matter to him that Felicity was a practicing Witch long before our first chance meeting-a meeting that interestingly enough occurred at a local Magickal and Earth religion festival. No. He would have none of that, and he would even deny the fact with great fervor. She was his little Colleen, and she couldn’t possibly have taken this road without being tempted by some unsavory character such as myself. Each time she would try to reason with him, it simply flowed into one ear and straight out the other. To Shamus, his little girl could do no wrong, and in his mind, she was just going through a phase.

Needless to say, I went to great lengths to avoid this subject entirely.

Tonight, however, much to my chagrin, I had no control over the topic being debated no matter how hard I tried to evade it. My face had been plastered all over the news, both electronic and print, placing me in the astringent beam of an unwanted limelight. My religion had suddenly made me something of a morbid celebrity among those relatives of local residence, and whispered stories of my involvement in the murder investigations, both past and present, were spreading through the room like fire through a dead forest. One of Felicity’s second cousins, a wide-eyed, round-faced, young girl of eight or nine, had even asked me for my autograph.

Like everyone else, my father-in-law had been at work on his own share of Irish whiskey in celebration, and the alcohol had freed his sharp tongue from the sheath where it was normally kept. Felicity and I had only been here the sum total of one hour and twenty-minutes. I had been backed into a corner listening to his closed minded diatribe for the twenty.

“…Aye, and how can you be expectin’ us to plan our family gatherin’s ‘round your Pagan holidays now?” he queried, his voice a mere notch away from belligerent.

“I’ve never asked you to do that, Shamus, and you know it,” I returned, struggling to remain calm and looking past him in search of my wife. I needed to be rescued soon before I lost my temper and said something I would regret.

“What about last March then?” he shot back. “We tried to plan your mother-in-law’s birthday party, we did. But you had one of your godless holidays conflictin’!”

“It was a Spring Equinox celebration, and if anything, I’m poly theistic, so you can hardly call it godless. Besides, it was only one weekend, and you know you wouldn’t have given it another thought if we had simply told you we were busy and left it at that.”

It was getting harder by the moment for me to keep my cool. Continuing my search, I spied Felicity across the room as haunting violin music began to fill the hall. The mournful wail of the fiddles quickly took on a brighter tempo, and my wife began dancing about with her similarly garbed cousins. Having witnessed her perform this particular traditional prancing jig before, I knew it was going to last for several minutes. She wasn’t going to be providing me with an avenue of escape anytime soon.

I was just bracing myself for what I was sure would be a spitefully barbed comeback when I felt a hand rest on my shoulder. I looked back to see the concerned face of my brother-in-law, and knew I was about to be emancipated. Unfortunately I also knew that I was only going to be chained to another situation I would rather not face.

“Aye, Rowan.” He gave his father a quick nod then looked at me. “There’s a pair out in the hotel lobby flashin’ badges and askin’ after you. Considerin’ that, I don’t suppose it would be good news then?”

My heart double thumped in my chest, and my throat turned instantly dry. An intimately known and caustically burning itch I had been struggling to ignore once again announced itself on my forearm in an extremely familiar spot.

“No, Austin,” I agreed sadly. “It isn’t at all.”

“…So anyway, I’m standin’ there tryin’ to calm these two guys down, and the one keeps yellin’, ‘His fuckin’ dog ate my bird! His fuckin’ dog ate my bird!’”

“Yeah?”

The two uniformed officers guarding the entrance to the apartment continued their chitchat while I signed my name on the crime scene log and noted the time alongside. I was starting to become an old hand at these procedures, but every time I had to do it, I felt like I had just swallowed a crucible of molten lead.

The two Major Case Squad detectives that had picked me up had ushered me in and informed the patrolmen that I was here in an official capacity. Upon hearing this revelation, they immediately began to treat me with the same casual indifference afforded any other cop. I suppose the fact that I was still wearing a sport coat and tie made me look like I belonged.

“Well the other guy starts screamin’, ‘He’s crazy! He’s nuts!’ and shit like that…” the officer with the story continued. “So now I’m startin’ ta’ think I’m gonna have a fist fight on my hands, ya’know?”

The other cop was already starting to chuckle, “Yeah? Then what?”

I took an offered pair of surgical gloves and pulled them over my damp hands. It was a struggle to get them on properly as my palms were so thick with cold sweat. I realized I was nervous and suddenly felt very human and vulnerable. I tried to convince myself that it was at least a sign that I hadn’t lost all my compassion.

“Next thing I know the dog starts heavin’ and makin’ all these weird-ass gackin noises, ya’know?”

The officer who was listening could see what was coming and was now barely able to contain an all out guffaw.

“Then yarrrp there it is! The freakin’ dog ralphs up the goddamn bird all over the guy’s shoes… It was one of them parrots or whatever so it was like this psychedelic projectile puke or somethin’!”

“No shit? What’d you do?”

“No shit, man. I thought I was gonna lose it right in front of these two guys…”

Obviously, the tale was intended to be humorous, but my present mood wasn’t conducive to laughing along with it. Though the telling of the story under current circumstances seemed outwardly callous, I’m sure it was merely a defense mechanism automatically kicking into high gear. Nothing more than a way for them to relieve their minds from the stress of the job. A way to deny the horror that waited in the next room. Given that, I certainly couldn’t blame them.

I was just preparing to go ahead into the open apartment when I heard Ben’s voice call from behind me, “Hey, white man.”

“Hey,” I returned sullenly and waited as he lumbered up the hallway.

“Sorry to have ‘em drag ya’ outta your party and all,” he apologized as he flashed his badge to the uniformed officers and penned its number and his name on the log. “Carl’s on ‘is way. He oughta be here in a bit.”