Close encounters of the horrific kind—Part II

The rune on the door disappeared suddenly.

Evelyne gasped as the cross-shaped mark faded into nothingness, leaving the door bare once more. And then, without warning—

The door creaked open on its own.

Both girls froze, their breath caught in their throats.

Slowly, they turned to each other. Then, back to the door.

The hallway beyond yawned open, dark and empty, but the air that drifted through felt wrong. Heavy. Thick with something neither of them could name.

Isabel pulled Evelyne to her feet, gripping her hand tightly as they inched forward.

She stretched out her hand first, hesitantly, placing it through the doorway in anticipation of—something.

But nothing happened.

Relief flooded her chest for only a second before instinct took over.

Without hesitation, the girls sprinted through the hallway, their feet pounding against the wooden floors as they rushed toward the staircase. The house felt different now, as if its very walls had absorbed what had just transpired, as if it had seen the horror before them and was now holding its breath.

They raced down the stairs and into the living room—only to stop dead in their tracks.

The room was in chaos, furniture overturned, shattered glass glittering across the rug like scattered stars. The lights flickered, weak and unstable, casting jagged, shifting shadows across the walls. The air smelled of something burnt—but not fire. Something unnatural. Something wrong. 

And the chauffeur's body—

It was gone.

A strangled noise escaped Evelyne's lips. Isabel's grip on her tightened.

Their eyes swept across the space in search of Dorcas, looking for her frantically, their eyes darting across the wreckage—

Until they saw her.

The hooded woman.

Pinned high against the wall.

A massive cross-shaped stake, made of brass, had been driven straight through her torso, holding her in place like some nightmarish, macabre display.

Her head hung forward, her hood still somehow concealing her face. No blood dripped from her body. She didn't move.

A chill ran through Isabel, but she forced herself to break free from her daze. Then, together, they called out— "Dorcas!"

Their voices were drowned in the suffocating quiet, but it didn't matter. They didn't wait for a response. Together, they hurried across the living room, bursting out through entrance, and onto the front yard.

And there she was. 

Dorcas.

She was pacing across the yard in an erratic manner, her phone pressed tightly to her ear, speaking rapidly. Her usually composed demeanor was shattered—her blouse rumpled, hair wild. Dorcas's entire posture was rigid, her free hand clenched into a fist. The moment she saw them, she immediately ended the call.

She approached them, her face unreadable.

Evelyne made to rush forward, but Isabel grabbed her wrist, holding her back with a wary look.

Dorcas didn't seem to notice. She passed between them without a word, and they only moved aside at the last second to avoid colliding with her. As she climbed the porch steps, her voice was calm, but firm:

"It's a good thing you made it."

Then, without turning to look at them, she added—

"We're leaving tonight."

Evelyne and Isabel spun around at once. "We're leaving?" their voices overlapped in frantic confusion fusion as they followed her back inside. 

"What just happened?!"

"Who was that woman?!"

"Why was her mouth sewn shut?!"

"Dorcas, what is going on?!

Dorcas ignored them. 

Making it to the entrance, she yanked the dagger from where it had been pinned beside the doorway, then strode into the living room. With a swift motion, she sliced through one of the curtains, cutting out a large piece. The girls trailed behind her, their questions turning to demands. Dorcas didn't respond, only turning back to the center of the room. 

Then, without warning, she was engulfed in a sudden burst of blue flames.

Both girls screamed.

The heat licked at the air, the glow reflecting off their terrified faces as they stumbled back, watching in horror as the fire consumed her. But before they could even process what was happening—

The flames vanished.

Gone, just as quickly as they had appeared.

Dorcas stood in the same spot, completely unbothered, her blue blouse burned away and replaced by something more casual.

The only thing that remained intact was the torn curtain piece in her hand.

Traces of blue fire still flickered faintly around her, like dying embers. She dusted them off her shoulders as if they were nothing more than stray lint.

The three of them stood there in heavy silence.

Then, slowly, Dorcas raised two fingers—her other hand still gripping the dagger.

"Two things."

She let her words settle before continuing.

"First—" she paused, her dark eyes flicking between them, "I'm a witch."

The room held its breath.

Evelyne and Isabel stared, their minds struggling to catch up, to fully grasp what they already knew deep down.

Dorcas gave them no time to dwell on it.

"Second—" she continued, "we're going to B.C."

That snapped Evelyne out of her shock. 

"B.C?!" she echoed, horrified. "At night?" She glanced between Isabel and Dorcas, expression torn between disbelief and apprehension.

Dorcas turned away, moving toward the fireplace. She tossed the curtain piece into the unlit embers.

Isabel swallowed, shifting her focus back to the hooded woman still pinned to the wall.

"Is she... dead?" she asked.

Dorcas followed her line of sight. "Only for a while." 

Evelyne hesitated. "But... we were supposed to attend the seminar tonight."

"We're not going," Dorcas said flatly.

Isabel frowned. "If we're traveling, we need to change."

Dorcas shook her head. "We're not taking anything from this house."

Evelyne opened her mouth, then shut it before trying again. "Can we at least get our phones?"

"I'll get you new ones in B.C," Dorcas said without looking at her.

Isabel narrowed her eyes. "What exactly are we going there for?"

Dorcas finally turned, meeting her gaze. "We're going to Aunt Ramonta's. It's the safest place for you both right now."

Aunt Ramonta.

The name struck a chord in Isabel's and Evelyne's mind, conjuring memories of Dorcas's younger sister—a fiery but giddy woman who lived in New Warwick. A city just across the British Columbia-Alberta border to the west—barely a three and half hours drive from here. 

Evelyne twisted her fingers anxiously into Isabel's. 

Isabel turned to her, seeing the silent worry in her expression. She squeezed her hand.

"We'll be fine," she assured her, though she wasn't entirely sure she believed it herself. 

Dorcas watched them quietly, something warm flickering in her gaze at their closeness. "I know you have questions," she said. "And that's why we're going to Aunt Ramonta's. Because that's where you'll get your answers."

Then—

Without another word, she swept her hand over the fireplace. 

Flames erupted, catching onto the curtain scrap and spreading across the embers.

They weren't the unnatural blue flames from before—just regular fire. But as it crept outward, it took shape, forming a cross on the living room rug before spilling over to the cushions.

The fire spread unnaturally fast.

Isabel and Evelyne watched in horror as the living room began to burn.

Dorcas turned away. "It's time to go."

Neither girl hesitated. They followed her out the door, stepping onto the front yard just as the fire roared to life behind them, consuming everything in its path.

~

The highway stretched ahead in a long, dark ribbon, cutting through the wilderness. The night was deep and silent, save for the occasional rush of wind against the car and the steady hum of tires on pavement.

Few other vehicles passed by—just the occasional pair of headlights flashing in the distance before vanishing into the void behind her.

Dorcas kept her eyes on the road, but she could feel Isabel watching her from the backseat. Through the rearview mirror, their gazes met briefly before Isabel looked away. 

The girl wasn't sleeping. Her eyes, tired but alert, watched the road, the darkness, and perhaps Dorcas herself. Evelyne, in contrast, had surrendered to exhaustion. Her head lay on Isabel's lap, her body curled slightly as Isabel gently smoothed her hair with slow, comforting strokes. They hadn't spoken in a long time. Not since they got in the car.

Dorcas preferred it that way.

Her mind was too full, her thoughts spiraling back to the moment it all changed.

Hours ago, she had been watching them— her daughter and niece — prepare for the seminar. Evelyne had been practicing on her speech, complaining that it felt too dull. Isabel had been adjusting her dress, fussing over the details the way she always did. It was such a simple, normal moment—one that had filled Dorcas with something close to joy. 

Then the chauffeur had driven into the compound.

Dorcas had barely paid it any mind at first. She had been reluctant to pull herself away from the girls. But duty called, and so she had gone to meet him. 

By the time she reached the entrance, the chauffeur was already waiting at the door, just about to greet her.

Then came the dagger.

She hadn't seen it—only the way his body stiffened, the way his voice caught in his throat before he could even speak.

And then the blood.

Dorcas had taken a step back, her breath stalling as the chauffeur crumpled forward, a dark shape moving behind him.

A hand had wrenched the dagger free—a blade of pure Obsidian, carved into the shape of a crescent moon.

Dorcas knew that dagger.

She knew who it belonged to.

And when the figure stepped forward, her stomach turned to lead.

Allistar.

The Executor.

Dorcas's fingers tightened around the steering wheel, as she mentally relived that moment. 

The years had peeled away in an instant. The last time she had seen that woman was in 1926, and just like then, the hood still concealed most of her face, but the thread over her lips was unmistakable. Just like tonight.

She hadn't aged. Not by much. But then again—who was Dorcas to judge?

That encounter had been buried, locked away with the rest of her past. Seeing Allistar standing on her doorstep, unchanged and silent, was like staring straight into a nightmare she had spent nearly a century trying to forget.

Then, Isabel and Evelyne girls had come down to the living room, and met the unwanted visitor as well. 

And Dorcas drove them away in the most desperate, and damning of manners— apparating both girls up, and to her room, which was followed with a You shall not pass hexed on the room's door, expertly cast even though she was nowhere near the room. 

Dorcas had never wanted to wield dueling magic again. She had abandoned it for a reason. But when the moment demanded it—when it was either act or die— her instincts had taken over.

The cross had appeared in her hands as if it had never left her. A desperate, last-second conjuration. It shouldn't have worked—not after so many years without practice—but it had. The force of it had driven straight into Allistar's chest, pinning her against the wall like something sacrificial. 

The memory of it—the power, the cold certainty of that moment—still sent a shiver down Dorcas's spine.

And the worst part? The girls had seen everything in the aftermath. 

She had tried to keep her expression calm, tried to mask the rawness in her chest, but they had seen. There was no taking it back. No pretending this was something they could just walk away from.

They would need answers.

Dorcas exhaled sharply. She knew she had to tell them—everything, the whole truth. But she wasn't strong enough to do it alone.

She needed Ramonta. 

The thought sat heavy in her chest.

Ramonta had always been the strong one. The one who knew what to say, how to say it. And the girls—they would need her now more than ever. Because once they knew the truth, once they understood what they were really a part of—

There would be no turning back.

And then there was Cecilia.

Dorcas's jaw clenched at the name. How had she found them?

They had been so careful. She, Ramonta, and Evelyne's mother had buried their pasts so deeply that no one—not even Cecilia—should have been able to trace them. But she had. And if she had found Dorcas, then she could find the girls. And others would too.

Dorcas forced her mind back to the road. She was descending now, the highway curving downward through dense trees. The darkness here felt thicker, like it was watching.

Then, up ahead, the sign came into view—old, weather-worn, yet still standing. The headlights illuminated the words for a brief moment before swallowing them back into darkness.

WELCOME TO BRITISH COLUMBIA

CRAVENWOOD – 25 KM

Cravenwood. The easternmost area of New Warwick.

And that was where they were headed. And the place where everything would change.

Dorcas kept driving.

There was no turning back now.