The Witch that Taught Me to Still Time (Part 2)

Conclusion of: A story of magic and dreams

TW: Brief, elder abuse mention. This is the conclusion of a story in same format, same name (see January 2024 post). Recap: Grandma is telling a story about an old house she lived in as a child and a scary recurring visit/nightmare of a frightening witch/ghost. She believes she had acquired the ability to “still time” while the granddaughter is intrigued but skeptical. Part One left off with Grandma assigning her granddaughter the task of finding out what astral projection is.

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“I read a bunch of stuff about it.”

“About what?”

“Astral projection. It’s not scientific, it’s make-believe. But since your whole story is probably make-believe, I think you astral protected over the top of yourself and saw the witch AND that’s why you believed time was stilled because nothing was moving. Is that it?!”

“Well, that is a very interesting hypothesis you have, but I must add that just because science can’t explain something, doesn’t mean it is not real. I did note you said my story is probably make believe, so your mind is at least a little open. Yes, I believe I learned how to astral project. As I grow older, I feel I am becoming even more reacquainted with that ability…though if I had my druthers, I would become better reacquainted with the ability to still time instead.”

My mind digresses to strange floating dreams that began about five years ago where I drift not only to faraway places but to other times – it is a very pleasant otherworldly sensation. I start to drift off a bit till my granddaughter clears her throat.  

“I believe I did indeed astral project and witness the stilling of time all around me.”

“Will you tell me the rest of the story now, Grandma, like you promised?”

“Yes. I think it is time, and I did promise.”

“Many years went by with this visitation…or dream, recurring pretty much the same way each time. The witch was horrifying, yet predictable, and in her predictability, she began to lose her power over me. Little by little, she became less substantive, till in the final days she was no more than a forlorn shadow of herself.

“As you know, we moved out of the old farmhouse and my Aunt Vi and Uncle Earl moved into it. I spent many nights with them, but no longer slept near the pump room and the witch’s nightly visits became rarer as my fear of her diminished.

“One day years later, my great grandmother, Grandmother and I visited Aunt Vi while she was living in that old house. While we were there, the original owner, Lucille Fitzpatrick, dropped by. She brought a pie and an old photo album. This was how people had fun back then, visiting each other, eating pie, drinking coffee, and talking about the good old days.

“I went outside to play, but it was too hot that summer and I quickly came back inside to see if Mamaw (what I called my great grandmother) would play some puzzle games with me. Everyone was gathered at the kitchen table, and Grandma scooted me over a piece of pie.

“I crowded in to see the old black and white photos as Lucille slowly turned the yellowing pages of her scrapbook. The photos were held in place by little pasted black corners that often lost their stickiness over time, and sure enough, several photos spilled to the floor as she turned the page.

“Being a polite child, much like you are, I bent to gather them for the oldsters who had trouble with such things. I glanced through them as I returned them to the table when all at once, I came across a photo of my witch!”

“What?!” My owl-eyed granddaughter looks askance at me.

“My stomach turned sour as I looked at the same wild white hair, scrawny frame, toothless maw…she even held her hands in that classic T-Rex pose, and I could see her long, yellowed, deadly-looking fingernails. If it had been a video, I am sure I would have seen her mouth chewing and those hands wringing. As it was, I felt her black beady eyes staring into my soul asking telepathically, ‘Do you remember me, child?’”

“You’re using too big words again, Grandma…what is a pathetic telephone?”

“You’re spending too much time with that Chromebook again – make friends with your dictionary. The root word is telepath and I’m not going to tell you its meaning.”

“Okay, okay. I will look it up later – get back to the story!”

“I finally garnered the courage to ask, ’Who is this in your picture, Miss Lucille?’

“But then I noticed something about her I had not before - she was a younger and better kempt version of my witch.

“I quickly stepped back a bit and was not happy at all when she reached out and encircled my shoulders. Her embrace was very uncomfortable, but I did note with some relief, her fingernails were normal and well-manicured.

“’That, sweetheart, is a photo of my great aunt, Alta Fitzpatrick. She lived in this house with the family many, many years ago.’

“I noticed Lucille looking at my grandmother strangely – it was grown-up code. I had learned to decipher a bit of it and could tell Lucille was covertly asking permission to divulge sensitive, maybe even non-age-appropriate information. My grandmother clandestinely acquiesced.”

I wait for the usual complaint about using too big words, but my granddaughter only signals an impatient ‘get on with the story already.’

“Lucille began, ‘Back in those days, when someone that was…different…was born in a family, maybe hard to take care of…someone that no one outside the family would understand or care about, we just kept them at home, and did the best we could to watch out for them. Alta was this sort of person. As she aged, she became even more difficult and my grandfather (her brother), built a special room for her in the attic.’

“’You guys kept her in the attic?!’ I said in disbelief.

“Grandmother subtlety shook her head at me – more grown-up code for ‘mind your manners and don’t embarrass us’.

“Lucille just laughed and said, ‘Oh that’s okay, she’s just curious,’ and pulled me more tightly into her creepy hug. I decided to mind my manners and endure it.

“Lucille continued, ‘I know it’s hard for you to understand this, but sometimes people like Alta become dangerous, both to themselves and to others. We did not have places or medicines for such folk in those days. Alta was what is known as ‘bat-shit crazy’.

“Now it was Lucille that Grandma shook her head at in disapproval, ‘Please Lucille, language! The child is only ten years old and I’m not sure this story is appropriate for her anyway.’

“’Oh, I’m old enough to know all about crazy people, Grandma…’

“Grandma decided she needed to take over the telling and thankfully pulled me away from Lucille’s hug. ‘The main thing to know is that Alta couldn’t help who she was, and she didn’t mean no harm to anyone, but the family had to restrain her sometimes. They took good care of her and did the best they could.’

“Lucille piped in, ‘Oh yes, more than just sometimes she had to be tied up, that’s for sure. She would often pull off all her clothes too when she was on a rampage. She was a scary woman!’

“I could tell the two of them felt quite satisfied about finishing up the story of my witch, or maybe ghost, though I was not. Mother had decided to join us and walked in the door. She looked around and sensed the weird atmosphere in the room.

“’How’s everyone doing?’

“I ran over to her and said, ‘STOP!’

“She looked at me kind of ready to get mad, but kind of intrigued and said, ‘What’s this about?’

“’Okay, everyone. I want you to listen to this and Mother, I just want you to tell these guys about my witch I told you about back when we lived here. Just tell them everything I told you.’

“The grownups took on that ‘oh, let’s indulge her’ attitude as my mother sat down in the rocking chair across from the kitchen table and began to recall what she could remember.

“’Well, our Tate here, believed there was a witch that lived in the attic, and that at night she would climb through a hole in the ceiling of the pump room and try to get her.’

“’Tell them what she looked like, Mother.’

“’As I recall, never having actually seen her myself [eye roll], you said she was old, very thin, with wild white hair and long, dirty-looking fingernails. I think you told me she had that old rag wrapped around her that we kept in the pump room.’

“Grandma and Lucille gave each other that ‘this is getting weird’ look.

“My mom was not likely to believe me about witches or ghosts, but my grandma had a little of a believer in her and Mawma had a lot – Mawma took over from here.

“’Tate, can you tell Lucille anything else about your witch…or ghost?’ Mawma asked.

“’She only came on certain nights…and she always had a smile on her face, though not a very nice one. She also held her arms like this…’

“’But those are things you can see in the photo,’ Lucille offered almost defensively.

“’Well, she moved her hands together all the time like she was mushing something up and she always acted like she was chewing something, something like taffy maybe, but you couldn’t see anything in her mouth, not even a single tooth! She moved really slow, but when she wanted, she could be quick as a cat!’

“All the grownups looked flummoxed, and Lucille was pensive.

“’Did she ever say anything to you?’ Lucille asked me.

“’No, she never used words, but sometimes she would make little noises. She had a really creepy whispery laugh.’

“Lucille seemed disturbed, and Grandma scooted everyone another piece of pie and poured more coffee all round. Lucille said, ‘I remember the hands, the mouth and Alta couldn’t really vocalize, just noises…and I remember that laugh.’

“I mimicked the whispery laugh for good measure and everyone, especially Lucille frowned uncomfortably. I felt like I had done something wrong because no one was looking at me and on purpose they were avoiding each other’s eyes. A strange pall came over the room.

“After most of the pie was eaten in silence, Lucille went from weird to sad and said, ‘All that you have said about Great Aunt Alta is true, Tate…but I hate to think of her as a ghost, not at peace and wandering this house all alone at night.’

“Aunt Vi did not look none too happy about that idea since she lived there now and she said, ‘Well, I’ve never seen a thing out of the ordinary, Lucille. Only weird thing that happened to Earl and me, is a bat got in the attic and we had a heck of a time chasing it out.’

“’She never seemed all that lonely for other people, Miss Lucille, and I think she’s gone now,’ I offered.

“Mamaw piped in, ‘Perhaps so. Sometimes ghosts just stay around awhile until they figure out it’s time to move on. Children and certain sensitive people are more likely to see them. I have no doubt Tate is telling the truth as she knows it, and truth be told, I saw a few strange things in this house back when we lived here.’

“That ruffled Aunt Vi’s feathers a bit more and she softly huffed. The whole family, being Irish, liked to think they had special powers and sensitivities to spirits and such, so now Mamaw and me had outdone Aunt Vi and Uncle Earl.

“Once the pie was gone and the coffee pot empty, Lucille looked ready to put it all away, the scrapbook, the stories, even the possibility of ghostly great aunt Alta wandering around and scaring kids in her old family home.

“Lucille teasingly said, ’Would you like to see some more photos, Tate, of our family – maybe we’ll find out about another Fitzpatrick ghost or two wandering these halls?’

“Everyone laughed, except me and Mamaw, but the tension was broken.

“We gathered up our plates and put them in the sink and the grown-ups started talking about boring things, so I went outside to play with Aunt Vi’s dog, Zan.”

I stop and take a drink of coffee and offer a cookie to my granddaughter who is sitting there puffed up and frowning.

“That’s the end?! I don’t like your story, Grandma. It’s like you cheated in telling it. You tricked me into learning about astral projection and other stuff but never gave me the real answer…”

She huffs and puffs some more and reluctantly accepts the cookie (it’s an old Irish family recipe, irresistible). I watch her chew as I sip my coffee some more.

“What were your expectations for my story? I feel badly that you are disappointed – I did my best to tell it all and tell it true.”

“That’s just it! I don’t KNOW what is true now! You never said what really, truly happened – if it was a dream or a ghost since your witch was so much like a real-life woman?”

I smile and shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know those answers, I only know what I saw and what I believe. Sometimes facts do not reveal the truth of things. In the end, ‘We decide which is right and which is an illusion’. Late Lament, Moody Blues – you need to listen to the album, Days of Future Passed. Not that it really has any bearing on my story, just something you should experience when you’re not fiddling around with your Chromebook.”

And just like that! I am back in the 70s in my dorm room, listening to amazing lyrics that took me places found only in dreams and stories…some kind of mini flashback astral projection experience…something to look forward to happening more frequently in my twilight years.

“Come on, let’s you and I go shop some new old vinyl to listen to?”

My granddaughter smiles indulgently, helps me up and off we go.