Plotlogs
The Diary Of Prudence Crugott Sr Tabitha
At the Salem Witch Museum, an uneasy tension forms when Father Jack, Charlene McCormick, and Tabitha Matheson are confronted by the enigmatic 'Miss Moreau', dressed in archaic garb. Charlene, hungover and petulant, exhibits reluctance about their visit, especially upon learning of a macabre murder in the museum—number thirteen in a series of killings, marked by numbers etched into the victims.
As Miss Moreau leads the trio to the scene beneath the rafters, a stark realization emerges: the victims may be descendants of the original Salem persecutors, potentially targeted for ancestral sins. Charlene's modern approach, suggesting to search genealogical records on her phone, contrasts with Jack's theological method, while Tabitha's friend helps her tap into the foreboding 'Network 666'.
Miss Moreau's attachment to an old book, tightly clutched under her antiquated attire, raises suspicion, especially when connected to the empty display marked for 'Prudence Curgott', possibly her descendant. Jack's smoldering mistrust prompts a confrontational demand for information, her lineage suggesting a twisted motive for the murders—a mother's fury set on extinguishing a bloodline responsible for the pyre death of her daughter and grandchild.
Hints at the supernatural peak as Jack instructs Tabitha and Charlene to draw a warding circle using chalk and blood. Charlene provides reluctant assistance, clueless about the significance, while Jack's commanding exorcism chants push the atmosphere toward a spiritual showdown. Miss Moreau sheds her stoic exterior, unleashing a searing vision of her burnt daughter, further revealing the suffering in her curse.
The tension culminates in a physical and supernatural altercation: Jack urges Charlene to snatch Miss Moreau's book, and in a whirlwind of dread and confusion, Charlene shifts into a puma. Instincts take over as she pounces, but a Venetian force halts her primal urge for a lethal bite, ending the threat from Miss Moreau.
After a harrowing retransformation, Charlene begs for discretion about her secret ability, clearly shaken. Tabitha offers compassion both to her friend and the grieving 'witch', suggesting she'll attempt to understand the book's contents with the help of Father Francis. Jack asserts a warning to Miss Moreau, promising retribution if the dark events repeat.
Their departure is swift and tense, with the promise of future discussion about the myriad oddities they've faced. Charlene's insistence on normalcy and privacy, juxtaposed with the undeniable presence of the paranormal, solidifies the eerie experience for the visitors as they make their exit from the haunted museum.
(The Diary of Prudence Crugott(SRTabitha):SRTabitha)
[Sun Dec 17 2023]
In The Salem Witch Museum
An old Catholic Cathedral built of cold brown stone, rises above and stands tall and proud against the backdrop of a modern townscape. Thick and heavy wood arched doors look like they creep and moan on open and close but are heavy enough to still air flow. Beautiful lead glass windows cast a myriad of purplish colors against the sidewalk when light hits it just so. The street is lined with mature trees and tall streetlamps that come on as the sun sets, casting an eerie glow and shadow.
It is about 50F(10C) degrees.
"I still don't think it's fair that we had to go on a field trip on Sunday, Father Jack," Charlene grumbles as she trudges after someone, looking a bit hung over.
"I still don't think it's fair that we had to go on a field trip on Sunday, Father Jack," Charlene grumbles as she trudges after Jack, looking a bit hung over.
"Miss McCormick," Jack tells Charlene. "Do you not think that on a Sunday God's work might be most particular?" He glances at Tabitha. "Miss Matheson, have you met Miss McCormick?"
The weather is mild for a Massachussetts day. The street, is also mild, when it comes to how busy it is. The reason for this may very well be that the Church turned Museum has a sign posted that it is closed. Typically where cars would line the street, it is mostly barren. Things feel quiet. Calm.
"I guess so, but we were out all night," Charlene explains and lets out a long, enthusiastic sigh. She pulls a hand out off her jacket pocket to wave at Tabitha. "Hi, Tabs."
"I guess so, but we were out all night," Charlene explains and lets out a long, unenthusiastic sigh. She pulls a hand out off her jacket pocket to wave at Tabitha. "Hi, Tabs."
"It'll be great, Charlie," Tabitha says to Charlene, both using terms that would indicate that they've likely met before. "You look ... ah ... like you need a breakfast plate from Rosie's and hair of the dog." She smiles at Jack and then looks to the Church. "It's probably nothing. Right?"
"Being out all night doesn't make things better," Jack comments to Charlene. There's a look, low, focused on the closed museum. "The night is the Adversary's blanket." He pauses with a shake of his head. "What is this project you so need assistance with, Miss Matheson?" he asks Tabitha, looking around. "Perhaps it's nothing," he says. There's a kind of grizzled doubtfulness to his tone.
Charlene squints up at the cathedral, going quiet for the time being while the looming building visibly troubles her hung-over mind. "Can't I just wait out here?" she asks Jack, despite knowing that no such thing would be allowed. "I was supposed to get a falafel before meeting up with Belle for the drive-in thing."
One of the large doors of the Museum opens and a woman steps out, wearing a very old fashioned set of clothing. Heavy black garments, a bustle beneath all the layers. A white shift is barely seen below all the dark, the sheath mostly revealed in the roll of a three quarter sleeve. The woman affixes her bonnet as she steps down the once-Church stairs to greet Jack, Charlene and Tabitha. The latter is greeted first. "Miss Matheson. We are pleased to see that you were able to bring others with." Her lips are pursed and tight. It may very well be a lie. She looks over Charlene and then Jack, "Father," she greets lightly, mildly, perhaps with a tone of disdain.
"No," Jack tells Charlene, and then he turns his attention to the woman in the bonnet. His brows raise. "Ma'am," he tells the bonnet-woman, noticing perhaps her disdain but not commenting. "Never fear," he tells her. "I didn't bring a lighter." There's a kind of low, dry sarcasm to the words, as he straightens his jacket. "How can we help?" he asks her, his voice with a scratchy smoker's scarring.
"Miss Moreau can probably explain it better than I. But I was, ah, listening in to something on .." Tabitha says, eyeing Charlene then Jack a moment to assess what is to come next from her lips. "the network. Seems that ..." She trails off.
Charlene lets out a dejected huff and shuffles after Jack, eyeing the church-woman disinterestedly. Then a glimmer of nosy interest rises in her eyes and she asks Tabitha, "What network?"
Jack glances at Charlene, clearly sharing her question.
"Murder," Miss Moreau replies, beginning where Tabitha has tapered off. The woman folds her arms beneath a modest and well covered bosom. "I was not the one who called it in, I'm just the one responsible in ensuring that it goes no further." She turns and begins up the stairs again without much in the way of cordiality. "Come." she tells Jack, Charlene, and Tabitha.
Following in, Jack follows Miss Moreau. "Miss McCormick," he tells Charlene. "If you've never seen a dead body before, you may want to not look. There's something about the dead," he says. "They're a bridge, and being in the company of those slain changes you."
"Holy crap, there's been a murder?" Charlene whispers, looking a lot more attentive with this piece of juicy news. Smiling, she hurries up the steps, unzipping her jacket. "Okay, Father. I swear I won't look. Don't worry."
Tabitha lowers her voice, though the streets are very much deserted, for even the time of day. "Network six six six," she tells Charlene. "I don't have immediate access but I have a friend who does." She smiles a little, face paling at Jack's warning.
"There are no bodies," Miss Moreau claims to Jack and likely to the disappointment of Charlene. Whether true or not, one can not quite tell with the way she speaks, and the lack of a lot of body motions to read. "Our director was found hanging from the rafters, however. It was one of the deaths we were unable to hide from the public, though we did try."
Jack catches a word, turns it back with an interrogator's practice: "One of?" he asks. "How many have there been?"
"I'm gonna ask Liv about that. She knows all kinds of people," Charlene tells Tabitha quietly and wriggles free of her jacket on her way into the cathedral. "She got me in touch with Doctor Wilson. Anyway, I think we might get good marks for coming here."
"There's too many dangerous things out there," Jack tells Charlene. "I've killed ..." He pauses. "I used to keep count, but I don't. Every step into that world, into Miss Matheson's 'Network 666', takes you into deeper and more dangerous territory. You can't walk out the way you came in," he says.
Miss Moreau holds the door open to allow the trio in before letting the door shut on its own accord with a solid thud and a click from what is likely an auto-locking mechanism. "Too many," Miss Moreau replies over the echo of the door closing them inside the building. "Each have had a number carved into them. Our director was thirteen." She mentions, "It has put a damper on our numbers when it comes to visitors." She seems more frustrated at that then the fact there have been possibly more than thirteen deaths. "People are started to speculate that it is not just a case of missing person."
"You sound so utterly doomsday, Father," Tabitha says with a frown. Though that frown may also be in relation to whatever she has overheard from the Mistress of the Museum. She says to Charlene, "You just have to be careful. Don't listen to Brimstone over there."
"Carved?! Holy crap," Charlene mutters, eyes glimmering with nosy curiosity as she files into the cathedral's antechamber. She finds somewhere to hang up her jacket and asks Jack, "Do you have a bible? Because those have numbers all in them. I'm pretty smart, so I'd look for a part where it's got thirteen passages or something."
Looking around slowly, Jack tracks what Moreau says while keeping some uncertain, troubled eye on his surroundings. He digs into his coat, producing a bible, and he hands it to Charlene. "Thirteen is one of the numbers said to belong to the Devil," is his only comment. "But then Old Scratch claims many digits."
"Well, I don't wanna read the whole thing!" Charlene protests, eyeing the holy volume skeptically. "Don't you people know it by heart?"
Miss Moreau places a hand to her chest, to something there, a small lump, something hidden beneath the layers of Puritan-era clothing. "The number thirteen has many different meanings in our world," she says to Charlene. "It is the center of a pentagram. Should you look at the Bible you once held in your hand it is also versed there. Twelve disciples, and Christ himself. Judas being the thirteenth and Christ's betrayer."
"Judas was one of the twelve disciples," Jack correct Moreau. "He had a spot at the table: he just threw it away," he says.
"Judas was one of the twelve disciples," Jack corrects Moreau. "He had a spot at the table: he just threw it away," he says.
"That's a pretty good clue, though," Charlene points out, tucking her hair behind her ears to keep it out of her eyes. "Right, Father, but it makes thirteen if we count Jesus. If there's a murderer going around, maybe he though the director was a Judas, you know? It's symbolic."
"Yes, he was one of the disciples, making the thirteenth guest at the table." SRTabitha returns to Jack. The stern looking woman smiles at Charlene, quick enough that if one were to blink, it would be missed. "It is very likely that there is some biblical reason for whatever is happening here, yes, Miss McCormick." The woman clutches at whatever is under her clothing, "The rumors are that it is retribution."
"See, Father," Tabitha says to Jack, "It is not only the devil's number." Despite that Judas is seen in a negative light, nodding along with Charlene.
Miss Moreau returns to Jack, rather.
"Then what can you tell us about this murder?" Jack asks. "If there's a mystery, Miss Moreau: what are its details, its characters? Outline it for us, woman!" he says, some frustration in his tone. "Sophistry over whether or not Judas was the Devil's get will not stop your next man from being murdered!"
"If I solve this murder, do I get to be absolved of any pranks I might have done?" Charlene asks someone offhandedly, doing her best to sound nonchalant. "We should prolly see the place where it happened, Ma'am. There's gotta be some clues. My friend Belle's dad is rich, so maybe he knows somebody who can get DNA samples."
"If I solve this murder, do I get to be absolved of any pranks I might have done?" Charlene asks Jack offhandedly, doing her best to sound nonchalant. "We should prolly see the place where it happened, Ma'am. There's gotta be some clues. My friend Belle's dad is rich, so maybe he knows somebody who can get DNA samples."
"No, Miss McCormick," Jack says with a roll of his eyes to Charlene and a glance at Tabitha, as if for some kind of salvation.
Sighing dejectedly, Charlene goes to look around a little, peering nosily at the various memorabilia of the witch trials.
"Many people in this town are direct descendants of those responsible for the murders," Miss Moreau continues, leading Jack, Charlene and Tabitha deeper into the Museum, while gesturing to various tableaux depicting gruesome death and detailing in grandiouse terms how each death must have felt. "Some claim that it is a descendant of a witch finding recompense finally." She stops at an empty display, beneath a thick, shadow-inducing rafter, turning to Jack with a raise of a brow. "Father, it may not immediately find our murderer, but it is no less important." The willowy woman gestures upward, "It happened here. Right above our newest display." Said display: empty as it is, has a placard reading, "Prudence Curgott."
Tabitha gives Jack a look that reads, 'Hey, don't look at me.' She asks Charlene, stepping over to her to whisper it, "What are your initial thoughts?"
"My first thought is I figured witches were usually dykes, so I didn't know they had a lot of descendants," Charlene admits, murmuring her theory quietly to Tabitha. "But there's got to have been exceptions."
snorts softly. "I don't think that's true," Tabitha says to Charlene, shaking her head. "But it's true enough, lesbianism was considered evil and satanic. And some women were persecuted because of that.." She might have read that in one of the passing displays?
"Right, but it's gotta be like in prison, you know?" Charlene reasons and shrugs lightheartedly at Tabitha. "Haven't you seen Orange is the new Black?"
There's a difficult to conceal snort at Charlene's running commentary. "Can you do your genealogy research on your phone?" Jack asks Charlene, even as he returns to studying the display on Prudence.
"Only if they scanned those old books they kept in churches back then, and it's all written in wrinkly handwriting. I can't really read that," Charlene admits and smiles apologetically at Jack.
"Miss McCormick," Jack tells Charlene. "You are full of ideas and low on solutions."
"This is true. We are. It is also apparent when we look at the terrible way that African Americans have been treated." She scoops some of her hair back up into her bonnet while eyeing Charlene with a wilting look, one that is high in disapproval. "Television will rot your brain, child." She looks back to Jack and Tabitha, "Prudence is actually one of my own descendants." Miss Moreau says to Jack, letting her spindly fingers drop away from whatever she has beneath her clothing. "Her brother had lineage. Her own child was murdered with her, ending any chance of a true bloodline."
"Sheesh. Sorry," Charlene mutters and gets out her phone, swiping a thumb across the screen. "Google, search for... search for birth records date... sixteen-fifty to eighteen hundred, Massachusetts Cathedral of the--what's the address here?"
"Well, then," Jack says. He pauses. "Miss Matheson, let's see if we can summon whatever this is out into the open. If you could start to draw a circle, please," he says as he digs out a satchel with candles. "I am a man of God. If the spirit has some anger at me, it can come for me," he says.
"She means ancestors," Charlene remarks quietly to Tabitha.
"They only have the birth records from about eighteen fifty and onwards. I think the witch trials were before that," Charlene reports back to Jack after obnoxiously navigating Google by voice for a little while. "Are you gonna draw a circle? I have a glitter marker from when we were decorating the dorms."
Tabitha, for her part, is trying not to snicker at Charlene, also. "I haven't... I'll have to look for it." She whispers again to Charlene, eyes on Jack, "It's not really a church anymore. It's .. kind of like a homage. But worth a try? It was a church, maybe she got baptized here..." She nods to the other woman, "She must have. There's no way Prudence could be a descendant of hers." She says this, but the tone suggests that she doesn't believe her words. At Jack's behest, she pulls out a little knife from her tote. She slices her hand open, not deep, but enough to be the artist here, and dab into the blood to draw a small circle.
"Help me?" Tabitha asks Charlene.
"Miss McCormick," Jack tells Charlene. "Chalk is better." He hands Charlene a bag of chalk. "Follow along after Miss Matheson and sprinkle chalk on the line of blood she is leaving," he says, starting to set up candles as he goes to match the circle. As he does he begins to chant, low and in Latin, beginning to activate the warding circle Charlene and Tabitha are laying down.
"Ew! Seriously?!" Charlene asks, peering incredulously at Tabitha. With a slightly queasy look, she pokes her pinky into her friend's blood and does her best to mark out the circle.
"I mean, she already started, so," Charlene remarks distractedly to Jack.
Miss Moreau says, tight-lipped, "Yes, ancestor." She watches Tabitha with mild interest as the woman does not hesitate to sacrifice her blood. "Either work, I suppose, blood is far more potent." The woman inhales, as if to take in the scent. Again, she clutches proverbial pearls. Something beneath all the layers of clothing not made in this era. Perhaps it is the Latin which sets the woman at ill ease.
"You better not have AIDS, I swear," Charlene mutters to Tabitha, and after a while, an ill-advised circle of blood has probably formed between them. "We could have used chalk, just so you know. Father Jack had some all along."
"Blood and chalk serve different purposes," Jack explains to Charlene in between lighting candles. "Blood provides power, and chalk binds it in place." A pause. "Everyone please, step inside the circle," he says. "It will provide some protection." As he finishes lighting candles, he raises his arms, bible in one hand: beginning some evocation. His voice booms, commanding, demanding that those spirits here reveal themselves.
Charlene rises from her squat with a huff of effort and steps into the circle, looking around uneasily.
Tabitha gasps at Charlene. "I do not have AIDS!" She looks offended at her friend's words. She closes her fist to stop the small trickle of blood, though it does drop occasionally into the flame of a candle. She rises, too, and steps over the chalk line that has been drawn, when Jack begins to chant.
Miss Moreau is hesitant to step within the circle. "As the Father said, child, blood is the power that will help you seek out your demons and ghosts. One day, perhaps you will learn of that power, yourself." She steps in, lifting her heavy skirts to avoid breaking the chalk line.
"I hope not," Charlene mutters grumpily while she loiters inside the circle, staying close by Tabitha. "I got no demons. I got ADHD, but that's different. They have pills for that."
Beckoning the girls closer, Jack continues his invocation: "In the name of St. Michael, who slays dragons, I command thee -- demons, reveal thyselves," he says. "In the name of St. Raphael, who heals, I command thee -- spirits of tree and rock, reveal thyselves." At each command, he flicks holy water from a small vial in one direction. "In the name of St. Gabriel, whose trumpet blows, I command thee -- nymphs and gnomes, reveal thyselves." Again. "And in the name of St. Uriel, who guards the doors of the deadh, I command three -- spirits of the dead, reveal thyselves."
For once, Charlene has no juvenile remarks to contribute with. She grows quiet in a slightly scared way while Jack speaks, looking about warily with her arms held against her body.
Miss Moreau pulls out a little black book of her own, from within the deep recesses of some pocket in her Puritan clothing. It is held with a vice grip. There is nothing to determine what sort of book it is, but it certainly is not a Bible. "I have called upon the Saints, myself, Father. They have not listened." And indeed, there is no reply to Jack's prayer. There is a brief flutter of air, sending a candle flame to flicker then burn out. "Prudence called to the Saints." she continues. "She prayed that they would come save. That the wind would snuff the flame that rose around her. And her child. She clutched that child in her arms from the center of that flame.." The candles alight once more, the flame hotter, higher, wilder.
Jack looks back at Miss Moreau, then, as he chants, and then as the candles begin to rage his eyes focus on her. "Miss Matheson," he says. "Miss McCormick. Get away from her," he bids them, and his words are tight, concerned. "Get some distance." It's urgent, concerned, as he turns to focus entirely on the woman in Puritan black. Now he holds the Bible out towards her: "In the name of the Father," he says. "In the name of the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I abjure evil. I reject the Devil: begone from this woman," he commands Moreau.
"Holy crap. Did you see that, Tabs?" Charlene whispers, choosing Tabitha as her sanity anchor and pressing slightly in with her. "I think we gotta--" she goes on, but she obeys Jack out of sheer survival instinct and scurries backwards out of the circle, holding onto her schoolmate's arm.
Tabitha looks aside to Charlene, wetting her lips. "I think now is a good time to invoke.. maybe a Lord's prayer..." She takes a step away from Miss Moreau, dragged even, by Charlene, and in the process of this scurry backwards, her feet, as well as Charlene's likely scuff the chalkline, breaking it.
"Yeah. Uh, our Father who art in heaven," Charlene ventures, glancing anxiously at Tabitha while she tucks her hair behind her ears. "Hallowed be thy name. Look, I'm not any good at fighting if it comes to that, just so you know."
"How she cried!" Miss Moreau says, her voice rising to a screech, a wail. "She begged for someone to save her. And God. God was no where. She beseeched him. She.. a good Catholic woman. Good and right! She cried..." There comes a vision before Jack and Charlene. Flames, all around. A woman, skin black, holding a baby, burnt so black it is unrecognizable as a child. The smell of singed flesh and hair fill everyone's nostrils.
Charlene lets out a startled shriek and shrinks back, staring in horror at the church woman. There's not very much help to be hoped for from the student, because she opts to tackle this unexpected shock by screaming her lungs out, filling the acoustics of the building with that sound.
Jack steps towards Moreau, Bible held high. Sotto voice, he tells Charlene, "Grab that book in her hand." Then to the woman and that vision of the baby: "Be strong in the Lord!" he shouts. "Put on the whole armor of God, that you might stand against the devil!" He presents the book. "Wrestle not against flesh and blood but against the lord and potentates of this present darkness, against those who do evil on Earth and in Heaven. Stand firm!" he bellows. "Take up the armor of God! Fasten on you the girdle of truth and don thee the breastplate of righteousness. Begone!" he says, shoving the book in Moreau's face.
Tabitha covers her ears lightly to the sound of the wailing. "I call upon thee, Mother! Blessed be thy name. I call on you to protect. To soothe, to nurture.." She speaks this, her prayer, along with Jack's own, invoking her own power, though Charlene's screams do make it hard to concentrate. "It's okay, Charlie, it's... just ... breathe. Please, calm down!"
Charlene's unbearable screaming tapers off into horrified whimpers, but she scurries forward at Jack's behest to snatch at the book in the custodian's hand. She winces fearfully in the process, like it might explode--but if she does get hold of it, she scurries backwards again to hide behind the safety of eight foot's distance with Tabitha.
The book in Miss Moreau's hand is lifted as Jack lifts his Bible. She too begins to speak in Latin, "Damnatus est qui alterum damnat. Damno te. Maledico tibi!" She stares at Charlene when the young woman dares to approach, hand upheld in a way to play keep away with the woman and the book. "Learn, child." she demands, "Learn to protect yourself. God will not. If you do not learn to protect yourself, you may end up like my dear Prudence." Hell hath no fury, no?
"Sorry, okay?" Charlene retorts, playing her hand with the wisdom of someone with little investment in damnation. "Father Jack, I'm scared."
"Tackle her, God-damn-it," Jack hisses under his breath to Charlene. He holds the Bible high now and with his other hand fishes out a cross, holding it as well. "St. Michael," he says. "Take up thy flaming sword. Here before you is the Serpent: it is Satan, come into the Garden, and I beseech thee, strike off its head!"
With a look of frustration, Charlene squeezes her eyes shut. Then she suddenly doubles over, falls onto her knees hand hands, and lets out a weird yowling screech that doesn't sound very much like a sound that any girl should produce. Her back arches, twists, elongates.
"You may NOT have my book. It is all I have left to remind me of her, other than the vision I have let you witness. The last memory." Miss Moreau says, taking a step toward Jack, "And you Father, in your righteousness, you would claim that I am the evil one. A mother made to watch her daughter burn because the Church deemed her a Witch. Our Judas here, was a descendant of the man who put her there. And it is only fair that his bloodline ends."
And then Charlene(puma) pounces on the church-woman.
Well, that's not what Jack was expecting: there was Charlene, and now there's a pile of unmentionables and Charlene(puma) on top of Moreau. "Deus vult!" the priest exults. "Hallelujah -- God is great!" He'll take salvation from any corner.
This is a startling turn of events. Not wholly unexpected. The woman falls backward with Charlene(puma)'s force, sending the book skittering across the floor and knocking over candles. Is chalk combustible?
"Go Char!" Tabitha calls out, taking her small victory in calling to one of the triple goddeses, God be damned here. Figuratively.
A hoarse, feral screech escapes Charlene(puma), and her powerful hindlegs propel her in a single bound that knocks the underhanded custodian on her back. In a fit of animal fury, she instinctively opens her mouth and lowers herself to take the killing bite of her prey's neck, but she flinches back when the Venetians object.
In Salem, is there Sanctuary? Jack is still chanting, Bible held high and cross presented towards what is turning out to be very a very unfortunate day indeed for Miss Moreau.
Whether or not there is, Charlene(puma) halts her instincts just in time to avoid gnawing the throat out of the custodian. While she can't put on much of a facial expression in her current form, her eyes swivel about wildly
Ultimately, Charlene(puma) cannot take the kill into her own ... claws. She is forced to stop. But likely not be the Venetians given they are not in Haven, but by a piercing curse (a very literal curse, not simply a cuss) uttered from the mouth of Miss Moreau, It is now a dash to whom gets to the book first. Perhaps pity is meant to be taken here? And wounds can be licked.
Jack is stooping, then, with the practiced hand of someone who has taken artifacts like this before: reaching out to snag the book with a strong, weathered hand.
Cougars don't have the cool growls of lions and tigers, but they have a seriously ear-piercing screech to them, and Charlene(puma) lets out one of those. She invokes her her claws as well in clinging heavily to her target's clothes, tail flailing about behind her.
"Miss McCormick," Jack says after a moment. "Let her go," he says. There's a look between Tabitha and Charlene(puma). "Let her go: it's time to be yourself again," he says gently. "And for us all to return to Haven." He tucks the book inside his jacket. "Miss Moreau knows well what has happened here."
Charlene(puma) retracts her claws and scurries backwards. There's a similarly awkward reverse-transformation, all sorts of throaty sounds and contortions, and then she stands rather naked nearby. She immediately scramble for her clothes, looking horrified.
"Look away!" Charlene shrieks at Jack.
Jack looks at Charlene as she changes, shaking his head before he turns back. "Miss McCormick," he says. "Put on your clothes, please."
"Noooo!" Miss Moreau calls out. "Noooooo!" There comes a light sob. Some woud claim that monsters cannot and do not cry. Yet, here she is. Ancient, driven by grief and revenge. Sobbing. She clutches at her chest, holding something. "Get out. Get out now before I burn you both to ash." She begins to rise. "But if you read that book. I hope that you feel the pain I feel. And you learn."
"I am NOT reading that book!" Charlene insists, still a little hoarse, and tugs her dress down about her hips. "Can we go now, Father? Seriously, I hate it here."
"We can go," Jack says. There's a look at Moreau. "If I hear about this happening again," he tells her. "Then I will bring my lighter, Miss Moreau."
Tabitha is lingering behind of Charlene and Jack, empathy driving tears in her own eyes. "I'm sorry, Eliza." she says to Miss Moreau. She gathers items. Fallen candles, some still lit, and she blows them out. "I will see if Father Francis will let me read it. And should I be able? Return it."
"You gotta promise not to tell Samantha, okay?" Charlene hisses to Tabitha, doing all she can to fix her hair. "The rich kids don't need a lot of excuses to hate anybody."
"Tell her what?" Tabitha asks. Though it might sound like a joke, she may not be sure which thing she should not say.
"That I--I mean, you literally just saw!" Charlene tells Tabitha incredulously. "Just don't tell anybody. It's super embarrassing."
"I think it's super cool." Tabitha says.
"Well, it ain't normal!" Charlene hisses.
"Miss McCormick," Jack tells Charlene. "I think we'll have a long conversation soon about what is and isn't normal."
Tabitha gestures around the room with a still lit candle, as if this is the only explanation of what normal is to Charlene.
"Fine, but it doesn't happen all that often. I can control it mostly," Charlene promises, wincing warily at Jack. "Can we go now? I don't feel safe here, this was some seriously weird shit."
As Miss Moreau leads the trio to the scene beneath the rafters, a stark realization emerges: the victims may be descendants of the original Salem persecutors, potentially targeted for ancestral sins. Charlene's modern approach, suggesting to search genealogical records on her phone, contrasts with Jack's theological method, while Tabitha's friend helps her tap into the foreboding 'Network 666'.
Miss Moreau's attachment to an old book, tightly clutched under her antiquated attire, raises suspicion, especially when connected to the empty display marked for 'Prudence Curgott', possibly her descendant. Jack's smoldering mistrust prompts a confrontational demand for information, her lineage suggesting a twisted motive for the murders—a mother's fury set on extinguishing a bloodline responsible for the pyre death of her daughter and grandchild.
Hints at the supernatural peak as Jack instructs Tabitha and Charlene to draw a warding circle using chalk and blood. Charlene provides reluctant assistance, clueless about the significance, while Jack's commanding exorcism chants push the atmosphere toward a spiritual showdown. Miss Moreau sheds her stoic exterior, unleashing a searing vision of her burnt daughter, further revealing the suffering in her curse.
The tension culminates in a physical and supernatural altercation: Jack urges Charlene to snatch Miss Moreau's book, and in a whirlwind of dread and confusion, Charlene shifts into a puma. Instincts take over as she pounces, but a Venetian force halts her primal urge for a lethal bite, ending the threat from Miss Moreau.
After a harrowing retransformation, Charlene begs for discretion about her secret ability, clearly shaken. Tabitha offers compassion both to her friend and the grieving 'witch', suggesting she'll attempt to understand the book's contents with the help of Father Francis. Jack asserts a warning to Miss Moreau, promising retribution if the dark events repeat.
Their departure is swift and tense, with the promise of future discussion about the myriad oddities they've faced. Charlene's insistence on normalcy and privacy, juxtaposed with the undeniable presence of the paranormal, solidifies the eerie experience for the visitors as they make their exit from the haunted museum.
(The Diary of Prudence Crugott(SRTabitha):SRTabitha)
[Sun Dec 17 2023]
In The Salem Witch Museum
An old Catholic Cathedral built of cold brown stone, rises above and stands tall and proud against the backdrop of a modern townscape. Thick and heavy wood arched doors look like they creep and moan on open and close but are heavy enough to still air flow. Beautiful lead glass windows cast a myriad of purplish colors against the sidewalk when light hits it just so. The street is lined with mature trees and tall streetlamps that come on as the sun sets, casting an eerie glow and shadow.
It is about 50F(10C) degrees.
"I still don't think it's fair that we had to go on a field trip on Sunday, Father Jack," Charlene grumbles as she trudges after someone, looking a bit hung over.
"I still don't think it's fair that we had to go on a field trip on Sunday, Father Jack," Charlene grumbles as she trudges after Jack, looking a bit hung over.
"Miss McCormick," Jack tells Charlene. "Do you not think that on a Sunday God's work might be most particular?" He glances at Tabitha. "Miss Matheson, have you met Miss McCormick?"
The weather is mild for a Massachussetts day. The street, is also mild, when it comes to how busy it is. The reason for this may very well be that the Church turned Museum has a sign posted that it is closed. Typically where cars would line the street, it is mostly barren. Things feel quiet. Calm.
"I guess so, but we were out all night," Charlene explains and lets out a long, enthusiastic sigh. She pulls a hand out off her jacket pocket to wave at Tabitha. "Hi, Tabs."
"I guess so, but we were out all night," Charlene explains and lets out a long, unenthusiastic sigh. She pulls a hand out off her jacket pocket to wave at Tabitha. "Hi, Tabs."
"It'll be great, Charlie," Tabitha says to Charlene, both using terms that would indicate that they've likely met before. "You look ... ah ... like you need a breakfast plate from Rosie's and hair of the dog." She smiles at Jack and then looks to the Church. "It's probably nothing. Right?"
"Being out all night doesn't make things better," Jack comments to Charlene. There's a look, low, focused on the closed museum. "The night is the Adversary's blanket." He pauses with a shake of his head. "What is this project you so need assistance with, Miss Matheson?" he asks Tabitha, looking around. "Perhaps it's nothing," he says. There's a kind of grizzled doubtfulness to his tone.
Charlene squints up at the cathedral, going quiet for the time being while the looming building visibly troubles her hung-over mind. "Can't I just wait out here?" she asks Jack, despite knowing that no such thing would be allowed. "I was supposed to get a falafel before meeting up with Belle for the drive-in thing."
One of the large doors of the Museum opens and a woman steps out, wearing a very old fashioned set of clothing. Heavy black garments, a bustle beneath all the layers. A white shift is barely seen below all the dark, the sheath mostly revealed in the roll of a three quarter sleeve. The woman affixes her bonnet as she steps down the once-Church stairs to greet Jack, Charlene and Tabitha. The latter is greeted first. "Miss Matheson. We are pleased to see that you were able to bring others with." Her lips are pursed and tight. It may very well be a lie. She looks over Charlene and then Jack, "Father," she greets lightly, mildly, perhaps with a tone of disdain.
"No," Jack tells Charlene, and then he turns his attention to the woman in the bonnet. His brows raise. "Ma'am," he tells the bonnet-woman, noticing perhaps her disdain but not commenting. "Never fear," he tells her. "I didn't bring a lighter." There's a kind of low, dry sarcasm to the words, as he straightens his jacket. "How can we help?" he asks her, his voice with a scratchy smoker's scarring.
"Miss Moreau can probably explain it better than I. But I was, ah, listening in to something on .." Tabitha says, eyeing Charlene then Jack a moment to assess what is to come next from her lips. "the network. Seems that ..." She trails off.
Charlene lets out a dejected huff and shuffles after Jack, eyeing the church-woman disinterestedly. Then a glimmer of nosy interest rises in her eyes and she asks Tabitha, "What network?"
Jack glances at Charlene, clearly sharing her question.
"Murder," Miss Moreau replies, beginning where Tabitha has tapered off. The woman folds her arms beneath a modest and well covered bosom. "I was not the one who called it in, I'm just the one responsible in ensuring that it goes no further." She turns and begins up the stairs again without much in the way of cordiality. "Come." she tells Jack, Charlene, and Tabitha.
Following in, Jack follows Miss Moreau. "Miss McCormick," he tells Charlene. "If you've never seen a dead body before, you may want to not look. There's something about the dead," he says. "They're a bridge, and being in the company of those slain changes you."
"Holy crap, there's been a murder?" Charlene whispers, looking a lot more attentive with this piece of juicy news. Smiling, she hurries up the steps, unzipping her jacket. "Okay, Father. I swear I won't look. Don't worry."
Tabitha lowers her voice, though the streets are very much deserted, for even the time of day. "Network six six six," she tells Charlene. "I don't have immediate access but I have a friend who does." She smiles a little, face paling at Jack's warning.
"There are no bodies," Miss Moreau claims to Jack and likely to the disappointment of Charlene. Whether true or not, one can not quite tell with the way she speaks, and the lack of a lot of body motions to read. "Our director was found hanging from the rafters, however. It was one of the deaths we were unable to hide from the public, though we did try."
Jack catches a word, turns it back with an interrogator's practice: "One of?" he asks. "How many have there been?"
"I'm gonna ask Liv about that. She knows all kinds of people," Charlene tells Tabitha quietly and wriggles free of her jacket on her way into the cathedral. "She got me in touch with Doctor Wilson. Anyway, I think we might get good marks for coming here."
"There's too many dangerous things out there," Jack tells Charlene. "I've killed ..." He pauses. "I used to keep count, but I don't. Every step into that world, into Miss Matheson's 'Network 666', takes you into deeper and more dangerous territory. You can't walk out the way you came in," he says.
Miss Moreau holds the door open to allow the trio in before letting the door shut on its own accord with a solid thud and a click from what is likely an auto-locking mechanism. "Too many," Miss Moreau replies over the echo of the door closing them inside the building. "Each have had a number carved into them. Our director was thirteen." She mentions, "It has put a damper on our numbers when it comes to visitors." She seems more frustrated at that then the fact there have been possibly more than thirteen deaths. "People are started to speculate that it is not just a case of missing person."
"You sound so utterly doomsday, Father," Tabitha says with a frown. Though that frown may also be in relation to whatever she has overheard from the Mistress of the Museum. She says to Charlene, "You just have to be careful. Don't listen to Brimstone over there."
"Carved?! Holy crap," Charlene mutters, eyes glimmering with nosy curiosity as she files into the cathedral's antechamber. She finds somewhere to hang up her jacket and asks Jack, "Do you have a bible? Because those have numbers all in them. I'm pretty smart, so I'd look for a part where it's got thirteen passages or something."
Looking around slowly, Jack tracks what Moreau says while keeping some uncertain, troubled eye on his surroundings. He digs into his coat, producing a bible, and he hands it to Charlene. "Thirteen is one of the numbers said to belong to the Devil," is his only comment. "But then Old Scratch claims many digits."
"Well, I don't wanna read the whole thing!" Charlene protests, eyeing the holy volume skeptically. "Don't you people know it by heart?"
Miss Moreau places a hand to her chest, to something there, a small lump, something hidden beneath the layers of Puritan-era clothing. "The number thirteen has many different meanings in our world," she says to Charlene. "It is the center of a pentagram. Should you look at the Bible you once held in your hand it is also versed there. Twelve disciples, and Christ himself. Judas being the thirteenth and Christ's betrayer."
"Judas was one of the twelve disciples," Jack correct Moreau. "He had a spot at the table: he just threw it away," he says.
"Judas was one of the twelve disciples," Jack corrects Moreau. "He had a spot at the table: he just threw it away," he says.
"That's a pretty good clue, though," Charlene points out, tucking her hair behind her ears to keep it out of her eyes. "Right, Father, but it makes thirteen if we count Jesus. If there's a murderer going around, maybe he though the director was a Judas, you know? It's symbolic."
"Yes, he was one of the disciples, making the thirteenth guest at the table." SRTabitha returns to Jack. The stern looking woman smiles at Charlene, quick enough that if one were to blink, it would be missed. "It is very likely that there is some biblical reason for whatever is happening here, yes, Miss McCormick." The woman clutches at whatever is under her clothing, "The rumors are that it is retribution."
"See, Father," Tabitha says to Jack, "It is not only the devil's number." Despite that Judas is seen in a negative light, nodding along with Charlene.
Miss Moreau returns to Jack, rather.
"Then what can you tell us about this murder?" Jack asks. "If there's a mystery, Miss Moreau: what are its details, its characters? Outline it for us, woman!" he says, some frustration in his tone. "Sophistry over whether or not Judas was the Devil's get will not stop your next man from being murdered!"
"If I solve this murder, do I get to be absolved of any pranks I might have done?" Charlene asks someone offhandedly, doing her best to sound nonchalant. "We should prolly see the place where it happened, Ma'am. There's gotta be some clues. My friend Belle's dad is rich, so maybe he knows somebody who can get DNA samples."
"If I solve this murder, do I get to be absolved of any pranks I might have done?" Charlene asks Jack offhandedly, doing her best to sound nonchalant. "We should prolly see the place where it happened, Ma'am. There's gotta be some clues. My friend Belle's dad is rich, so maybe he knows somebody who can get DNA samples."
"No, Miss McCormick," Jack says with a roll of his eyes to Charlene and a glance at Tabitha, as if for some kind of salvation.
Sighing dejectedly, Charlene goes to look around a little, peering nosily at the various memorabilia of the witch trials.
"Many people in this town are direct descendants of those responsible for the murders," Miss Moreau continues, leading Jack, Charlene and Tabitha deeper into the Museum, while gesturing to various tableaux depicting gruesome death and detailing in grandiouse terms how each death must have felt. "Some claim that it is a descendant of a witch finding recompense finally." She stops at an empty display, beneath a thick, shadow-inducing rafter, turning to Jack with a raise of a brow. "Father, it may not immediately find our murderer, but it is no less important." The willowy woman gestures upward, "It happened here. Right above our newest display." Said display: empty as it is, has a placard reading, "Prudence Curgott."
Tabitha gives Jack a look that reads, 'Hey, don't look at me.' She asks Charlene, stepping over to her to whisper it, "What are your initial thoughts?"
"My first thought is I figured witches were usually dykes, so I didn't know they had a lot of descendants," Charlene admits, murmuring her theory quietly to Tabitha. "But there's got to have been exceptions."
snorts softly. "I don't think that's true," Tabitha says to Charlene, shaking her head. "But it's true enough, lesbianism was considered evil and satanic. And some women were persecuted because of that.." She might have read that in one of the passing displays?
"Right, but it's gotta be like in prison, you know?" Charlene reasons and shrugs lightheartedly at Tabitha. "Haven't you seen Orange is the new Black?"
There's a difficult to conceal snort at Charlene's running commentary. "Can you do your genealogy research on your phone?" Jack asks Charlene, even as he returns to studying the display on Prudence.
"Only if they scanned those old books they kept in churches back then, and it's all written in wrinkly handwriting. I can't really read that," Charlene admits and smiles apologetically at Jack.
"Miss McCormick," Jack tells Charlene. "You are full of ideas and low on solutions."
"This is true. We are. It is also apparent when we look at the terrible way that African Americans have been treated." She scoops some of her hair back up into her bonnet while eyeing Charlene with a wilting look, one that is high in disapproval. "Television will rot your brain, child." She looks back to Jack and Tabitha, "Prudence is actually one of my own descendants." Miss Moreau says to Jack, letting her spindly fingers drop away from whatever she has beneath her clothing. "Her brother had lineage. Her own child was murdered with her, ending any chance of a true bloodline."
"Sheesh. Sorry," Charlene mutters and gets out her phone, swiping a thumb across the screen. "Google, search for... search for birth records date... sixteen-fifty to eighteen hundred, Massachusetts Cathedral of the--what's the address here?"
"Well, then," Jack says. He pauses. "Miss Matheson, let's see if we can summon whatever this is out into the open. If you could start to draw a circle, please," he says as he digs out a satchel with candles. "I am a man of God. If the spirit has some anger at me, it can come for me," he says.
"She means ancestors," Charlene remarks quietly to Tabitha.
"They only have the birth records from about eighteen fifty and onwards. I think the witch trials were before that," Charlene reports back to Jack after obnoxiously navigating Google by voice for a little while. "Are you gonna draw a circle? I have a glitter marker from when we were decorating the dorms."
Tabitha, for her part, is trying not to snicker at Charlene, also. "I haven't... I'll have to look for it." She whispers again to Charlene, eyes on Jack, "It's not really a church anymore. It's .. kind of like a homage. But worth a try? It was a church, maybe she got baptized here..." She nods to the other woman, "She must have. There's no way Prudence could be a descendant of hers." She says this, but the tone suggests that she doesn't believe her words. At Jack's behest, she pulls out a little knife from her tote. She slices her hand open, not deep, but enough to be the artist here, and dab into the blood to draw a small circle.
"Help me?" Tabitha asks Charlene.
"Miss McCormick," Jack tells Charlene. "Chalk is better." He hands Charlene a bag of chalk. "Follow along after Miss Matheson and sprinkle chalk on the line of blood she is leaving," he says, starting to set up candles as he goes to match the circle. As he does he begins to chant, low and in Latin, beginning to activate the warding circle Charlene and Tabitha are laying down.
"Ew! Seriously?!" Charlene asks, peering incredulously at Tabitha. With a slightly queasy look, she pokes her pinky into her friend's blood and does her best to mark out the circle.
"I mean, she already started, so," Charlene remarks distractedly to Jack.
Miss Moreau says, tight-lipped, "Yes, ancestor." She watches Tabitha with mild interest as the woman does not hesitate to sacrifice her blood. "Either work, I suppose, blood is far more potent." The woman inhales, as if to take in the scent. Again, she clutches proverbial pearls. Something beneath all the layers of clothing not made in this era. Perhaps it is the Latin which sets the woman at ill ease.
"You better not have AIDS, I swear," Charlene mutters to Tabitha, and after a while, an ill-advised circle of blood has probably formed between them. "We could have used chalk, just so you know. Father Jack had some all along."
"Blood and chalk serve different purposes," Jack explains to Charlene in between lighting candles. "Blood provides power, and chalk binds it in place." A pause. "Everyone please, step inside the circle," he says. "It will provide some protection." As he finishes lighting candles, he raises his arms, bible in one hand: beginning some evocation. His voice booms, commanding, demanding that those spirits here reveal themselves.
Charlene rises from her squat with a huff of effort and steps into the circle, looking around uneasily.
Tabitha gasps at Charlene. "I do not have AIDS!" She looks offended at her friend's words. She closes her fist to stop the small trickle of blood, though it does drop occasionally into the flame of a candle. She rises, too, and steps over the chalk line that has been drawn, when Jack begins to chant.
Miss Moreau is hesitant to step within the circle. "As the Father said, child, blood is the power that will help you seek out your demons and ghosts. One day, perhaps you will learn of that power, yourself." She steps in, lifting her heavy skirts to avoid breaking the chalk line.
"I hope not," Charlene mutters grumpily while she loiters inside the circle, staying close by Tabitha. "I got no demons. I got ADHD, but that's different. They have pills for that."
Beckoning the girls closer, Jack continues his invocation: "In the name of St. Michael, who slays dragons, I command thee -- demons, reveal thyselves," he says. "In the name of St. Raphael, who heals, I command thee -- spirits of tree and rock, reveal thyselves." At each command, he flicks holy water from a small vial in one direction. "In the name of St. Gabriel, whose trumpet blows, I command thee -- nymphs and gnomes, reveal thyselves." Again. "And in the name of St. Uriel, who guards the doors of the deadh, I command three -- spirits of the dead, reveal thyselves."
For once, Charlene has no juvenile remarks to contribute with. She grows quiet in a slightly scared way while Jack speaks, looking about warily with her arms held against her body.
Miss Moreau pulls out a little black book of her own, from within the deep recesses of some pocket in her Puritan clothing. It is held with a vice grip. There is nothing to determine what sort of book it is, but it certainly is not a Bible. "I have called upon the Saints, myself, Father. They have not listened." And indeed, there is no reply to Jack's prayer. There is a brief flutter of air, sending a candle flame to flicker then burn out. "Prudence called to the Saints." she continues. "She prayed that they would come save. That the wind would snuff the flame that rose around her. And her child. She clutched that child in her arms from the center of that flame.." The candles alight once more, the flame hotter, higher, wilder.
Jack looks back at Miss Moreau, then, as he chants, and then as the candles begin to rage his eyes focus on her. "Miss Matheson," he says. "Miss McCormick. Get away from her," he bids them, and his words are tight, concerned. "Get some distance." It's urgent, concerned, as he turns to focus entirely on the woman in Puritan black. Now he holds the Bible out towards her: "In the name of the Father," he says. "In the name of the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I abjure evil. I reject the Devil: begone from this woman," he commands Moreau.
"Holy crap. Did you see that, Tabs?" Charlene whispers, choosing Tabitha as her sanity anchor and pressing slightly in with her. "I think we gotta--" she goes on, but she obeys Jack out of sheer survival instinct and scurries backwards out of the circle, holding onto her schoolmate's arm.
Tabitha looks aside to Charlene, wetting her lips. "I think now is a good time to invoke.. maybe a Lord's prayer..." She takes a step away from Miss Moreau, dragged even, by Charlene, and in the process of this scurry backwards, her feet, as well as Charlene's likely scuff the chalkline, breaking it.
"Yeah. Uh, our Father who art in heaven," Charlene ventures, glancing anxiously at Tabitha while she tucks her hair behind her ears. "Hallowed be thy name. Look, I'm not any good at fighting if it comes to that, just so you know."
"How she cried!" Miss Moreau says, her voice rising to a screech, a wail. "She begged for someone to save her. And God. God was no where. She beseeched him. She.. a good Catholic woman. Good and right! She cried..." There comes a vision before Jack and Charlene. Flames, all around. A woman, skin black, holding a baby, burnt so black it is unrecognizable as a child. The smell of singed flesh and hair fill everyone's nostrils.
Charlene lets out a startled shriek and shrinks back, staring in horror at the church woman. There's not very much help to be hoped for from the student, because she opts to tackle this unexpected shock by screaming her lungs out, filling the acoustics of the building with that sound.
Jack steps towards Moreau, Bible held high. Sotto voice, he tells Charlene, "Grab that book in her hand." Then to the woman and that vision of the baby: "Be strong in the Lord!" he shouts. "Put on the whole armor of God, that you might stand against the devil!" He presents the book. "Wrestle not against flesh and blood but against the lord and potentates of this present darkness, against those who do evil on Earth and in Heaven. Stand firm!" he bellows. "Take up the armor of God! Fasten on you the girdle of truth and don thee the breastplate of righteousness. Begone!" he says, shoving the book in Moreau's face.
Tabitha covers her ears lightly to the sound of the wailing. "I call upon thee, Mother! Blessed be thy name. I call on you to protect. To soothe, to nurture.." She speaks this, her prayer, along with Jack's own, invoking her own power, though Charlene's screams do make it hard to concentrate. "It's okay, Charlie, it's... just ... breathe. Please, calm down!"
Charlene's unbearable screaming tapers off into horrified whimpers, but she scurries forward at Jack's behest to snatch at the book in the custodian's hand. She winces fearfully in the process, like it might explode--but if she does get hold of it, she scurries backwards again to hide behind the safety of eight foot's distance with Tabitha.
The book in Miss Moreau's hand is lifted as Jack lifts his Bible. She too begins to speak in Latin, "Damnatus est qui alterum damnat. Damno te. Maledico tibi!" She stares at Charlene when the young woman dares to approach, hand upheld in a way to play keep away with the woman and the book. "Learn, child." she demands, "Learn to protect yourself. God will not. If you do not learn to protect yourself, you may end up like my dear Prudence." Hell hath no fury, no?
"Sorry, okay?" Charlene retorts, playing her hand with the wisdom of someone with little investment in damnation. "Father Jack, I'm scared."
"Tackle her, God-damn-it," Jack hisses under his breath to Charlene. He holds the Bible high now and with his other hand fishes out a cross, holding it as well. "St. Michael," he says. "Take up thy flaming sword. Here before you is the Serpent: it is Satan, come into the Garden, and I beseech thee, strike off its head!"
With a look of frustration, Charlene squeezes her eyes shut. Then she suddenly doubles over, falls onto her knees hand hands, and lets out a weird yowling screech that doesn't sound very much like a sound that any girl should produce. Her back arches, twists, elongates.
"You may NOT have my book. It is all I have left to remind me of her, other than the vision I have let you witness. The last memory." Miss Moreau says, taking a step toward Jack, "And you Father, in your righteousness, you would claim that I am the evil one. A mother made to watch her daughter burn because the Church deemed her a Witch. Our Judas here, was a descendant of the man who put her there. And it is only fair that his bloodline ends."
And then Charlene(puma) pounces on the church-woman.
Well, that's not what Jack was expecting: there was Charlene, and now there's a pile of unmentionables and Charlene(puma) on top of Moreau. "Deus vult!" the priest exults. "Hallelujah -- God is great!" He'll take salvation from any corner.
This is a startling turn of events. Not wholly unexpected. The woman falls backward with Charlene(puma)'s force, sending the book skittering across the floor and knocking over candles. Is chalk combustible?
"Go Char!" Tabitha calls out, taking her small victory in calling to one of the triple goddeses, God be damned here. Figuratively.
A hoarse, feral screech escapes Charlene(puma), and her powerful hindlegs propel her in a single bound that knocks the underhanded custodian on her back. In a fit of animal fury, she instinctively opens her mouth and lowers herself to take the killing bite of her prey's neck, but she flinches back when the Venetians object.
In Salem, is there Sanctuary? Jack is still chanting, Bible held high and cross presented towards what is turning out to be very a very unfortunate day indeed for Miss Moreau.
Whether or not there is, Charlene(puma) halts her instincts just in time to avoid gnawing the throat out of the custodian. While she can't put on much of a facial expression in her current form, her eyes swivel about wildly
Ultimately, Charlene(puma) cannot take the kill into her own ... claws. She is forced to stop. But likely not be the Venetians given they are not in Haven, but by a piercing curse (a very literal curse, not simply a cuss) uttered from the mouth of Miss Moreau, It is now a dash to whom gets to the book first. Perhaps pity is meant to be taken here? And wounds can be licked.
Jack is stooping, then, with the practiced hand of someone who has taken artifacts like this before: reaching out to snag the book with a strong, weathered hand.
Cougars don't have the cool growls of lions and tigers, but they have a seriously ear-piercing screech to them, and Charlene(puma) lets out one of those. She invokes her her claws as well in clinging heavily to her target's clothes, tail flailing about behind her.
"Miss McCormick," Jack says after a moment. "Let her go," he says. There's a look between Tabitha and Charlene(puma). "Let her go: it's time to be yourself again," he says gently. "And for us all to return to Haven." He tucks the book inside his jacket. "Miss Moreau knows well what has happened here."
Charlene(puma) retracts her claws and scurries backwards. There's a similarly awkward reverse-transformation, all sorts of throaty sounds and contortions, and then she stands rather naked nearby. She immediately scramble for her clothes, looking horrified.
"Look away!" Charlene shrieks at Jack.
Jack looks at Charlene as she changes, shaking his head before he turns back. "Miss McCormick," he says. "Put on your clothes, please."
"Noooo!" Miss Moreau calls out. "Noooooo!" There comes a light sob. Some woud claim that monsters cannot and do not cry. Yet, here she is. Ancient, driven by grief and revenge. Sobbing. She clutches at her chest, holding something. "Get out. Get out now before I burn you both to ash." She begins to rise. "But if you read that book. I hope that you feel the pain I feel. And you learn."
"I am NOT reading that book!" Charlene insists, still a little hoarse, and tugs her dress down about her hips. "Can we go now, Father? Seriously, I hate it here."
"We can go," Jack says. There's a look at Moreau. "If I hear about this happening again," he tells her. "Then I will bring my lighter, Miss Moreau."
Tabitha is lingering behind of Charlene and Jack, empathy driving tears in her own eyes. "I'm sorry, Eliza." she says to Miss Moreau. She gathers items. Fallen candles, some still lit, and she blows them out. "I will see if Father Francis will let me read it. And should I be able? Return it."
"You gotta promise not to tell Samantha, okay?" Charlene hisses to Tabitha, doing all she can to fix her hair. "The rich kids don't need a lot of excuses to hate anybody."
"Tell her what?" Tabitha asks. Though it might sound like a joke, she may not be sure which thing she should not say.
"That I--I mean, you literally just saw!" Charlene tells Tabitha incredulously. "Just don't tell anybody. It's super embarrassing."
"I think it's super cool." Tabitha says.
"Well, it ain't normal!" Charlene hisses.
"Miss McCormick," Jack tells Charlene. "I think we'll have a long conversation soon about what is and isn't normal."
Tabitha gestures around the room with a still lit candle, as if this is the only explanation of what normal is to Charlene.
"Fine, but it doesn't happen all that often. I can control it mostly," Charlene promises, wincing warily at Jack. "Can we go now? I don't feel safe here, this was some seriously weird shit."