Lindsay and I are investigating a so-called witchcraft war at a girl's school just outside of Toronto. We're both seasoned cops and think we've seen it all , but right now we're both perplexed by what's going on.
Two school girls are rivals and apparently are using black arts to wage war with one another.
Cassandra, the girl who we were interviewing launched into an angry tirade when she happened to notice a cardinal in the tree outside the window, claiming her rival, Darla, was spying on her.
Irt was a bizarre moment and Lindsay and I were dumbfounded such a mundane thing could cause Cassandra to spin off into an emotional outburst.
“She has no idea what she’s done,” Cassandra hissed.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lindsay shouted. “It’s just a damn bird.”
“Is it?” The girl mocked.
“What else would it be?”
“I suppose you haven’t heard of divinatory animals—or witches’ familiars? She’ll pay for this.”
Lindsay stared at me in frustration, apparently expecting me to somehow probe into the girl's psyche and divine her private logic.
I simply shrugged and shook my head.
I knew this was going to be a drama-filled afternoon fuelled by hormones and teenage angst but I wasn't prepared to be consulted as an expert on the occult.
Lindsay knew I had read all of the psychiatric studies on parapsychology and its relationship to the psyche and although Carl Jung might be open to such phenomena, I definitely wasn't.
The mere mention of the term Witchcraft gave me heartburn.
But Lindsay was determined to get to the bottom of the problem and try to restore at least a semblance of order and peace.
She insisted we interview Cassandra's rival,Darla Pendle and see if we could resolve the conflict.
Darla struck us both as a pathetic girl—pudgy, frizzy-haired and scared out of her wits.
“You’ve got to protect me from Cassandra," she wailed, "she’s evil—she’ll kill me.”
“Did you take her witches’ manual?” Lindsay asked.
She nodded morosely. "We found it in the woods where she must have left it—but we didn’t know it was hers."
“Hermione Moore, said we should burn it—her father’s a minister—she said it was evil and dark.”
“And you’re sure you didn’t copy it, or study it?”
“No. We were all so frightened we were crying. Hermione took it and told us she’d burn it. We all ran back to the school and prayed in the chapel until Hermione showed up and told us it was done.”
I gave Lindsay a knowing glance.
Hermione denied doing anything other than burning the journal—even took us to the woods and showed us the ashes. Basically, we were forced to take her at her word.
However, two days later, we received word there was a fire at the riding stables at the school. Two students perished in the flames—Cassandra Mitchell and Hermione Moore.
To this day, the circumstances surrounding the fire and the girls’ deaths remains a mystery.
Lindsay’s convinced it was the work of witchcraft—but I’m not so certain.
The two girls were found beside each other—apparently struggling to open the door—but they were both burned so badly, further investigation wasn’t possible.
The incident shook up both Lindsay and me—I didn’t see her for several months afterward.
When we finally did meet, it was strained—we were both still recovering from the ordeal. But gradually, things returned to normal.
As a matter of fact, I saw her again today—she’s brought me another case about a young boy who’s accused of being a serial arsonist. I told her I’d help, of course.
Her parting words?
“You owe me dinner and a play—call me. I’ve got the day off Tuesday.”
I simply smiled ruefully still mindful of that awful Tuesday at the girl's school.
They say for cops Tuesday's are hell, but who knows—Lindsay is finally showing some interest in me.
Perhaps, Tuesdays aren't so terrible after all.
