My legs began to grow weak so I took rest in a chair near the fire again. I dozed on and off, yet never fell into a full slumber, my fear of the other witches coming for my family keeping me awake.
Dawn arrived all too slowly. The bright sunlight shone through the second floor windows first, indicating that I only had moments before my daughters roused. I would have to face an explanation of the previous night’s terror.
I entered the chambers that Mary and I shared to wake her. As I approached the bed I could see that something was terribly wrong.
Her face was ashen, almost gray. Her lips purple; no longer the pale pink they had always been. I rushed to her side and placed my hand upon her face. She was still warm, not as I had expected. I shook her gently and whispered her name, holding hope she would awaken. I dropped to my knees and shook her with vigor, calling her name loudly. I begged of her to open her eyes. It was not to be.
I placed my ear upon her chest and heard her heart beat strong. The witch’s curse surely had done this. I left a gentle kiss upon her forehead and exited the room to tend to the children. They had still not risen.
As I climbed the stairs to the upper floor, I did my best to not frighten the children. Clara’s bed was first visible. Her skin, too, had turned gray; her lips purple, her heart still beating, breath still flowing. I was too frightened to look at the younger girls; alas it was my duty as their father. I took but two steps toward Anna, a girl of only 7, who had been lying sleeping in her bed when the witch came for me, and saw the curse upon her as well. Only one remained.
My dearest Emma, only five years in age; a delicate little angel—how could I look at her dear face? Sentenced to life as stone by a witch. I hesitantly stepped toward her bed. Her blankets had been pulled up high over her head, as they always were. She had a terrible fear of being found by something evil in her sleep and felt blankets would protect her.
I had failed to protect her, the one thing I promised her each and every night before slumber.
I reached my hand out slowly to grab the blankets and reveal her face when I heard a small voice from behind me say ‘Papa'. I startled and quickly turned to see my little Emma standing in her sleeping gown. I rushed to her, picked her up and sat down on her bed while holding her. I looked her over from head to toe, ensuring she was unharmed.
She questioned what I was doing to her, what was wrong. Fearful of letting her know the truth, I pretended it was for play and told her I was looking for bed bugs. I helped her dress and took her down the stairs. I prepared her breakfast and answered her many questions as safely as one could.
I informed her that her mother and sisters were ill and that a doctor would examine them later in the day. To my utter surprise she laughed at me and informed me that they were not ill, they just became frightened and ran into the forest.
I asked her how we could get them out of the forest. She told me we could not since they had run too great a distance. We had to wait for their return.
“Zoë—this is the story of how walkers came to be. These journals are going to tell us why we are who we are.”
“So you’re saying we can do everything we do in our sleep because of a witch’s curse? Are you honestly telling me that you believe witches are real?”
“Apparently they are.”
“I think you’ve been watching too much TV.”
I flip through the journal, skimming over the next few pages. They are more faded than the others and difficult to read in the dim light. I reach a page with a drawing on it. I set the book on my lap to shine the flashlight from a different angle in hopes of seeing more clearly. What I see both interests and confuses me.
I reach my hand down my shirt and grab the pendant. I pull it over my head and have my first good look at it. On one side, is an unusual symbol,