Pumpkin Spice, стр. 3
The black cloud vanished and all that was left in the house was Jasper, and the remains of his beloved wife.
It had been exactly five years since Jasper witnessed the death of his loving wife, and the disappearance of his son. He had made it his mission in life to understand witches, to understand their purpose, their intent, and how to kill each and every one of them.
It was the break of dawn; a crow could be hard over the horizon. On the third coo of the crow Jasper woke from his sleep. It was the same it had been since the night he finally stopped looking for his son.
Immediately following the kidnapping by the witch Jasper set out into the woods to search. The memory of his wife haunted him as he scoured through the trees and vines. The townspeople of Tarryville helped Jasper for days. Father Michael led a group through the eastern woods, and allowed all of those joining the search to sleep in his church for extra safety. Jasper searched entire nights with rarely any sleep. He would not give up until the season came to a thunderous halt.
Father Michael and others plead for Jasper to stop. The search was draining and damning to him. When the Anterus came he knew all hope in finding his boy was lost. Jasper finally gave in and accepted his boy was gone. He’d search again in five years when the season of the witch returned to Tarryville. His dreams would be filled with him reuniting with his son. Those dreams would just as quickly turn to nightmares. And, if he were to reunite with his child who knew what to expect? What would become of his son? His three-year-old son would be eight and growing. Would they recognize each other? Would they even want to? Positive thoughts! He told himself each and every morning.
The west end of Winhead farmstead housed a shack, it was built one-hundred and fifty years prior by Jasper’s ancestors. The shack used to house illegal immigrants during the dark times, now it was the home of nothing too exciting. Mostly, landscaping equipment, and Jasper’s run-down old truck, which currently lived under a tarp. The family did their best to upkeep the shack (which I should tell you was the original Farmhouse on the property), while preserving the historic appeal of it. In the past ten years Jasper had installed electricity in the hopes of creating a study for Kirk when he started school. Was all that just wishful thinking at this point? Jasper was using it as his office. The place to learn and store his finding on witches and the occult.
He made his way to the shack and slid the barn door open. Inside he had a chalkboard covered in notes. It was evident he had been writing furiously on it, scrubbing incorrect information, writing new findings and discoveries. The back of his truck was filled with the physical findings he had discovered throughout his treks in the eastern woods. He had candles, stones, ripped pages from notebooks, salt stones and various minerals, several talisman’s, and a chalice. It had been a grueling five years for Jasper. He had learned more about Witches, Wicca and the occult in those five years than he had ever desired too.
That afternoon Jasper made himself a cup of tea and sat on his front porch. He had his trusty shotgun with him, and using an old rag he began cleaning and dusting it off. He would soon go out to search for his son again. Whether the shotgun would matter or not he did not know, but better to have it than not, he suspected.
The fifth season was here, and Jasper was ready for his revenge.
That was when he heard the cry. It was a woman. The voice of an innocent woman bellowing from the field below. “Help!” She cried out, “Help me! My boy! Help!” Like a flash Jasper jumped from his chair and hopped off his front porch and ran towards the distressed woman.
Her skin colour gone, tears dripping from her eyes, the fear of what happen, and the torture of what was to come, all showing on her brow. “What’s wrong?” Jasper inquired. He was sure he knew the answer, but had hoped he did not, “Witches.” She stated just as Jasper suspected, “Witches got my boy.” She cried out as she fell to her knees in pain. Jasper helped the woman to her feet. “Come inside, I’ll serve you up some tea. Then we’ll talk about your boy.” He assured the helpless distraught woman.
The kettle was steaming. The woman sat at Jasper’s dining room with a shocked gaze upon her face. She didn’t know what to do, or what to think. All she could focus on was the loss of her child. “Sugar?” Jasper snapped her out of her daze. “Yes please.” Her voice was monotone and zombie like, “Two scoops, if you don’t mind.” In fact, Jasper did not mind. He opened the jar of sugar, then scooped two teaspoons of sugar and stirred it into the hot tea. He walked it over to the table in front of the woman and placed it before her. Jasper looked down at her with caring eyes. He knew all too well what she was going through. Jasper was this woman five years ago; he knew the pain of watching your child be taken by one of the monsters in the eastern woods. “We’re gonna get your boy back.” He calmly assured the woman. “Do you know much about witches?” She asked as she placed both palms on the hot tea cup. “I know enough.” He didn’t want to say much more, but she