Finders and Cursers

There was a point in my life where nothing was scarier to me as a mother than the worry that my girls would get into something they weren't supposed to. I had our cleaning products locked in the closet on the highest shelf because I didn't want them to think the Tide Pods were candy. With everything we've gone through, this worry seem like small potatoes now.

Three and a half years ago, my husband Fred and I moved our family from Chicago to a much smaller and more remote area of Illinois. It was a bit of a culture shock at first; We couldn’t walk to the nearest grocery store, the schools had far fewer children- all things you would expect from a small town though, I suppose. While we moved in more recently, we purchased the house five years ago. It sat on the land which was abandoned for decades before. We renovated the house then called it our own.

We hoped that with this move would come a slower paced lifestyle; less dependence on technology and more fulfilling relationships with each other. We just wanted to do what we thought would give Ella and Charlotte the best chance at a bright and well-rounded future with less pressure to be anything other than a child.

We got what we hoped for at first. The girls loved playing in the yard. They tried gardening and enjoyed swinging on the rope that hung in the old but sturdy elm tree; occasionally instead of gardening they just liked to dig in the dirt and find bugs. They would take pictures and that night we would try to identify the bugs, combining their experience with research. It really seemed to make the learning process more exciting to them.

One summer day the girls didn’t bring back a bug or critter, but a piece of jewelry.

“Mommy, mommy!” I heard coming from the back yard from both of our daughters. I noticed from a distance that Charlotte was carrying something in her hand. Relieved to see that their treasure wasn’t harmful, we brought it inside and cleaned it up. It was a silver heart shaped locket, the latch almost seemed to be soldered together. They asked if they could add it to their dress up collection and I couldn’t think of a reason to say no, so I agreed.

As the fall crept closer, Ella started kindergarten and Charlotte began 2nd grade and they made new friends. Charlotte is an October baby, so we let her and Ella both invite a friend over to celebrate her birthday. Coincidentally, the friends they invited were sisters who were the same ages as our girls. I had met their mom, Liz, just about every day at pick up and drop off times. We made small talk; I learned she was an archivist working on the opening of the town’s historical museum and I shared how I had left a paralegal job in the city to be a stay-at-home mom. We weren’t super close but had built enough of a relationship to where we were comfortable with the other set of parents watching our girls for a few hours.

Liz dropped off Julie and Sarah around noon on Saturday so they could partake in pizza, cake, and ice cream. We played a game of Disney Trivial Pursuit and the girls wanted to play dress up with a few of the new outfits Charlotte got from her grandparents.

Around 4 pm, Liz arrived to take Julie and Sarah home. The girls were still playing dress up, so they came downstairs to give Liz a fashion show. I noticed Liz becoming uncomfortable almost immediately when she saw the found locket. She hurriedly told her girls to get their things together, to thank “Mrs. Denise and Mr. Fred” for inviting them for Charlotte’s party, and packed them into the beige Town and Country minivan.

As they drove away, Fred gave me a sideways glance and muttered “That was weird” before turning to get our girls in and out of the bath, in their jammies, and ready to snuggle up for a short movie before bed.

A month later, Fred saw that the local historical museum, the one Liz was working on, was opening over the weekend so we decided to go. We approached to see that the line was out the door. They had local kids who were back from college on Thanksgiving break volunteering as docents, which felt like a nice small-town touch.

It was finally our turn to enter the building. They trotted us from room to room, showing us images of past notable residents and things that were found and deemed artifacts like arrowheads and old farming tools. We approached the final room and saw a map of the town with a highlighted area that looked a lot like where our home would be. Fred and I kind of straightened up upon recognition.

We listened as the docent recited “This is the Blackwell family, John and Marilla, along with their daughter. They resided on their farmland for 48 years. Local legend is that there was a curse put on that land by the Blackwells, who were accused of practicing witchcraft… Of course, that’s just a local legend! Over here we have…” the upbeat docent trailed off while I watched the color drain from Fred’s face. I saw him eyeing the portrait from across the room. Noticing myself that Marilla, the wife, wore a necklace that was uncomfortably similar to the one we found on our property. Their property.

A week or so later, the girls came running in to the house and went straight to their room. I found it unusual as they would typically ask for a snack after playing outside, so I listened for a few moments. When the quiet continued, I followed up to their room. The door was about three quarters of the way shut; I peeked in. In Charlotte’s hand was the locket, which she and Ella were inspecting closely. As I was about to open the door to ask what they were up to, Ella said “She said to open it, Charlotte!”

“I can’t find the clasp Ella!” Charlotte griped frustratedly.

“Give it to me then!” Ella said reaching for the locket.

I entered the room, startling them, asking “What’s going on ladies?”

Falling suspiciously silent, Charlotte said “Nothing, just fighting over who gets to play with the stupid necklace. Here Ella, you can have it” tossing it to her sister.

Ella’s face lit up devilishly, then quickly flashed back to mine.

“How about I hold on to the necklace for now” I suggested. Quickly, the girls’ eyes shot to one another as they began begging me not to take it.

As this felt even more alarming, I locked it up in my jewelry box. I recounted the earlier incident to Fred; how someone told Ella and Charlotte to open the locket and then how they lied to me about what they were actually doing. He shrugged it off as childish adventures or imaginary friends.

The next morning, I woke to the girls playing quietly in their room and started downstairs to make breakfast. Knowing they were upset that I took away their new piece of costume jewelry, I thought I’d make a peace offering with waffles and fresh orange juice. I called them downstairs and was shocked to see the locket, slightly ajar, around Ella’s neck.

“Ella, how did you get into my jewelry box?” I questioned.

“I didn’t go in your jewelry box, mother.” She professed.

“Baby, I’m not upset, I just want you to tell the truth, how did you get the necklace.” Glossing over the fact that it was strange for her to call me “mother.”

“Oh, I didn’t get it mother, it was in our room when I woke up.” She stated with an empty expression on her face and an unsettling cadence to her voice.

I turned to her sister. “Charlotte, did you go in my jewelry box to get the necklace?”

“No mom, I didn’t, honest! It was on the dresser this morning.” she responded defensively.

“Okay,” I sighed, knowing I would talk to Fred about it soon. I let them finish their breakfast and go outside to play. Minutes later, Charlotte ran in screaming my name with terror in her voice. “Mom! Ella!”

I sprang to the door and as I did, I saw Charlotte sprinting to the house, as Ella turned around with eyes that were completely black. Her head tilted downward as she looked up with eyes as wide as saucers and a smirk that chilled me to the bone.

In a voice that was not hers, she hissed “I am Marilla Blackwell, bound to the earth by an amulet, trapped until these foolish children released me. My life was stolen from me, and now you will regret living in this home too. Your lives will forever be execrable.”

As soon as the final words left her mouth, a dark shadow shot into the air while I watched Ella collapse to the ground. I ran to her and cradled her as I sobbed with confusion and concern. Ella was inconsolable and nearly making herself sick from coughing and the harshness of her tears. I looked up to see Fred bursting through the storm door.

“What the hell happened out here?” He thundered angrily.

I recounted what I had witnessed, tears still flowing from my eyes with our daughters’ arms wrapped around each of my legs, weepy and afraid as well.

We reached out to a priest, who came and blessed our house, planted Saint Benedict medals at the corners of our property to protect us, put salt around the perimeter of our home, and put crystals on our windowsills. We didn’t know if we believed in any of the woo-woo stuff, but we were willing to give anything a shot.

That wasn’t the last of the activity on our property though. Within a week, all of the grass died. Trees that had been booming with life for nearly a century lost their sturdiness and became frail and crumbled.

A sinkhole opened in our back yard within months. This didn’t affect just us though. Throughout the first year, the town had fourteen sinkholes open up within a five-mile radius. A supply chain issue caused all of the grocery stores around us to close because they were no longer able to get shipments from larger companies. Everything around us became a food desert. Hunting was approved annually to try and feed families. In 2020, the Coronavirus pandemic hit; we gathered belongings to start living underground. Cell phones and internet no longer worked. In a normal life, that would have been enough of a horror story, but reality was so much worse. We haven’t talked to our families in over a year. We don’t know if our parents are still alive.

We have resolved that our land was, in fact, cursed by the Blackwell family. We learned that their daughter, Eliza, was thrown into a nearby lake as punishment for her parents being witches in the mid 1800’s. We’ve pieced together enough to figure that some other powerful entity must have banished Marilla to her locket. We don’t know what happened to her husband. While I have no basis for this conclusion, it feels like Marilla was angry or jealous that we could live freely with our children on the land that she called home.

Our food portions are low, and I don’t expect what we’ve frozen will last long. Our house was raided by local scavengers on multiple occasions, but thankfully due to Fred’s craftsmanship, they couldn’t get to our bunker.

I hope we can make it to at least next spring, but I’m quickly losing optimism.