Cat Dubois' Odyssey to Enchantment Read online

  Catherine no longer remembered the sound of the conch. She had forgotten Thomas; but as of that day—painfully—she would remember, thanks to Eleanor.

  The psychotherapy had worked as far as forgetting traumas, but the therapy had no way to replace or fill the black suction of the empty, wounded space inside her. For some reason, there were always questions and never any real rest. The void seemed endless in depth and time. The void felt like a hole in Catherine’s heart. Within a relatively short time, the pain remained, but the reason for the pain was gone. All Cat’s life, that invisible wound often bled, and the infection of heartbreak, for no known apparent reason, festered.

  “Why must Catherine remember such sadness?”, her parents had asked themselves. So, they decided to take life’s dramas into their own wealthy hands by paying the best psychotherapists for deep hypnotic sessions that could begin to build Cat’s new memories. Even at just four-years-old, Catherine was resistant to let go, but within just three months’ time, she had a whole new life story, and, that was that. The new timeline was effective. A fine simple story was created. It formed a plain existence that was easy for everyone to believe, including those who might ask where and why they had come to Glory Town? After all, a life lived in luxury, spent at summer and winter homes in England and France was a far grander way of living, so why would they have chosen to come to a quiet, obscure little place like Glory Town?

  The Dubois’ wanted to avoid the pitfalls of such questions, which would entrap them all into never forgetting Thomas, and the way he died. Easy and simple, new memories would not provide challenge to such questions. Keeping life most quaint and boring would work best for their newly replaced memories.

  The “uncle” story was actually a fabrication, as well. The Dubois’ were not simple people; however, they did become owners of a small, successful wood furniture and carpentry factory, which Cat’s father managed quite successfully. The small business would satisfy his ego, yet keep their standard of living somewhat normal. And, he had always liked carpentry and was quite skilled. Cat’s mother was finally where she always wanted to be: at home, being a mother, now, to her only child.

  There were no more maids, nannies and butlers as in their days before America, and Mrs. Dubois washed the clothing and cooked just like the other women in town. Because of Thomas’ death and the move, Cat and her mother were also, naturally, drawn together more—more isolated in the manor on the hill; and, finally, their mother-daughter bonding had a chance to grow. Cat was almost six by the time they arrived in Glory Town.

  “I must meet Thomas again.” Determined, Cat looked around the room for the brilliant aura. His smile within the golden light captivated her. She could see him! He looked at her with such love. It was just like the warm summer day, when he was swept out to sea. His pleasantness and joie de vivre were so inviting that Cat felt she must know her Thomas again—she must. Even though, his disappearance brought pain, she longed for more answers to her questions—his answers—to hear him, to listen to his story; and, he needed to be heard. He had been ignored and forgotten for so long.

  “Poor Thomas. I’m so sorry,” Cat sobbed. There weren’t enough tissues for the tears.

  Thomas had wanted answers too; he pleaded to be acknowledged.

  “Thomas, I know now. I know you must have been so lonely waiting for our selfish pain to be out of the way, so you could come through. Are you here now?”, Cat begged to him.

  The room lit with a warm, deep amber glow. The fireplace was unchanged—no popping of wood or embers. All that resounded was tranquility. Cat felt as if she was being embraced by the lights of love, peace and joy.

  Eleanor said, “He is hugging you, my dear. He says that he’s waited for this day for so long. He wanted to be acknowledged; and he never wanted all of you to be so sad. He didn’t suffer that day; before he even knew he was drowning, an angel came and scooped him up in his arms. They flew off; and when he looked back, the ocean seashore was out of his view. He wanted to come back to be with you, and refused to stay, even though it was beautiful where he was.”

  Eleanor waited a moment for Thomas to continue to relay the things he wanted Catherine to know, but was just too tired and weak from the lifetimes of memories he’d be reliving, along with his sister. Although Tadhg had been teaching him to manifest himself, that, too, took so much out of him that it was just much less tiresome to ask Eleanor to help him.

  Thomas told Eleanor he was ready again, so Eleanor continued for him, “He says that, when he returned to the beachhouse, he found everyone packing up everything. When you moved, he came with you, and couldn’t understand why you didn’t hear or see him. He tried his best to be heard and seen, but no one paid attention. He didn’t know that he’d died until a spirit told him.”

  “Thomas also wants you to know that the spirit that stayed with him also lives here in the manor— but it’s a very mean one—not nice at all. He says he stays away from it as much as he can. “‘It has friends and they like to bother you, Catherine,’” Eleanor related for her brother.

  Eleanor began again, “Thomas says he watches them, but he’s not as strong as they are. He says to tell you that they’re not your friends. They live off your sorrow and grief—the emotions you carry for the loss of him. ‘They don’t want you healed, but they will go away if there are no bad feelings,’ Thomas said louder to Eleanor, wanting so much for her to understand that. He says that Tadhg and I are good and here to help you.”

  “Tadhg? The one who golfed today?”, Cat asked. They all laughed.

  “Did someone think about me? I felt summoned,” Tadhg popped in to answer, and to defend his golfing habit. “I’ve got to get back to the game. I’m just stopping in to see if all is well, and I see that it is; so, alright, I’ll see you all later. My turn to drive.”

  Tadhg was gone before the laughter stopped, and Catherine had a giggle fit, so amused by Tadhg’s character. When she stopped, she looked around, hoping she would actually see Thomas in physical form. “Where is he?’

  “Who, Thomas?” Eleanor wasn’t quite sure at first, but then explained, “Catherine, you were reintroduced in a dream state, a trance. You met him in spirit. He’s not in the physical form.”

  “Is he here with us in the room?”, Cat asked excitedly. There wasn’t any glowing aura, nor were there any warm lights, then.

  “Well, I suppose he is; but there is more to do.” Eleanor paused before she continued, thinking “Maybe she should take the night off. This would be too much at once.” And, Eleanor stopped to think again, before she added the next reminder.

  “Catherine, Thomas told you about the other spirits living here. Do you have any ideas or thoughts regarding his comments?”

  “I thought he was being spooked because he is a spirit, and things lurk in shadows—especially, if you’re a ghost,” Cat chuckled, again, at her play on words.

  “Yes, you’re right. But, an evil spirit doesn’t hang around everyone. They try to, but they don’t. That’s a fact,” Eleanor explained.

  “What are you saying? I’m evil?”, Cat asked, doubting herself.

  “Not at all. Thomas told you they eat off sadness and worry, fretting, and human adrenaline and cortisol responses. They love it, and want to keep it going. So, they stir the pot of human emotions: fear, dread, depression, anxiety, loneliness and idle hands,” Eleanor described more specifically.

  Catherine stared at Eleanor as she was doing her self-inventory. She had all of these emotions— heightened—daily. “They feed from me?”

  “Yes. So, that will be our next task. For tonight, just enjoy the fact that you have regained your memories of Thomas.” Eleanor had that amber glow once again. “I have some work to do with Tadhg.”

  “Tadhg? Do you hear me? We have work to do,” Eleanor called to him in a high-pitched British accent. “He will come shortly,” Eleanor chuckled. “Golfing does take him away from his work, though.”

  Cat smiled, as if she understood the w
orks of the supernatural. She didn’t; but she was going along with the enjoyment of feeling free, from having bottled up that empty void that had now been filled with the real memories. Her wonderful brother, Thomas, and the little black dog she now had close; and she hugged Lovey tightly.

  “The third box must be opened,” Eleanor said in a low, solemn voice. “There is more to come; more that must be completed, my dear. This breakthrough is only the beginning. For total freedom, one must fight a battle. To win it, we must prepare.”

  Who knows why bad things happen to little girls or good people? Sometimes in life, there are boxes, lessons and situations that must be opened, answered, or realized. Catherine's time was upon her. She shivered in fear, again.

  Later that evening, Lovey brought Catherine the third box. He pulled it along the floor, by the ribbon, with his teeth. He laid it at her feet and awaited her approval.

  Catherine looked at Lovey, “Oh, my God!”, she exuberantly applauded, and bent down to pick him up.

  In her arms, she held the little black rag-dog, now returned, and alive. “I will never let you go— never again,” Catherine said. She had opened herself to a new truth. It was long-standing love; and it had found her; or, she had finally found it.

  A deep well of memories and tears of a foggy distant past now awaited her. The floodgates broke open and Cat began to cry. “Oh, Lovey, Lovey—oh, my God,” Catherine cried. “I had forgotten how to love. Oh, Lovey, thank you. Thank you.”

  The planted stories, created lives, illusions and delusions eventually demanded the truth. The vacuum of disparity remained open, and it would stay open until filled with honest memories.

  Lovey brought God’s love by arriving in a box as a little black puppy. Lovey would stay with Cat for a long time, never leaving or forsaking her. She just knew they would never separate, ever again. He had a badge of honor, and he would break no oaths. Mankind breaks such vows, but not dogs.

  The Battle Belongs to Me

  After an evening and an early night of great joy, Cat awakened feeling just the opposite. Before bedtime, she had happily decided to sleep in her own bedroom, because now, she felt, there was absolutely nothing to fear. She was content and happy and almost on a mountaintop of no worries. Then, after she fell slumbering deeply into sleep, “The Accuser of the Brethren”, “Guilt”, and “Blame”, named for their eternal unrelenting purposes, stepped into her room and began their work to undo everything, every grand feeling of happiness and self-love she had come to find earlier that day. They worked overtime in Cat’s dreams because they had witnessed Cat’s transformation, and had to get busy with reversing Eleanor’s spell.

  One, “The Accuser of the Brethren”, who was huge and bigger than life, took on a transparent, cloudy form. It had no exact outline. It seemed to take over the room where she lay; and it was the boss of the other two less impressive devils. It berated her for abandoning Thomas that day at the sea. It sent her eerie, nightmarish messages, whispering in her ear, “Come on, you blew it. You let Thomas go. Admit it. You could have done more to save your drowning brother; couldn’t you have? Hmm?”

  “Blame” helped “The Accuser” with mind-controlling her ideas. That served the purpose of demoralizing and disheartening Cat, even further. “Blame” circled her bed acting like the big devil. It pushed “The Accuser” out of the way. It was a ghostly-green, translucent form with putrid, chartreuse-colored eyes. It smelled of burning dung. “You did it. You know you did. Let’s be honest with yourself. You could have saved Thomas that fine, hot summer day; but, no, you didn’t scream; you didn’t grab his arm; and, face it, you didn’t go immediately to where he was when he called you, to come. Right? There you go, you failed, and you know it.” “Blame” breathed in so proudly. Its airy chest beamed with delight from its accusations.

  Cat rolled over in the bed a few times. She was moaning; and, in her sleep, said, “No, no, no. No, I didn’t abandon him.”

  “Blame” spoke back to her, “Yes, yes; oh, yes you did.”

  The last devil, “Guilt”, stepped forward, and a cauldron appeared when she waved her hand over an area next to Cat’s bed. There, also appeared four elements, with the wave of her hand and four snaps of her fingers: earth, wind, fire and water, the last of which was already in the cauldron. Then, she stirred, by pointing with her left index finger towards the cauldron. Next, her right arm and hand stretched out, as she used the digits to point at the next elements, and to order their ascending mixture. One by one, with a flick of the fingers, the mixture came together just like making a cake. Able to multitask, “Guilt” was simultaneously whispering to Cat how despicable she was, and how she, truly, was no real sister at all for letting him get swept out like that. After all, she had been so selfish to cry about the stupid, black rag-dog; and, Thomas had to fetch it from the high tide. If she hadn’t been such a spoiled brat in the first place, then Thomas never would have been swept out to sea. “Shame, shame, shame…shame, shame, on you, Catherine Dubois.” Then, “Guilt” began her witches' prayer:

  A spell I give you while you sleep,

  Causes you to live defeat.

  From yesterday’s past to tomorrow’s future,

  You’ll not forget the choices of your failures.

  And, nothing will prevent this spell’s swift action,

  Lest God himself frees from you, these interactions.

  Water for life,

  Fire for desire,

  Wind to spread,

  and Earth, its growth.

  “Guilt” stirred the pot, and sang the melancholy spell with fierce vengeance in her voice and powerful waves of her arms and hands, as if she directed the orchestra of spell, using a song.

  Thomas was grabbed by the forces of the water; Catherine spoke while sleeping. She was unable to decipher the separation of time, and thought she was awake.

  Even though, the rag-dog’s disappearance had nothing to do with Thomas’ drowning, “Blame”, “Guilt”, and “The Accuser” took delight in using the black rag-dog to add to her sorrow and self-loathing.

  Deep in her subconscious, she then believed she was to blame for this unfortunate accident. So, throughout the night, the two subordinate demons stood over her bed and continued to point fingers at her, berating her and making fun of her “ignorance.”

  And when they were through, they brought in other minor demons to finish up the night of ill sleep. One of the minor devils, “Insanity”, told her how crazy she was to believe Eleanor. It chided, “You know, you’ve never been liked by anyone. Everyone in this town is right; you’re weird.” The others laughed at her naiveté.

  All night they worked to destroy Eleanor’s spells. They were unsure of the type of witch Eleanor was, and they talked among themselves about her. They weren’t certain if Eleanor was evil or good, even though they enjoyed the fact Cat had to face the truth and reality of Thomas and his death. After all, that opened Cat’s emotional door to be tortured more, and they appreciated Eleanor bringing Cat to this place of vulnerability.

  Now, Eleanor, on the other hand, expected the devils and demons to come; and, she suspected that the motley crew of devils would begin their attack soon after Catherine’s truth of her past was unveiled—and, during Catherine’s dreaming state. Eleanor knew the devils had to be quick in a case like this, because they knew if another kind of seed was planted, other than their own, which they could control, it would be harmful to the vile foundations that they had been building for years in Catherine’s mind.

  For this reason, they couldn’t allow Eleanor, whoever she was, to have the upper hand. They had invested their energy from the beginning of Catherine’s life, and would never go down without a fight.

  Eleanor was careful not to show any expression, or say anything aloud, to Tadhg, at this point. She had surmised what the devils were up to in Catherine’s bedroom, and was not about to lose the final war to one little battle. She allowed them this night with Catherine. However, she did talk to God, and she m
ostly listened. The message, straight from the heavens, was clearly, “Be in peace. Do not stray. Have faith and believe.”

  Eleanor did not become ruffled or discouraged, but she thought about humans, in general, that night. She sat on the green couch, cuddled up in a blanket and crocheted. “One of my favorite pastimes,” she mused, as Tadhg and Thomas played mental games of “Guess what I’m thinking,” while floating up near the ceiling.

  “Gotcha,” Thomas said.

  “No. I was telling you to check on Catherine!”, Tadhg corrected.

  Thomas laughed, “I think you’re astute in your game plans; let’s go!”

  Tadhg agreed. “Hey, keep up with your knitting,” he signaled to Eleanor.

  “You fellows stay out of trouble up there. Don’t provoke the devils!”, Eleanor signaled back.

  Tadhg tilted his cap towards her, “Carry on…”

  Eleanor thought about demons and devils. “They are not imaginative, but they are relentless. And, that is how they win battles and wars,” she reminded herself. Nothing was new; it was the same old battle plan for centuries. It’s just they yelled different accusations, depending on whomever they were targeting, but the results were always the same: a defeated human with egos and regrets having beat them up. Many times, it took a whole lifetime of learning self-love for the human to heal from their verbal attacks; and making a plan to set that person on the right path was often gravely difficult. After all, humans are fallen from grace, and, sometimes, they treat each other like devils. When humans act like demons, the devils rejoice, because they know they’ve completed their work and can sit back and feast upon other humans finishing the job of spiritual destruction.