Nightmare Fuel #34: Burn the Witch 3: The Final Toll
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Welcome to another edition of Nightmare Fuel, creeps and peepers. I'm Dan Cummins, and I'll be sharing another original short story of the fictional horror variety, a continuation of the last two tales. And then we'll say goodbye to Marina, at least for a while. At some point, it would be nice to revisit her and hear her origin story. Until then, I hope you like the way this one turned out.

I highly recommend noise cancellation headphones for the ultimate experience. Hope you enjoy this new nightmare. Time now for the tale of Burn the Witch 3, The Final Toll. 17 years later, early summer 2025. It was a beautiful night, perfect weather. 67, maybe 68 degrees with a light cool breeze coming in off the water.

While his wife and two daughters slept in the house behind him, Brad Collins sat out next to his fire pit, overlooking a few sailboats anchored out in Buzzard's Bay, and he sipped on some delightfully smooth scotch. While he did have neighbors near him in the coveted, gated coastal enclave of Nonquit, it didn't feel like it on a night like this. He couldn't hear them at all, wouldn't be able to even if they were awake and out under the stars like he was.

Not over the soothing sounds of the waves rhythmically lapping up against the beach, like God's metronome less than a hundred feet away. Not over the whirring, chirping, buzzing and cooing of various nocturnal insects, birds and other creatures. He couldn't see his neighbors either. From where he sat, banked to the sharp curve of the coastline. Thick clusters of old, perfectly manicured beech and white oaks. And walls of stacked rock over a century old that surrounded his property.

Quiet evenings like these were Brad's favorites, when life slowed down and felt about as good as it possibly could. It was so comforting knowing that Michelle and his girls were nearby and safe, locked in their large, solid, incredibly well-built home with the best security system on the market. A house nestled deep inside a gated community patrolled 24-7 by a cadre of well-trained private security guards, in addition to the affluent area's outsized police presence.

A lot of money buys you more than a big beautiful home with an infinity pool overlooking the ocean and every other modern amenity you could think of. It also buys you increased security, safety, and the serenity to truly enjoy living in it. But tonight, tonight didn't feel quite as serene as it should. All evening, Brad had been unable to rid himself of a persistent undercurrent of unease and apprehension that had crept into his bones and seemingly settled down for the night.

A tightly twisted knot made of worry had settled into the pit of his stomach, a terrible mixture of dread and anxiety that draped over him like a cold, damp blanket, covering him like an unwanted second set of skin. Even though the sky was exceptionally clear and the stars were out in force, a dark, invisible, ominous cloud of impending doom hung directly overhead and refused to move with the wind. It felt like he had forgotten something.

Something very important that he truly needed to remember. And quickly, something bad. It was a feeling similar to when you're writing out a to-do list. You've already jotted down all of the things you can think of, and the list actually looks complete. Someone else double-checking it would think it was complete. But you know something's missing. And it's something much more important than anything you've scribbled already onto the notepad.

But maddeningly, no matter how hard you try, you just cannot get it to come to you. You can't even think of what area of your life, this task, this appointment, this event, whatever it is, might fall in. You're drawn a complete and total blank to the point you try to convince yourself that maybe there is nothing else. Maybe you're wrong, but it's still there, hiding in the shadows, waiting for you. And while you can't remember it, it certainly remembers you. Brad desperately wished this feeling would just melt away.

that the 30-year-old single malt glen fittage he was supposed to sip but was practically gulping would eventually drown out whatever it was hello brad softly responded to the voice he could barely hear calling out his name barely to the point he wondered if he'd really heard anything at all he definitely heard that and it was coming from down by the water and he recognized it the man's voice but damn it he couldn't place it

who the hell would be down by the water on his beach at almost midnight on a tuesday he wondered was it one of the neighbors just a second he quietly called out towards the darkness he then after pausing decided he had to know what the hell was happening and he stood up and walked to the edge of the lawn where he could peek past the rocks beneath him and check there was no one he looked up and down the coast and out across the water partially lit by the starry sky above and a little bright sliver of moon

"'Where are you?' he asked a bit louder. "'Here, here,' said the same voice, speaking from a place he had just checked. And now he saw the silhouette of a man about his size, standing perfectly still, just below the reinforced rock embankment that separated his lawn from the beach. It was an especially dark place to stand. None of the light from the back of his house reached it, and neither did light from any of his neighbors. He couldn't make out who it was, but he was more certain than ever that he knew this person.'

That certainty did nothing to diminish the feeling of dread and anxiety he hadn't been able to shake all night that now rose up from his stomach like bile and settled into his neck. It felt like invisible hands waiting to squeeze and choke him. Was this person? Whoever they were? Was this what he'd been forgetting? Should he be afraid of them? Did they want to do him harm? "'Who are you?' he inquired nervously, not taking his eyes off of the man below him who still hadn't moved a muscle."

He stood so still, in fact, that Brad began to think maybe he wasn't looking at a man at all. The dark form could be a piece of driftwood someone had picked up off of the beach and stacked against the embankment. It could be nothing more than a shadow, but it wasn't. "We need to talk." The same voice from the same place responded. "It's important." He added. It was killing Brad not to remember who this person was. He had to find out. He needed answers. So, he decided to do something really stupid.

He was going to venture down below his lawn to speak face to face with whoever this was. He made up his mind to walk down past where anyone looking out from his house would be able to see him. Where this person stood, no one around would be able to see him. It was risky, but he knew he wouldn't be able to shake the feeling he'd had all night if he didn't do it. He wouldn't be able to sleep. "One second! Don't move!" he said. And then he turned to his left and walked past the edge of his lawn to a little gate along a path to the beach. He unlocked it and headed down.

The dread threatening to suffocate him intensified as he did so. But so did a curiosity, screaming to be satisfied. When he'd made it about halfway back to where he'd seen the shape of a man and heard the voice, he started to panic a bit.

He couldn't see him. He wondered if he'd snuck away. And now he'd never know who he'd been speaking with or why they had come to give him some kind of message. Or what if they were hiding now, waiting to ambush and attack him? Maybe bash him over the head with one of the many big, jagged rocks laying around. Maybe to drag him into the water and drown him before heading into his house, walking in the unlocked door and hurting his family. A startled sound escaped from Brad when the shadowy silhouette suddenly rematerialized in the exact same dark spot where the mysterious man had stood before.

He kept walking, and once he'd made it to within about 15 feet of him, they spoke to him again. "Stop. Stay there." "Why? Who are you? What is this about?" Brad practically demanded. The man had made him nervous and scared him, but he was also pissing him off. Who the fuck did they think they were? Why were they dictating where he was supposed to stand?

Why were they being so damn secretive? It was his property. His very fucking expensive property, and he could have called the police and had this asshole handcuffed, stuffed into the back of a squad car, and thrown in jail instead of humoring him. Say what you need to say now or I'm calling the police. He snapped. After an uncomfortable pause, the voice calmly responded. You have to stop it, Brad. It's almost time. She'll be coming for Renee in only a few months now, when she turns 16 this October.

Marina! That was what he'd been trying to think of all night. How could he have forgotten? How could he have let it slip his mind that his daughter's soul was about to be forced from her body to complete the sick blood pact that had made him famous? That had bought him a house worth around 15 million dollars now? That had led to him having Renee in the first place? But how the hell could this person know about that? He hadn't told anyone. Well, he had. But they weren't exactly around anymore.

Suddenly Brad had a name flash to his mind of who this might be, of who the voice reminded him of, but it wasn't possible. Who the fuck are you? How do you know about that? Brad asked angrily. And now finally, the mysterious speaking profile stepped forward into the starlight and revealed their true form.

"'No!' Brad shouted out, stunned, before he fell over backwards onto the rocky beach as he recoiled from the horror before him. "'It was who he told. It was Blaine Murphy, looking exactly like he had when Brad had watched him die. "'Like he had in the final seconds of his life, when he was screaming his death wail, moments before the supernatural fire engulfing him reduced him to little more than bones.'

Blaine looked like pain personified. His nose and ears were almost entirely gone. His face was colored with various gory hues of red or brown and even black in some especially sizzled places. His eyes were opened far wider than they ever could have been before the fire, thanks to him no longer having eyelids. His body reminded Brad of melted wax, but with blood oozing out from various cracks.

All his hair, both on his head and elsewhere, was entirely gone. He was completely naked, all his clothes having been burned off, but in a few places scraps of fabric still remained that had melted into his flesh. In other places his skin had been burned down to the bone. It hurt to stare at him, to imagine how much agony he must be in or would be in had shock not blocked out the worst of his physical trauma in order to keep him from completely losing his mind.

Looking at Blaine made Brad's heart ache with tremendous sorrow and also beat furiously with fear-induced adrenaline. He shouldn't be here. He was very, very dead. And he'd been dead for a long, long time. Sorry I'm not dressed for a nice evening chat. Blaine's spirit joked.

And he smiled as he said that, the most disturbing smile Brad had ever witnessed. The melted skin above the corners of Blaine's mouth cracked, tore, and bled as his gummy, toothy grin got even gummier thanks to a complete absence of lips. Brad frantically scrambled to stand up but kept stumbling and then he lurched sideways and tumbled out into the water, getting completely soaked. "'You're not real!' he cried out as he splashed around frantically. "'I know, I know,' Blaine agreed, with unexpected notes of sadness in his voice."

But you are. You can still stop her before she does to Renee's soul what she did to my body. Go away! You're not real! Brad yelled louder than before. He had finally managed to stand up and he started running back towards the gate that led to his home. His long dead best friend mercifully didn't follow, but he did yell after him. You can't run from what's coming, Brad. You don't have much time to stop her.

Ignoring the warning, refusing to even look back, Brad made it to the gate and worried that he'd forgotten to leave it unlocked. He hadn't. It opened easily. He twisted the handle and... How much will it hurt when she rips out your daughter's soul? The equally badly burned remains of young Crystal Putnam wondered in a wounded voice as she stood in the gateway, blocking Brad's path into his yard.

Will you even try to protect her? I'd give anything to protect my little girl, but you took that chance away from me. No, no, I didn't do that to you! Brad bleated as he backed up again towards the water. Not directly, but you let it happen. She insisted as she wobbled towards him on stiff and unsteady legs that had had most of the muscle cooked off of them.

Will you let it happen to Renee too? I can't do anything! Brad protested defensively as he turned to run down the beach away from his property in the direct opposite of Blaine's remains. Fuck! Brad cried out as he ran straight into the burned and crushed remains of old Calvin Hubbard. Some of the dead man's skin sickeningly crunched and broke off on impact. You can't stop us. You always could.

the near skeleton said gently, and that somehow hurt more than if he'd screamed in anger. No, please, you don't understand! Brad yelled desperately as he spun around yet again. She can do anything she wants! He exclaimed as he looked out into the dark water. He decided he'd have to swim out a ways to escape them all.

He quickly began to wade out into the cold depths of Buzzard's Bay. She's a... No! He screamed when a bony hand reached up out of the water and grabbed the front of his shirt. It was attached to what was left of Deidre, the Salem Spiritualist.

Leave me alone! He begged, terrified, sounding more like a scared little boy than a 63-year-old so-called master of horror. He twisted away from her as she too now warned, You have to stop her, Brad. You have to finally do what's right. He didn't respond. He instead lunged to his left, hoping he could still swim out a little ways and then past Calvin and Crystal. But now the burned, silent figure of Sally Wood, comprised of mostly black skin and charred bones, blocked this path.

He turned and looked further out into the water to his right and saw the head of yet another victim of the witch's fire surface and speak. "'Now, Brad, you have to try and stop her now,' said what remained of Tommy Payne.

He twisted back towards the shore and saw both Calvert and Crystal wading out towards him into the water. Blaine wasn't far behind. They were surrounding him. And they all spoke now at once, an undead cacophony of warnings, blame, and guilt. Then he felt their wounded and twisted hands upon him, too many to fight off. They were going to kill him. They were going to drown him if he was unwilling to face the witch. He would die in front of the grand seaside home he'd sold his soul to buy. No! No!

Brad bolted up out of his nightmare and woke Michelle up from her slumber beside him in bed. He was covered in sweat. Or was it salt water? Oh my God, baby. You about gave me a heart attack, she gasped. Sorry. Nightmare, Brad explained in an unsteady voice. He'd tell her later that he didn't remember what it was about, but he'd remember everything. You've been having so many lately, she said gently, trying to comfort him. Will you please finally make an appointment with Dr. Clark, she pleaded.

Sorry. Yeah, yeah, sure, Brad replied, half listening. He wanted to run outside and make sure a half dozen burnt-up zombies weren't congregating down on the beach or trying to get into the house. But he didn't have any clothes on, which was weird because he never slept in the nude. He walked towards the bathroom, half hearing Michelle ask, Are you naked? as he entered. Yeah, I guess I got too hot, he said absentmindedly as he shut the door behind him to the adjoining master bath.

He turned on the lights and stared at a pile of wet clothes laying in the bathtub. He knew they were going to smell like the sea before he grabbed his soaked shirt to check. Why had he been out in the water? Or had he? Was this Marina's doing? Some kind of warning not to listen to the people and the recurring nightmare he'd been having for months? One that he'd been having much more frequently, and a dream that had been steadily intensifying in recent weeks. He stared at himself in the mirror. When did he get so old? He wondered.

And what are you going to do? He asked himself.

Then he looked at a framed photo of his daughter, Renee, taken by the pool shortly after they'd moved in almost 10 years ago, with her arms around her little sister, Jackie. Both of them sun-kissed and smiling the happiest, most joyous smiles that only children ever seem fully capable of. The special kind of smile that's easiest to manage if you've been told that anything is possible and believe it. The kind of smile you can effortlessly flash when you feel protected and safe because you have the best mommy and daddy in the whole wide world.

When you don't have to worry about anything because they'll always be there and never ever let anything bad happen to you. Brad Collins placed his hands on the counter in front of him, hung his head down over the sink and began to cry. Other than the horrific ticking clock of his eldest daughter's upcoming 16th birthday, a continually guilty conscience and nightmares. The last nearly 17 years have been really good for Brad. No, not just good. Great. Superb. Fucking magnificent.

The part of the nightmare about his amazing house was real. Brad and his family lived in a house in a state that really was recently valued at $15 million.

Seven bedrooms, eight and a half baths, nearly 9,000 square feet of living space split between the main house, a guest house, and the pool house, situated on nearly two acres along Buzzards Bay in Nonquit, a bougie neighborhood 35 miles from Norton in Bristol County, that he had once visited as a teenager when he tagged along with a cousin who had been invited to some rich kid's house party. It left a strong impression. And Brad told himself that if he ever made millions and millions of dollars, he'd have a house there. And now he was there.

And he didn't just have a house. He was living in one of the area's most expensive homes, a huge home with a massive heated infinity pool overlooking the ocean and a hot tub, sauna, private gym, overall design worthy of a feature in Architectural Digest, where it was featured in June of 2019. And it was one of two seaside homes he and his wife owned. The other one was a lot smaller, but it was also in the south of Spain along the Mediterranean. And he owed it all to one book.

Burn the Witch. It was published less than six months after Blaine had died in May of 2009. And thanks to a ton of press set up by a publicist Brad's agent Drew had hired, making a lot of critics best of lists, and the book going viral through word of mouth and social media, it rocketed to the top of the New York Times bestseller list, where it remained for 18 full weeks.

And then it topped the sales charts for fiction in 22 other countries. Within three months, Simon & Schuster had recouped all of their promotional and publishing costs. Within six months, they'd recouped their advance of $400,000. And then over the next year, Brad made, after William Morris also took their cut, a little bit north of $900,000. Over the next year, he'd make a million more on book sales alone. And then there were the movies. And yes, movies, plural.

Blumhouse adapted it into a film that was shot in 2010 and hit theaters in the fall of 2011, just in time for Halloween.

Robert Downey Jr. played Brad. Pretty fun life moment, spending some time with him before filming started. David Duchovny played Blaine. Marina was played by Angelina Jolie, and Deidre was played by Melissa Leo. The movie was a smash hit that ended up beating Insidious at the box office. And because book sales were so strong, and thanks to Brad's massive and quickly expanding social media footprint, his fan page on Facebook had grown to over 3 million followers, and he'd blown up on Twitter, where he'd amassed over 4 million followers...

William Morris was able to leverage a $5 million payday, unprecedented for an author without a proven on-screen success record. It was magical, literally, all part of the deal he'd made. The first film did so well, William Morris got him $6 million for the sequel, which hit theaters in 2013. Meanwhile, the original book continued to sell well, and Brad would earn in the high six figures off of it each year all the way until 2020. And during that time, he wrote more books without Marina's help.

They were never quite as good as Burn the Witch, but a few did pretty damn well. And because he was now an established author whose work clearly translated well onto the big screen, he had several more big paydays. Don't Look in the Lake was published in 2013 and adapted the following year.

It was a book built to be made into a movie about a group of young friends who all went to college together, reuniting in a remote lakeside cabin in western Massachusetts. They start to go missing one by one, thanks to a supernatural mirror lake just beneath the surface of the water, a gateway to the land of the dead and monsters. And some of those monsters are hungry. There was also Glass Children, published in 2016, adapted in 2018.

A story about a teacher, Mara, and her husband, Jackson, moving into a house on the edge of a quiet outer suburb of Boston to start over after a series of miscarriages almost ended their marriage. And there at night, in the woods that lie just beyond the edge of their property, Mara begins to see pale, glassy-eyed children staring at her from the trees. But whenever she tries to alert anyone else to their presence, they disappear. And when she takes photos of them on her phone, they don't show up.

She starts to wonder if she's going insane. When she keeps seeing the strange children, she begins to research local legends. And her research leads her to tales of the glass children, ghostly figures said to appear to parents who have lost children under mysterious or violent circumstances. As the sightings escalate, Mara uncovers the town's buried history of eugenics, forced adoptions, and a clinic that experimented with removing grief from mothers permanently.

And there were a few other books. Not huge hits, not turned into movies, but still bestsellers, still profitable. And in 2018, Burn the Witch was adapted again into a TV series in the UK, this time by the BBC. Then it was readapted three years later for an American audience by Netflix, and then readapted again quickly after that for India and Brazil. And now William Morris was in negotiations to have the series remade in both China and Mexico.

Throughout all this, Brad had amassed a net worth of over $30 million in counting. And none of it ever would have happened had he not continued to do Marina's bidding after the death of his best friend. Shortly after Blaine was burned alive, Brad was interviewed by the police, thanks to the two being so close. But they never once questioned him about any possible involvement. He was never questioned or suspected in any of the deaths of the other people Marina had killed either. Brad was certain that was because of her dark magic.

She must have steered people's thoughts away from him and erased any possible memories of anyone seeing him near Blaine or Deidre when they died. Erased any incriminating texts or phone records between he and Blaine, and he and Deidre as well. Marina wouldn't allow him to be arrested. That wasn't part of their bargain. He still had to give her a child. When he hadn't started dating anyone within a month of Blaine's death...

She started showing up in his dreams and turning them into horrific, wake-up-screaming nightmares. And in those nightmares, it was made clear that he couldn't just knock someone up and never see them again. He had to help raise the child, keep her safe, and make sure nothing happened to her. Not until, well, Marina happened to her.

When Brad hadn't started dating anyone within six weeks, Marina started showing up at his house, in his car, in the bathroom of his favorite bar. At night, during the day, it was constant terror. So he called his ex-girlfriend, Michelle Bates. He should have called her sooner, but he'd gotten so slammed with various meetings and tasks related to getting Burn the Witch published as fast as possible, and he didn't want to do what he still had to do.

Despite all the horrible shit he'd enabled and been complicit in, it wasn't like he'd gone full evil. And he didn't want to drag Michelle into his Faustian bargain. But then he rationalized when Marina took over their daughter's body, since she'd still look exactly the same, would Michelle even notice? Or would she think their girl was acting differently because she was 16 and a lot of teens go through a major personality shift at that age?

Deep down, he knew that was bullshit. But it was a good enough little story to help convince him that giving Michelle the child she'd so badly wanted to have with him over the past two years was the right decision. He told himself that as fucked up as what he would be doing to her was, it would still be better overall than risking that she ended up alone and without kids, wouldn't it?

He could provide such an amazing dreamlike life for her. And he did love her. And she loved him. The only reason they'd ever broken up before was because his career wasn't at a point where he felt he could provide for a kid. And Michelle so desperately wanted to be a stay-at-home mom. So Brad reached out and told her the great news about the book Advance and about a film adaptation that was looking more and more like a sure thing. He told her that he didn't want to go on any amazing adventures that lay ahead without her, that it would be meaningless alone.

that he wanted her, needed her back. She was overjoyed. Of course she was. She had no idea what price would have to be paid. Two weeks later, Brad asked her to marry him, and she said yes. And when he said they shouldn't wait to try for a kid, she agreed. She agreed, said yes to basically whatever he asked, which felt fucking creepy in moments, honestly, because he suspected Marina was working on her mind with more of her magic, and he wondered how much of her agreement was truly hers.

Whether or not Michelle's mind was actually her own, Maureen had definitely used dark magic the night they conceived Renee. A night Michelle would never be able to remember, and a night Brad would never be able to forget. The old undead witch had told him exactly what was going to happen in their final writing session. It was all written in a chapter of Burn the Witch, and Brad had followed his fiction pretty much to the letter.

He knocked Michelle out with some prescription sleeping pills. He'd crushed a few of the tablets, grinded them down into a fine powder, and poured and stirred them into a glass of Michelle's red wine. Then, once she'd began to pass out, he'd helped her into the bedroom. There, once she was fully unconscious, Marina had appeared, taken possession of Michelle's body, and awoke as his wife. And then shit got really weird.

Marina got up off of the bed, went into the kitchen, and whipped up some strained concoction from various herbs and other ingredients Brad had purchased beforehand. She lit candles and incense and made markings on the floor, herself, and on Brad's body and her blood. Markings he had then traced over with blood of his own, following her exact instructions. Throughout all of this, she'd sometimes spoken in a language he didn't recognize.

Often thrown together disturbing, rhyming incantations made strange motions with her hands that transformed Michelle's apartment into a totally different space that looked like it existed in a different time. When the setting was exactly how she needed it to be, she made him lay down naked on the floor and then straddled and rode him until he'd finished inside of her. It was still the most powerful orgasm, by far, of Brad's life. It felt like he had sent his soul inside of her.

afterward she rolled off of him and laid on her back holding her legs up above her while brad inserted another strange mixture she'd concocted inside of her then she uttered some final invocations pulled his head down and bit his tongue hard enough to make it bleed sucked out some of that blood in a final passionate but also terrible and revolting kiss and then she'd left brad to clean up the mess she'd made after she'd exited michelle's body michelle wouldn't wake up for another 15 hours

And when she did, she wasn't alarmed in the slightest over what had happened or how long she'd been out. She didn't remember anything of what had really happened. Marina had implanted false memories in her mind, recollections of an entirely different evening, one where Brad had romanced her, seduced her, and made the most incredible love of her life to her. She'd woken up overjoyed and convinced that she was going to be pregnant with a baby girl, which, of course, she was.

The two quickly eloped after that. Michelle moved in with him, and their lives became a wonderful dream neither one of them ever wanted to wake up from. With one caveat for Brad, of course. He would silently, privately carry the burden of what he had stood by and watched happen. And he would continually be burdened by the knowledge of the final price that had to be paid for everything he was being given. His daughter's life. And despite trying to steel himself against it, he loved his daughter deeply. Right from the start, Renee was a wonderful baby.

She'd started sleeping through the night within a few months. She was rarely fussy, almost always incredibly happy. And two years later, she got a little sister, Jackie. Jackie was not so easy, but Brad still loved the little master of mayhem every bit as much. Also not so easy, wasn't hard to deal with, thanks to the position they were in. Since they had live-in nanny money, it didn't matter that she wouldn't sleep through the night until she was nearly two. Didn't matter that she was fussy, willful, and mischievous.

Michelle and Brad could handle almost anything because they could afford whatever help they might need, the best that money could buy. And they had time as well. Michelle didn't have to work outside the home. She also had help inside the home. And Brad only worked 30 or so hours, very flexible hours a week. And he could almost always take the week off if needed. They were the envy of all of their friends, a mountain of money, a beautiful family, good health, and the time to enjoy it all. What a life.

Brad was able to provide both Renee and Jackie the kind of childhoods most people will only ever read about or see in TV shows and movies.

They both began attending the prestigious Friendship Academy in North Dartmouth when they were three, at a cost of roughly $30,000 per year per kid that their parents didn't have to struggle to come up with. Their teachers were the best of the best, kind and caring, with no more than 25 kids per class to focus on. They were elite, highly vetted educators who'd been brought in from all over the world. Everyone who worked there seemed to know everything about every student.

And there his daughters might have been given preferential treatment because their dad was famous and donated heavily to the school.

The girls took private tennis lessons near home beginning at the age of five. They learned how to sail in the bay by the age of 12. They took gymnastics lessons for years down the street from a former Olympian, went on luxury ski trips with their parents to Aspen, Breckenridge, and Vail, learned to ride horses, and played lacrosse right in the neighborhood. Renee became fluent in French thanks to a private tutor from Marseille. She took piano lessons from a professor at the Berklee College of Music in Boston, and

And now Renee was going to high school at the Tabor Academy, one of the best private high school campuses in the nation. 60K a year and worth every penny. Alumni that included billionaire titans of industry, notable artists, Nobel and Pulitzer Prize winners, Olympic gold medalists and professional athletes. A place that would almost certainly set her up for a wildly successful life if her life was, in fact, hers to keep living, which it soon wouldn't be.

But it should be hers to live, Brad finally decided. They were the upper fucking crust. What was the point of all that if you could still be pushed around? Years of an increasing level of affluence and the power that comes with not just money but fame and more and more distance from the horrible sights he once saw led to Brad Collins finally thinking that maybe he could have his cake and eat it too.

He'd gotten so good at avoiding thinking about the final toll for so long, doing everything he could to not think about it, it was almost like he'd forgotten about it. And now he thought, maybe he could trick the witch, that terrifying fucking monster. I mean, she hadn't always been terrifying, had she? She'd been a normal human at one time, just like him, a human who had been killed, by the way. And if she could be killed once, why couldn't she die again?

He wasn't some desperate, struggling author anymore, goddammit. He was a household name. He had clout, influence, deep pockets. Surely there was a way to send her back to whatever hell that evil bitch had been stuck in for the three centuries between her death and their first meeting, wasn't there?

Brad's recent nightmares had woken him up. He hadn't seen Marina for over 16 years, but now the child they'd made together was months from turning 16, and she was about to come back. And maybe this time he'd be ready not to just see her, but to stand up to her for once and refuse to do her bidding. He'd never be able to wash off the blood that was already on his hands. What was done was long done. But could he save his daughter? Could he destroy the witch?

This is what Brad began to think about the morning after the most intense nightmare he'd had thus far about Marina's return. And so he decided to explore how to not just resist her, but how to kill the witch that had given him so much, but wanted to take even more. And now before we find out how Brad plans to fight the very powerful, very scary Marina Hartz, it's time to take our mid-show sponsor break.

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So, just to make sure I'm understanding all this correctly, she really did say in the first session that her name was Marina Hartz, just like in the book, right? And that she died near Norton back in 1708? Brad nodded. And a lot of what you've written in the book, the way she speaks, her spells, that's all accurate to the best of your recollection? Yes. Brad grimaced and replied, yes, unfortunately it is. I've watched her in action. Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.

"'And does watching her in action perhaps connect directly to the reason I can't speak with the unnamed spiritualist, possibly Deidre Quinn, whom you used to conduct the automatic writing sessions?' Rad hesitated and nervously glanced around. "'It had been so, so long since she'd worried about getting in trouble, maybe even being charged with murder for Deidre's death. "'I'm not trying to get you in trouble and take you down like those trolls who've hopped up online since the very beginning. I'm not trying to get you to incriminate yourself.'

I just need to know, for my own safety and how to best approach this, exactly what I'm dealing with and what I'm getting myself into. Brad took in a deep breath, held it for a moment. He closed his eyes, exhaled, then opened his eyes and nodded. It connects directly, he said definitively. Oh. Oh, damn, that's extra terrifying.

The young short woman, dressed almost entirely in black with long wavy hair, dyed a pleasant shade of lavender, Brad was speaking to, was 28-year-old Thorne Shepard, a practitioner of and expert in Gardnerian Wicca, and one of the longtime moderators of a private Facebook group dedicated to Brad Collins' books called Witches, Monsters, and Wonder. They were seated at the Nook in Fairhaven, a little nondescript neighborhood coffee shop, bakery, and pizza place about a 10-minute drive from Brad's house.

Brad had met Thorne a few times over the years, but never privately, one-on-one like this. He'd spoken to her at some book signings and conventions, and they'd messaged a few times online, mostly regarding Brad thanking her for her help with this or that. A little over a week before this meeting, Brad had messaged her about how one would theoretically get out of the blood pact described in his book, if it were real, of course, and if his real daughter was now quickly approaching her 16th birthday.

The exchange that followed over the subsequent couple of days gave Brad hope that Thorn wasn't merely cosplaying. And she wasn't. She took Wicca very seriously. She was incredibly knowledgeable. And she was able to meet up in person on short notice because of the urgency of the situation and thanks to living nearby. She lived just a few blocks from Nook, actually.

So with both of his kids in school on a Wednesday afternoon and his wife volunteering at the new Bedford Women's Center, which she did twice a month, Brad was able to sneak out of the house, grab coffee, and at least briefly entertain the possibility that she'd at least be able to give him reason to hope that his daughter didn't have to disappear. Okay, bad news and good news, Thorne now told him. I know I mentioned this already in a message I sent you, but just to reiterate, what I practice is in no way connected to whatever type of witchcraft Marina is clearly a master of.

I couldn't conjure myself into someone's home and burn them right now, let alone come back from the dead and do that. I can't even perform some kind of basic memory spell that would help me stop locking myself out of the gym because I keep leaving my key fob in the cubbyhole. And I definitely wouldn't know how to teleport the keys from inside the building into my hand or do something like you'd see on TV. She laughed. Brad just smiled politely, hoping this wasn't going to be a total bust.

"'I just want to be crystal clear that there will never be some kind of wizard or witch battle like you'd see in Harry Potter on Charmed,' she said. "'Especially not after what you confirm regarding Deidre.' "'No,' she continued. "'I won't come anywhere near when Marina might be around. And as much as I hate to say this,' she added sadly, "'I don't think I should ever see you again in person. At least not until this is all over.' Rad nodded solemnly. "'I totally understand.'

"'But that's all the bad news,' Thorne said brightly with a forced smile. "'And now for the good news, which I think is actually very good news.' Brad smiled and leaned forward in his chair, in anticipation, putting his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his clasped hands. "'Please, please let this actually give me reason to believe I can save Renee,' he thought. Thorne, still smiling, said, "'I think I found out who she was when she was alive. Her real name, which, as I've mentioned, I think is probably the key to imprisoning her again, if not destroying her outright.'

Okay, Brad said as he nodded, eager to hear how she thought she'd uncovered Marina's true identity. She likes to speak in rhymes, similar to riddles, Thorne explained. And that made me wonder if her name was some kind of riddle, possibly an anagram. Brad had wondered the same thing years ago, after he'd heard about the first three deaths, but he couldn't crack it. He'd also never been very good with riddles.

"'Playing around online,' Thorne continued, "'I came across several possibilities for Marina Hearts, "'but the one I liked most is Sarah Martin. "'At first I thought that perhaps she might be related "'to Susanna Martin, one of the Salem witch trial victims, "'but I couldn't find any evidence of that.'

Certainly not of someone by that name who would have died around 1708, but I did find records of a woman named Sarah Martin who arrived in Boston on a ship coincidentally called the Martin that landed in Massachusetts after departing from London in 1645.

The passenger log lists both Sarah and her husband Finn as being on board, and both being Irish. And in the 1600s, despite the church's centuries-old efforts to eradicate anything considered witchy, there were still a lot of people secretly practicing forms of pagan worship there, left over from the days of the Celts. Worship in forms of folk magic and herbal healing that would have been considered a form of witchcraft. Brad nodded and continued to listen intently.

And then the name Finn Martin, Thorne said. A man listed as being married comes up again on a land deed for a small farm in the edge of the Hockamock Swamp in 1653, land less than five miles from Norton as the crow flies. And now, Thorne leaned forward excitedly, here's where this gets really interesting.

"'The deed for that same piece of land ends up in the hands of the Putnam family, "'relatives of the same Putnams who were the primary accusers "'of most of the victims of the Salem witch trial, "'and also direct ancestors of Crystal Putnam, "'who I believe is one of Marina's victims, right? "'The real-life equivalent of Christina Paris?' "'Brad looked around to make sure no one was listening to them, "'and then nodded sheepishly. "'I knew it!' Thorn said a little too loudly, "'and then mouthed, "'Sorry,' before speaking again much more quietly.'

Interesting that Marina would make up a fake name that is another one of the surnames of a Massachusetts witch trial accuser, Betty Paris, she commented. Anyway, she continued, that land deed lists the previous owner, Finn Martin, as being recently deceased. But there's no mention of his wife, Sarah. And this has to be the same guy who came over from London, right? I mean, how many Finn Martins could there have been back then? Finn Martins who owned land in the Hockamock Swamp.

Brad nodded. This was getting good. He was feeling more and more hopeful that him reaching out to Thorne and sharing incriminating details of the truth about his book had been worth the risk. However, Thorne said next, looking further into death records, a young girl named Abigail Martin is also mentioned as having died that year. Brad stared at her quizzically, not understanding the connection or why that detail was important.

"'This will make sense,' Thorne reassured him. "'Unfortunately, there are no cemeteries still around from that far back in Bristol County, and death records aren't great or complete.'

But a lot of county records were just added to an online database a few years ago, and doing some keyword searches, a man in Taunton who wrote a very obscure book that included a bunch of painfully boring family history, but also county lore that was published in 1756, mentions that a man named Finn and his daughter, unnamed, were both killed out in the swamp between Bridgewater and Norton by an angry mob looking for Finn's wife, Sarah.

"'Rad's eyes lit up. "'Holy shit. "'It was her. "'It really was. "'Marina Hart's with Sarah Martin.'

He tried to hide his excitement. He didn't want Thorne to lose her train of thought, and she didn't. "'The author wasn't sure about their last name,' she said, "'writing that he'd heard different things, "'but I found something else that I really think ties all of this together. "'In another local book written by an amateur historian, "'published in Dartmouth in 1805, "'the author wrote that there were rumors that an old witch named Sarah, "'last name unknown, a widow with no husband and no children, "'was burned alive outside her cabin. "'And where was that cabin?' she asked.'

"'Hockamock Swamp,' Brad said with an impressed smile. "'Yes!' Thorne exclaimed a bit too loudly, drawing some stares. She was just so damn excited to be helping her favorite author. "'Hockamock Swamp!' she repeated before she continued with, "'Not a hundred percent definitive, I know. But here's what I think happened. I think Sarah and Finn were immediately branded as suspicious outsiders when they came here for A, being Irish, and B, not being Puritan. I think they bought some cheap, undesirable land out in the swamp to be left alone.'

I believe, as I mentioned, that Sarah did practice some form of pagan earth worship that would have definitely been considered super scary, super satanic witchcraft. And I think, leaning on a bit of female witchy intuition here, that an angry mob came to arrest Sarah, but she got away somehow. But her husband and daughter, for whatever reason, they didn't, and they were murdered. And I think, leaning on a bit of female witchy intuition here,

And that's what pushed Sarah to seek out the dark side of the occult, to learn powerful magic and to seek revenge. I think she returned to that swamp many years later, living alone, working on her witchcraft, waiting for the moment to be right to enact that revenge. But then another mob found her and they killed her. They burned her alive, but not before she performed some kind of very powerful blood magic that allowed her in time to come back. Damn, Brad said, shaking his head and leaning back in the seat.

That felt like a prosecutor's closing argument. You're good, Thorne. I can't believe I wasn't able to put any of that together on my own. Don't feel bad, Thorne quickly interjected. I worked at the library for a couple years when I went to Emerson. And I did some part-time work for a PI right after I graduated because I thought it sounded cool, which it wasn't. But I'm so glad my research and sleuthing skills were useful here. So what now? Rat asked. Well, I'm not entirely sure, she responded.

Knowing the true name of a powerful evil entity is important in every spiritual belief system that I'm aware of. And there are powerful banishment rituals I could teach you where you need to use their real name, but they're, I don't know, fragile?

Say them with the wrong intention, perform a step incorrectly, waver with doubt or fear in the wrong moment, and not only will they not work, but they can anger or even strengthen the entity. And I've never even heard of an entity nearly as powerful as Sarah Martin. Obviously, she will not react kindly to anyone trying to send her back to the void. I strongly assume she would burn that person alive, or something worse. So I don't think you should try them. No offense, but she doesn't need you anymore.

"'Your daughter is almost sixteen. She doesn't need the same protecting she did before. So she might now see you as disposable. We need to find a ritual more powerful than anything I'm familiar with. Also, you should conversationally keep referring to her as Marina. She might scent you saying her true name, which would not bode well.' Brad sighed, looking defeated and nodded. He'd assumed that her harming him would be breaking their pact, but he wasn't 100% sure. Marina was clearly not opposed to murdering whoever got in her way.'

Once again, he'd been a fool. I'm going to keep looking for the right ritual, Thorne added after taking a sip from her latte. Maybe find someone who's not a crackpot or wackadoodle who claims they've gone up against something similar to Marina and won. Brad nodded. I can't thank you enough, he said. Okay, he then sighed as he prepared to get up out of his chair. I have my marching orders and I better get going. Time to help find out how to use Sarah's name against her. Brad, Thorne asked, sounding a bit trepidatious.

Can I ask you one more thing before you leave, other than you're supposed to say Marina? Oh, right. Sorry. Sure. What is it? He replied. Thorne steeled herself before she spoke. You didn't know, right? Like, you didn't know before you went into that final writing session that any of this was actually real, that people were dying because of you creating this book, right? Brad felt sick to his stomach with guilt. He forced a smile and shook his head.

No, no, of course not he lied. I didn't read about the people who died until after it was all written I thought it was just a story Yeah, said thorn smiling as her shoulders relaxed like a weight had just been lifted off of them Yeah, of course you did. Sorry to even ask she added sheepishly Not at all rad replied making a little extra direct eye contact to try and sell the illusion of him being genuine I'd want to know that too. And with that brad grabbed his coffee and walked out

Thorne watched him go, and as soon as he turned away from her, the smile faded from her face. The same intuition that helped her put together how Sarah Martin became Marina Hartz also had her convinced that Brad Collins was lying. He did know. Never meet your heroes, she thought. She also still thought she had to try and save him, if not for his sake, for Renee's. Four months later, late September, just over two weeks away now from Renee's 16th birthday,

"'Oh my God, Brad, would you look at this?' Michelle announced excitedly as she handed her phone to her husband. Brad grabbed it as he sat down on his stool at the big island in the center of their massive kitchen. It was an Instagram photo of a party that the event planner that they had hired recently put on for another 16-year-old girl. They'd requested a Sunny Angels theme for their party. And damn, did they nail it. The cake was made to look like a massive, naked Sunny Angel doll wearing some sort of carrot hat. Had to have been between four and five feet tall, easily the size of a small adult.'

and there were actors dressed up as Sunny Angels standing around it. A dozen or so adults wearing elaborate naked baby costumes for a teenager's birthday party. Bit weird, for sure, but they nailed it. There were balloons and all sorts of decorations all over the place, ribbons and colored paper and plastic inflatable furniture and colored lights and on and on and on. The space had been totally transformed to look like a Sunny Angel paradise. It could be the set of a new live-action Sunny Angels movie.

Holy shit, Brad exclaimed. That's incredible. Looks amazing. It better, Michelle agreed. It cost $160,000. Damn, Brad said. $160,000 for a birthday party? That's insane. Way too much. Are you being serious right now? Michelle asked. Did you forget how much we're paying? Brad had forgotten. He'd been more than a little distracted over the past few months, desperately trying to figure out how the hell to save his daughter's life and his own.

He was constantly worried that Marina would find out what he was up to and burn him alive. How much? He asked anxiously. Michelle flashed an adorable, faux-apologetic grin that had pretty much always led to him agreeing to whatever she wanted, or to at least no longer being upset about whatever they were discussing. They'd both known she had him wrapped around her little finger since they'd gotten together for good, and he was okay with that because she had the biggest heart he'd ever seen. Jazz is currently estimating it'll be around... She paused.

270,000 dollars. What? Over a quarter of a million dollars for one party? At our house? Brad exclaimed in wide-eyed disbelief. Yes! Michelle answered and then wrapped him up with a big hug. For one last of us theme party that will take almost a week to set up and tear down with three dozen actors dressed like either mushroom zombies or survivors? And for two of the stars of the show to stop by for cameos? No way! Is Pedro coming? Brad beamed. He was a huge Pedro Pascal fan.

No, Michelle shook her head. He doesn't do parties. But we did get Isabella Merced and young Mazino. Who? He asked. He had no idea who those people were. Dina and Jesse, Michelle clarified. He knew exactly who they were. Rene had a pretty big crush on Jesse. Oh, no shit. That's incredible. And you're sure you're not too mad about the price? Michelle Gidley confirmed. You did say I could spend whatever I wanted. Brad smiled.

It's fine, he said. She's only going to have one sweet 16. And as crazy as it sounds, we can afford it. It is crazy, Michelle agreed. What a life. What a life, Brad echoed. It was one of their most oft-repeated phrases. Had been since before Renee was even born. Okay, not another word about it. She's coming, Michelle whispered. Brad was continually amazed at Michelle's hearing when it came to the girls. She could always hear them approaching long before he could. Maybe there was some truth to the phenomenon of mom-ears.

A few moments later, there she was, bounding down the last few steps from her bedroom on the second floor. "'Hi, Mom!' "'Daddy!' she beamed as she ran over and gave her father a big hug. Renee had always been a daddy's girl. "'Hey, Ray-Ray,' he smiled as he tightly hugged her back. "'How's it, Queen?'

Great, she said, seeming particularly happy. Oh my God, said Michelle, smiling knowingly. Wyatt Chambers asked you to homecoming, didn't he? Yes, Renee exuberantly answered. And then she and her mom both squealed. Oh my God, that's so great. Michelle practically yelled before she hugged her. Oh my God, that's so great. Renee's little sister Jackie sarcastically mocked as she walked into the kitchen. Shut up, brat, Renee sniped.

"'Make me cringe factory,' Jackie retorted, and then she ran her fingers under the faucet in the sink and flicked a bunch of water directly into her sister's face. Renee gasped and started chasing her, laughing mischievously. Jackie ran out into the yard with Renee hot on her heels. Both Michelle and Brad watched and smiled. Michelle leaned into Brad, who threw his arm around her as she commented, "'Some things never change, do they?' Brad nodded as he watched Jackie turn and aggressively tackle her sister in the yard. They always wrestled in a way most parents witnessed when they had two sons instead of daughters."

It was a great source of cheap entertainment. But although he was smiling, Brad didn't feel the same carefree joy that his wife did. His mind was troubled. And elsewhere. Neither he nor Thorn had been able to discover any type of spell, potion, ritual, what have you, that might stop Marina knowing her real name or not. And they were running out of time. They hadn't been able to locate anyone who seemed like they could go up against her and win either. She was so damn powerful. So dangerous. He was starting to feel hopeless.

Brad was imagining watching his daughter at her huge expensive party, completely uninterested in everything around her because she, Sarah Martin, would have no idea what anyone was talking about. Because she would no longer be a rich, privileged kid born in 2009, not on the inside. She'd be an insane, murderous witch that had been dead since 1708. But as Michelle walked over to the fridge to grab some food to start making dinner, Brad's phone buzzed. It was a text notification from Thorne.

"'Great news. Can you FaceTime right now? I think I've found what we've been looking for,' he'd read. Rad busted out a huge grin, told his wife he needed to chat with Drew, and headed to his office. "'What'd you find?' Rad asked immediately when Thorn answered. "'A Zoroastrian priestess out in Tehran, Masha Jafari. Officially, there are no Zoroastrian priestesses in Tehran or maybe anywhere else, but this woman's special. She's part of some underground sect, an offshoot that still practices the old ways.'

She knows ancient, very powerful blood magic. I'm talking about stuff that goes back before the Druids, back before anything connected to neo-paganism and certainly Wicca in any meaningful way. Back before Judaism even. She's a master. And binding and sealing spells against powerful demons and other evil spirits are apparently her specialties. Only problem is, she's impossible for me to contact directly. No website, no email, no phone number even.

I don't even know her address. And even if we could contact her, I don't know that she would speak with us. She could literally be killed for apostasy for helping us. Brad's stomach sank. Shit! Thorne, how the fuck is this great news? What's the point of finding someone we can't communicate with? Brad vented after he slammed his fist down onto the desk. Brad, stop. Thorne calmly replied. Do you really think I would want to talk to you immediately about some dead end?

"'I've found someone else who has family in the area she lives in. Someone who knows of her, knows where she lives. Someone who is willing to risk their life traveling there, meeting with her, and then bringing back and giving us a special jar that Masha will have prepared to trap and seal Marina inside.' Brad's spirits now soared. "'Oh my god, that's amazing! Thank you, Thorne!' He was so happy he could cry. He actually felt like he was about to start crying. "'We'll have to pay them, though,' Thorne said reluctantly. "'Of course!' Brad replied immediately. "'How much do they need?'

Thorne hesitated. $500,000. Half up front, the other half when you get the jar and instructions for how to complete the ritual. What? Brad blurted out. Are they going to come here and fight Marina for me too for that fucking price? He asked incredulously. No. Thorne replied matter-of-factly. No one's going to do that, Brad. It's far too dangerous.

They want the money so they can get their family out of Iran. All of them. I know that's a crazy amount, but I've done a lot of digging online, a lot of translating on all sorts of forums, message boards, and subreddits, whisperings about this woman and her magic go back to the earliest days of the internet. There are so many powerful claims. I've tracked down and made contact with over a dozen people who have made these claims. I've chatted on video with seven of them, and they truly believe that her magic saved them from powerful demons, curses, and the like.

One of the seven people I spoke with, Amir, is the person who will go get the jar and final ritual instructions. I think he's legit. And I think this is the chance we have been looking for. Shit, Brad said, feeling a bit defeated. What if this Amir character just takes the 250 grand and runs? He asked. To him, this all felt like nothing more than a scam. They might, Thorne agreed. But, she asked, what if they don't? Brad nodded. What other option did he have, he thought.

"'You're right,' he told Thorne. "'Thank you. Let's do it. I have to try. And when this is all over, I have to do something for you as well. Start thinking about what you want. Let's just focus on saving you and Renee. I'm not doing this for the money.' She answered earnestly. "'I know,' Brad replied and smiled. "'And that's why I want to do something for you. I could never defeat her. I'd never even know her name was Sarah Martin, not without you.' "'Brad!' Thorne winced. "'Not her real name, remember?'

"'Oh, sorry,' he said. And then they wrapped up, so Thorne could get to work coordinating the timeline to get Amir to Iran and get back with the jar. Shortly after, Brad then shut down FaceTime on his computer. The lights in his office flickered as the temperature dropped, and then he thought he could feel a presence nearby, something watching him, or rather some one Marina Hartz. Sarah Martin. She was near. He hoped like hell that she had just shown up and didn't overhear what they'd been talking about."

Two weeks later, the night before Renee's 16th birthday, Brad held an ancient-looking clay jar, hand-shaped from sacred earth and fired in ritual flame for nine days, sealed with a ring of ash, Gomez, and salt. It's covered in hand-painted words written in what he had at first assumed was Farsi, but it was something far older than that, most likely Sumerian, which gave him comfort. Why it gave him comfort didn't really make sense, though, he thought. Wasn't new usually better? New and improved?

So why did he and most other people seem to feel the opposite, where magic was concerned? Maybe because the world seemed more magical back then? It didn't matter, he reasoned. The only thing that mattered was that it had to work. And something else besides an old, now dead language gave him hope that it would. Something tragic. Marina appeared to maybe be scared of what he was going to try. If not, why would she have burned Thorn Shepard to death?

He'd wondered why she hadn't gotten back to him in a couple of days, fearing the worst, he started poking around online, and eventually he'd come across the news that he'd hoped he wasn't going to find, that a young woman in Fairhaven had been burned alive in her apartment. In exactly the same way six others had died back in 2008. Burned down to nothing much more than bones. And yet, the rest of her apartment was fine. A little smoke damage, but nothing else incinerated or even singed Marina's calling card.

It was 11:45 p.m. now, just 15 minutes before what Brad assumed would be his final showdown with the witch, for better or for worse. His wife Michelle and both daughters were sound asleep in their beds. Really sound asleep. He dosed all three of them after dinner with sleeping pills. Brad walked up to Renee's room, through a home that currently looked like a set for the next season of The Last of Us, and made sure she was in fact very sound asleep. Then he picked her up and carried her outside and placed her down on the concrete by the fire pit.

He laid her down as close to the fire as he could without risking her being burned, directly next to the clay vessel to trap Marina's spirit. Around the pit, per instructions from Masha Jafari, was a circle drawn in anointed salt, ash, and blood. Before Brad had laid it down, he'd first walk clockwise where the circle would be, burning sandalwood incense, while repeatedly chanting, Truth is best. Truth defends.

Then he'd poured out a ring of salt, followed by a ring of ash, followed by a ring of his own blood, bled out in drops from a cut on his wrist inflicted by a ceremonial dagger, while he again walked clockwise, repeatedly chanting, By the fire of Mazda, no unclean thing may harm what lies inside. Then Brad, standing above and only inches away from his daughter, within the sacred circle, began repeating the following refrain, first facing north, then east, then south, then west, four times per cycle.

Just as the Lord has chosen, so too the judge according to truth. He repeated the cycle over and over and over as he waited for the spirit of a woman once named Sarah Martin to appear.

A few minutes after midnight at 12:04 a.m., seconds after Renee, born at 12:03 a.m., had turned 16, a rush of cold wind began to swirl around Brad and his daughter. It moved faster and faster, growing colder and colder, looking as if it would extinguish the gas flames of the fire pit, looking as if it would also scatter the salt, ash, and blood far and wide. But the fire only flickered. It never went out. The salt only stirred, but never dissipated. Then, in an instant, the wind ceased.

There she was, standing just beyond the circle. The spirit of Sarah Martin. The witch known as Marina Hartz. The vengeful wraith who looked like an old woman from another time because that's exactly what she was. Still wearing the long, simple, dark brown linen dress. The wool stockings, apron, and simple leather shoes she'd dyed in. Her long, gray, and unkempt hair still fell down around and below her shoulders.

Her eyes still glowed like fire, her eyes that were fire, staring out menacingly from her weathered and heavily wrinkled face. The time has come to pay the final toll. The body doomed, the weight over to be whole. Three hundred years spent lost in the void, waiting on vengeance for three lives destroyed. Before she could continue, Brad interrupted her with his half-million-dollar Hail Mary.

"'By the light of Ahura Mazda, Lord of Wisdom, good and true, I name you Sarah Martin, and by his grace command you. You are not welcome here, divas. Depart this place, evil spirit of Angra Mainu. Bound by name to this earthly vessel, you are banished!' The entire time Brad spoke, Marina stared at him, smiled and mumbled her tried-and-true incantation of fire and destruction.

She painted signs and sigils in the air, then wove her hands around in secret and ancient motions, building her strange and terrible ball of flames between her hands. And when Brad finished, she unleashed her fury. But it didn't penetrate his circle of protection. And for the first time, Brad saw what looked like fear in Marina's fiery eyes. And he repeated his sealing spell.

"'By the light of Ahura Mazda, Lord of Wisdom, good and true, "'I name you Sarah Martin, and by his grace command you. "'You are not welcome here, divas. "'Depart this place, evil spirit of Angra Mainu. "'Bound by name to this earthly vessel, you are banished.' "'Marina still was not banished, and trapped inside the sacred clay vessel, "'but she also failed to burn him for a second time. "'No,' she roared. "'You cannot rob my spirit of where it must go.'

Brad chanted his containment of untruth ritual words for a third time. Again, it did not trap Marina, but it was clearly weakening her. Now she was unable to produce her fireball at all. Her eyes were noticeably duller, hardly glowing, barely the color of flame. Brad repeated the containment of untruth words a fourth time. Marina dropped to her knees. "'A book for blood! We made a deal!' No rhymes now. It was like watching the batteries begin to die in some terrible toy."

He spoke his powerful words a fifth time. Marina's eyes looked like a ghostly shade of human now. No fire at all. No threats. No spells. And now he punished her with his words for a sixth time. She collapsed face first, falling flat onto the ground in front of her and unleashed what sounded like a death wail. Rad uttered his magic words a seventh time, more boldly and confidently than ever. Marina's spectral form stopped moving.

but still her spirit wasn't trapped inside the clay jar. Brad wondered if some part of the ritual based in the powerful magic he'd paid so greatly for had been lost in translation. He worried that he wasn't able to trap her spirit in the jar because the jar was inside the circle designed to repel her unclean spirit. But what if he left the circle with the jar? It was a risk, but so was not containing her spirit. He and his daughter couldn't stay inside a protective circle drawn around the family fire pit forever.

Please, he prayed out loud, to all the gods, I know I don't deserve your help, but my daughter does. He grabbed the sacred jar with one hand, picked up its lid with the other, and walked to the inside edge of the circle. He looked back at his daughter, so perfect, so innocent, so ignorant to what he'd done. I love you, Ray Ray, he said. Always have. Always will. Forever. And then he inhaled and exhaled deeply, and stepped across the threshold.

With more conviction than ever, he chanted, By the light of Aruamazda, Lord of Wisdom, good and true, I name you Sarumartin, and by his grace command you. You are not welcome here, Devas. Depart this place, evil spirit of Angramenu. Bound by name to this earthly vessel, you are banished.

Incredibly, Brad watched Marina's spirit now be slowly and steadily pulled inside the jar as she futilely screamed and clawed to remain outside of what was to be her prison. He watched as her form stretched and distended and then disappeared entirely inside the clay trap. He quickly put the lid on it and sealed it as instructed, with a long strip of white linen soaked in blessed oils tied in three knots, saying the following words aloud as he did so.

Three lies bound, one truth remains. Sarah Martin, you are bound forever, never to return. Immediately upon tying the third knot, the air around Brad felt calm and peaceful. The world felt lighter than it had in 16 years. It was done. Brad scooped up his daughter, who was still his daughter, kissed her on the forehead, and carried her back to her bed.

He then returned, grabbed the sealed jar, and took it to his office, where he placed it for the moment, high upon a floating shelf above his desk, where no one coming to his daughter's party could reach it if they somehow made it inside his office, a place where he knew the maid never bothered to clean. He then returned downstairs once more, cleaned up any evidence of the ritual he'd performed, and replaced the decorations for the party he'd moved. And finally...

Feeling like he should be exhausted, but instead wide awake and feeling fucking overjoyed that he'd beaten the witch, that he'd made his fortune and didn't have to pay the final price for it. Brad Collins poured himself a tall glass of celebratory 30-year single malt Glen Fittich, and he sat out next to his fire pit.

scanned the horizon for sailboats anchored out in Buzzard's Bay, and sipped on his delightfully smooth drink, reclaiming the opening scene of his previous recurring nightmare and turning it into a memory of triumph. To Sarah Martin, he said as he raised his glass, may your spirit rest for another 300 years, if not forever, you evil, murderous bitch. Renee's 16th birthday party was incredible.

otherworldly. She'd never looked happier. She laughed and joked with her friends as her dad watched and soaked it all up. Brad was blown away by the most extravagant and perfect party he'd ever seen, let alone been to or funded. Her sister Jackie was on her best behavior, and Brad caught his wonderful wife Michelle getting misty-eyed on more than one occasion. They clinked glasses one of those times and said in perfect unison, what a life. And Brad had never before savored his magical life quite like he did now.

"'Daddy!' Renee squealed as she ran up to him a few hours into the party, after the two stars of the show had just left after stopping by and taking dozens of selfies with everyone present. "'What's going on, Ray-Ray?' he smiled. "'How's the queen?' "'The queen is wonderful, Daddy. This is the best day I've had in so, so long.' "'And the queen has a surprise for you,' Renee said playfully."

"'Oh, yeah?' he asked, genuinely surprised. "'Why am I getting this surprise? It's your big party.' "'You'll see,' she grinned mischievously. And then she took him by the hand. "'Come on, follow me.' Brad followed his daughter past the pool where he'd been standing, into the house, through the kitchen, and down the hall towards his bedroom and office. "'What are you up to, Ray-Ray?' he asked. He couldn't think of what she might possibly have in store for him. "'Close your eyes,' she said, stopping once they'd made it in front of his office door.'

Okay, he laughed as he did as she instructed. Whatever it is, I'm going to be surprised. Are your eyes completely closed? She asked. 100%. Promise? I promise. Renee then softly opened the door, gently led her father into his office, told him, stand right here and keep your eyes closed, and then shut the door behind them. Brad was starting to feel nervous butterflies in his stomach.

Renee had never given him some big surprise gift like this. He felt like whatever it was, he was definitely going to cry. This was going to be a big moment and he couldn't wait for it. It had already felt like the best day of his life. And now it was going to get even better. What a life, he thought. Okay, Renee gleefully and proudly exclaimed, open your eyes, daddy. With a giant grin on his face, that's exactly what Brad did. And he had no idea what the hell she was supposed to be showing him.

His office looked at first glance, second glance, third glance, exactly the same as it had when he had sat down at his desk and sent off some emails earlier in the day. I'm confused. What am I looking for? He asked as he continued to look around. Oh, daddy, Renee giggled. God, he loved her laugh. Truly probably his favorite sound in the world. Look up there, you goober, she pointed. Brad followed her finger.

the floating shelf above his desk, where he'd set the sacred jar where most of its broken, shattered pieces now lay. Did you know that Masha Jafari died a few days ago, Daddy? In a fire. And did you know that a binding spell doesn't work if the person who created it dies before you cast it? No! No, no! Brad moaned, feeling like someone had punched him in the stomach and knocked the wind out of him. He was dizzy and suddenly felt as though he might pass out.

He still managed to turn and face his daughter, whose eyes now glowed like fire. "Did you really think I'd built this fortune for you to keep, daddy? I let you build it for me and my new life." And then with no need for incantations, with so much more power thanks to her new beating heart and life force, Renee Collins, but really Sarah Martin, but truly Marina Hartz, burned Brad alive in his office and no one at the party noticed.

No one heard him scream. No one smelled the smoke. Marina then calmly returned to her party, enjoying herself immensely. She understood all of the references, because she had access to all of Renee's memories. It's what would allow her to so easily hide her true self. She heard Michelle scream about an hour later when she walked in and saw what was left of her husband in his office. Jackie started screaming a few moments later, and then Marina screamed as well, on the outside. She was quite the actress.

On the inside, she was smiling. She was alive again. She was young again. She was beautiful again. And she was wealthy for the very first time. She no longer had to hide out in the swamp from scared, foolish men intent on destroying her for not praying to their god. She was eager to experience all that life had to offer in the 21st century and to take whatever pleasure she wished from it.

And God help any motherfucker who dared to get in her way. What a life. And that's it for this Nightmare Fuel. I hope you loved today's tale of Burn the Witch 3, The Final Toll. Honestly, I planned on both Brad and Marina dying in that one. I didn't want to kill Renee. But maybe Marina worked on my mind too. Because it just felt wrong in the end. And I'd like to stay on her good side. She's full fucking evil. And not someone I'd like to cross.

Today's tale was written by me, Dan Cummins, and scored by Logan Keith. If you enjoyed this story, check out the rest of the Bad Magic Productions catalog. Time Suck every Monday at noon Pacific time with little short sucks on some Fridays and these Nightmare Fuel episodes on some Fridays as well.

and new episode to the now long-running paranormal podcast, Scared to Death, every Tuesday at midnight. And leave us some comments. Leave us some ratings. If you can, it definitely helps the show and always is appreciated. And please go to badmagicproductions.com for all your bad magic needs, including all show-related merch. And stay scared. Bad Magic Productions.

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