The Revenants: Finale (complete)

Christabel had been a bright child. Lovely from a young age, she drew attention from the people around her. She was like a perfect porcelain doll, with her pale skin and long, dark hair. She was Andrew’s pride and joy, sweet, obedient, and affectionate to him. He dressed her in beautiful dresses, and gave her every toy she asked for. She was spoiled and well-tended-to, but not out of unconditional love. Everything had a condition, an expectation, an added debt he would want payment for later. To Andrew, Christabel was like a piggy bank, and each kind deed, each toy, each dress was a coin he was saving for later. 

As she grew, Andrew grew more excited about opening his supposed piggy bank. He grew more eager each day for the thought of what his payment might be. After all, Christabel had to be grateful for everything he did! Surely, she wanted to pay him back for all his charity and affection towards her. He wasn’t her parent, and she owed him.

Once Christabel had her first blood, he knew it was only a matter of time before he could reap his reward. His mind grew more lecherous and devious each day. The more beautiful Christabel became, the more his excitement mounted. All the years of lusting after and coveting her mother, Lydia, would not be spent in vain. He would soon hold her, taste her, and have her bend to his desires any day now.

Christabel grew more aware that Andrew was not a loving parent - in fact, she realized he was not a loving anything. He was a dirty old man who had lusted after her mother, and was now lusting after her future. She grew more disgusted and repulsed each day, eventually hating her own existence, yet she still played the part of a porcelain doll. She wore his clothes, she paid him favors, and she acted grateful, when in truth she wanted to die. 

For years, Christabel would pray to whatever force in the universe would hear her. Being so young, she went unheard. It was also due to Andrew’s interference that no one could hear. The medicine she took every day kept her natural abilities from growing, abilities she had inherited from her father. As she grew up and the medicine began to weaken, things started to listen. Her powers crept out slowly, bleeding into the air and catching the attention of those most eager to listen.

Her pleas for vengeance and release were heard, and bit by bit, each prayer brought to life what once was dead. The bones of her father were raised from the potter’s field where he was unceremoniously buried. He broke free from the earth, tasted the air, and heard his child weeping into the night. Her mother, buried in a tomb with Andrew’s family, lifted her bones into the air and opened the sepulchre door. Only able to name her child and never hold her, Lydia’s anger was strong. 

Lydia went to Christabel first, visiting her in her dreams where she felt it would be safe. More than anything, she wished to hold and comfort her child, but to her dismay she found someone she could not recognize. Christabel was broken and hurt, her anger stronger than her desire to live. Lydia had gone to her grave knowing her child was a girl, and fearing what Andrew might do. She had screamed for mercy at the end, not for herself, but for Christabel. She now realized that final plea had gone unheard. 

Just outside, Percivell had found his first victim. He recognized the old man right away, remembering that it was his lying testimony that had placed the first nail in his coffin. He had been just one of many who had Andrew’s coins rattling in their pockets. He took the old man as his first victim, stringing him up and dragging him until his blood smeared across the cobblestones of the streets, and his screams awoke people to the new terror in their city. 

As far as Percivell was concerned, everyone in Salem was guilty. They allowed him to die, and his wife to perish, and they continued to look away as his daughter was raised by his murderer. He would see to it that no one got away without knowing their guilt.

Both Percivell and Lydia had fond memories of Salem. They had grown there, found each other there. But now, all those wonderful memories were tainted. Behind each one was a shadow watching them, breathing down their necks, waiting to strike and take what it wanted. Andrew had been there in the back of their minds, someone Percivell had once trusted, and a man Lydia had tried to ignore. 

There was only one person Percivell felt he could trust, even now. He went to the executioner and delivered him a warning, a secret. Should he decide to end it all, he simply had to follow the recipe he provided. In part, Percivell was certain Harper would not have the strength to do it, and thus, Percivell and Lydia could go on forever. Even still, if Harper did provide the necessary sacrifices, then the guilty would be punished, and they could stay with their child forever.

“I beg you, Percivell,” Harper pleaded on his knees. “Do not do this. You can turn back now, willfully, before there is any more blood. I will take care of Christabel, I swear it!”

Percivell looked down upon him, taking in his words. He remembered being in the cell and holding Harper’s hand before he was to die. 

“It is far too late,” Percivell whispered in return. “I wished for this. My daughter wished for it. All of this is fated. Salem will fall, but my daughter will build it again.”

“Leave her alone. She has been through enough! Kill Andrew and let me take her away from here, somewhere she can be free of all these dark memories!” Harper cried.

“If you wish to end it, then take the bone and do as it says,” Percivell snarled. He pointed down at Harper. “That is the only way this story will end, when all are dead and slumbering in their tombs.” He lifted his head up, and grave dirt crumbled from his jaw. “It is my child that commands me now, and I must listen to her.”

The day Christabel came into her powers and destroyed Andrew’s house, she ran. She escaped from Andrew and Harper, running down the street with Moses in tow. She went to the High Priestess’ home, and as she stood there, breathing in the fire of her gifts, the door opened.

The High Priestess stood on the stoop and waved for Christabel to come inside. “The world is cold,” she said to her. “It’s best you come in and hide from the storm.” She gazed down at the terrified young girl whose hand was clasped in that of a stray. Her eyes were wide, a pale blue the Priestess had not seen in ages, not since she was a young girl, whenever that was. She extended her hand out, showing her palm and flexing her fingers to show them she meant no harm.

Christabel looked to Moses and took his hand. She silently went inside with him, standing in the quiet foyer as the High Priestess looked up at them. Her youthful face and hollow eyes belied her enormous powers as she slowly nodded to them. It had been her choice to take this appearance ages ago, back when she had come into her powers and was to become the High Priestess. For her, it was a dare. She dared anyone to look at her and try to take advantage, dared people to think she was a fool, a child. She used the youthful facade as a shield, deflecting and protecting herself from those who wished to take advantage of her. After a while, it had also become her excuse. She had failed in trusting anyone throughout the years and settled into a routine of passing the buck. She had stopped being a leader long ago and relied on her elders to lead. Perhaps, had she been paying attention, Christabel might not have happened.

“I had a feeling you were not the simpering pet that Andrew made you out to be,” the High Priestess murmured. “I knew that no child of Percivell would come out of the womb untouched by his talents, no matter who the mother was.” She walked away, leading them to the parlor, where the ghost of a woman was serving tea and cookies. The High Priestess seated herself upon a cushion at the table, one that allowed her the height to sit comfortably.

“If you knew, then why did you not say anything?” Christabel asked, her voice choppy and stilted from exertion.

The High Priestess added milk to her tea and stirred before taking a sip. “I suppose the same reason all bad things are allowed to happen, I am a horrible person.”

Christabel grimaced at her. “Are you saying that you wanted all of this to happen?”

“No,” the Priestess scoffed. “Of course not.” She set her tea cup down. “I am saying, like all people, I ignored what I suspected. I did not act. I was lazy, and I did not want my own comfort to be affected by any change. I also feared you.” She sighs, closing her eyes. “In the same way I came to fear your father. I did not want anyone to succeed my kind of power.”

“So you were selfish,” Christabel seethed. Her fists clenched tight and she lurched her body forward.

The High Priestess nodded without hesitation. “The same as anybody. Of course, I did not want for this to happen, but I allowed it, regardless, with my own ignorance and failings.” She tilted her head, looking towards Christabel. “And now, you are here, and they have come,” she said of Lydia and Percivell. “I knew it would happen, but I always thought it would be later, never now.”

“Well, now is now!” Christabel shivered. “Here I am, and here they are. Here is Hell come right to your door. You let it in.”

“That is what I said.” The High Priestess’ body slouched. Her shoulders sunk and her back seemed to hunch, showing her age.  “You can stay here as long as you like. I doubt I will need this place much longer, anyway.” She lifted her cup, blew on it, and sipped again. Her hands were calm and steady. All the while, Christabel’s shook like leaves in the wind.

“Tell me,” Christabel choked. “Tell me how to handle it.” She lifted her hands, still stained with blood. The fingers twitched like dying rats and her nails had gone completely black. “Show me how I can control it,” she whimpered in agony.

“First,” the High Priestess replied, “you need a bath. You’re covered in blood, and it is not as attractive a look as the cultists think.” She stood up from the table. “Follow me now, dear. I will get you taken care of. Your pet can stay here and finish the cookies.”

Christabel followed the High Priestess, going to the bathroom, where she was scrubbed from head to toe. The bright red water was emptied, then replaced with a bath of milk, rose petals, lavender, a rose quartz crystal, and water from storm rain. Once Christabel lowered herself in, the High Priestess sat beside the basin and tended to Christabel’s nails.

“Your powers come from a connection,” she replied. “A tether to another world. They can hear you and you can hear them. Your father could conjure the most powerful of creatures without so much as blinking. It takes years, decades, and even lifetimes for some witches to perform the feats he did. I suspect you will only need to breathe to perform your craft. After all, you summoned your parents when you were not even aware of your gifts.” She smoothed water over Christabel’s nails and watched as they turn black.

“Right now, you need to discover something that will center you and allow you to find a calm so you can control these powers.” The High Priestess tilted her head towards Christabel. “Unless you want these things to run amok and destroy all of Salem.”

Christabel watched her in silence, her pale eyes focused and unmoving. She then parted her lips as she took in a breath. “I want everything to burn to the ground.”

Meeting her gaze then looking down, the High Priestess accepted. “I thought so,” she murmured. “What do you plan to do?”

Christabel shook her head. “I am not so sure,” she whispered. “All I know is that I want those who watched me suffer to feel everything I felt.” She wrapped her arms around her body and clawed her nails down her skin. “I don’t want them to understand. I just want them to feel it. I want them to feel hopeless and trapped, just like me!”

The High Priestess tried to deflect her eyes away but she was forced to keep her gaze on Christabel. “I knew that as well.” She then left Christabel’s side at the tub and went over to the vanity. 

Christabel cut her eyes towards her, sneering so that her lip curled up over her teeth. “For someone who knows so much, you sure don’t seem to know anything,” Christabel grumbled as she soaked in the tub. 

The High Priestess chuckled as she took a silver razor from inside the vanity. She opened it, checking the blade before closing it back and slipping it into her sleeve. “I’m trying to get you to open up, Christabel. That is all.”

“You had your chance,” Christabel’s voice was hollow and bleak. “You could have talked to me and told me all these things when I was young. You could have taken me away from Andrew and admitted your world was not yours.” She then looked down as the High Priestess came back to the tub. 

The High Priestess came up behind Christabel, brushing out her long hair. As the hair fell over the edge, she took the razor from her shirt. As she moved to slide it across Christabel’s throat, a rotted hand grabbed her.

“You horrible old hag,” Lydia snarled at her. “Leave my child alone!” She screamed, opening her rotted jowls so that the High Priestess saw down her throat and into the bile that was frothing up.

Christabel stood up in the tub, looking back as the razor hit the floor. “Don’t hurt her, Mama,” she whispered. “Not yet. I still have questions for her.”

Lydia tossed the High Priestess down onto the ground and offered up a towel to Christabel that she wrapped around herself. 

“You know you’re going to die like the others,” Christabel said to her, stepping on her hand before she could reach for the razor. Christabel picked up the silver object and tossed it away. “There’s too much blood on you.” She glared down at her. “You are the worst coward of them all.”

She kept the High Priestess her prisoner all that time. It wasn’t until she was done questioning that the High Priestess was made to leave the house, and that was where Harper found her, ready to hand herself over to end the Revenants and their hold on Salem. She died, and Christabel usurped her place, becoming High Priestess of the coven in Salem.

Harper now stands at the side of the bed where Christabel lays. She is propped up on pillows, and her stomach is heavy with child. Her pale skin looks thin, and blue veins push to the surface. She looks towards Harper, extending out her willowy arm and placing her fingers on his face.

“I’m glad you’re here. When I couldn’t find you, I grew so worried.” She sighs softly, gently brushing her fingers against his lips. “Where did you go?”

“Away,” Harper answers simply. “I had to.”

Christabel moves her hand away, placing her fingertips against her own lips. “I knew you would, last we met. After the old High Priestess was sacrificed, I knew I wouldn’t see you again for a long time.”

Harper reaches out, placing his large palm on her stomach. He feels the soft thrum of a kick, and his fingers flex responsively. “Is it really mine?”

“I have not let anyone else touch me since,” Christabel whispers, her hand joining his. “You were enough.”

Harper leans down, pressing a kiss to Christabel’s forehead. “I’ll take good care of them,” he whispers his promise. “I’ll take them far away from here.”

Christabel tilts her head to the side. “What makes you think you’re taking them away?” She twists her neck and lifts her chin high. “Harper?”

Harper stills then swallows down the lump forming in his throat. “Should anything happen,” he replies. 

Christabel sighs as she tilts her head away, moving herself and adjusting on the bed so she is comfortable. “I will not let my child know what it was like.” She rubs both hands on her belly. “They will never know a world like mine, or the people who inhabited it.”

“They won’t,” Harper’s voice catches.

“You’ll stay with us,” Christabel says, not as an offer, but as a command. “You’ll protect us and love us, won’t you?”

Harper takes in a deep breath. “Haven’t I always?”

“Good,” Christabel says definitively. “I’m glad you see it my way. You always did, though,” she murmurs. “When we first met, you understood, you saw. Unlike all the others, who chose to ignore.”

Her grimace causes a shudder to run through the house, and the Revenant of Lydia appears in the corner. Her bloated belly is left over from her pregnancy, hanged days after giving birth to Christabel. She stares at Harper from that shadowed corner, her hollow eyes boring deep into him, knowing exactly where his mind is.

“Halloween is coming,” Christabel says. “We should celebrate.”

“Yes,” Harper whispers. “I agree. What would you like?”

Christabel smiles. “There is so much to do, so much to be done.” She sways her head to and fro. “Perhaps we should bring up Andrew from the cells and have him entertain us.”

Harper shudders. “He’s still alive?”

“Of course,” Christabel giggles. “I do not plan to let him go so easily. He does not deserve the rest of death.” Her smile cuts across her face like a wound. “He will live a long, long life, just not a good one.”

Harper looks back at Lydia in the corner, watching her ash swirl in the air, hearing her breathe like the wind through an empty tomb. He turns back to Christabel and lays his hand on her shoulder. “Is there anything I can get for you?” he asks.

Christabel lays her head back on the pillow. “For now, I’m fine. Just stay with me, Harper,” she murmurs.

Over the next few days, Harper becomes a servant in the home. Christabel is the only other living soul in the house. Aside from her, the Revenants of her parents take care of everything, including going out into Salem to search for the supposed guilty souls who remain.

One morning, there comes a screaming from Christabel’s chambers. Harper goes into the room, seeing her blankets in a heap at the foot of the bed. She is bloodied from the waist down. She rips away her nightgown, screaming as she writhes against the sheets. 

“The baby!” Christabel wails at him, her brow covered with sweat and her veins pressed even closer to the surface of her skin. She screams, throwing herself back onto the bed as Harper rushes forward. All his life, he has only ushered people to death; now, he is holding life in his hands. The Revenants enter the room, swirling around the bed, watching, waiting. Harper does what he can, but he is unsure of his abilities. 

As Christabel screams in anguish and the bed stains red, there is suddenly another sound. A cry, high-pitched and trembling, angry in its own fear. A tiny shape has emerged from Christabel, and it just fits into the palm of Harper’s big hand, covered in red. He cuts the umbilical cord and looks towards Christabel laying on the bed. He places the baby in her arms, and she looks down at it with a blank expression. After a moment, she touches its face and sighs.

“Harper,” she whispers. “I feel so weak.”

Harper takes the baby back. “You rest,” he replies. “I’ll wash up the baby and take care of her,” he says.

“Her,” Christabel coos. “How nice.”

Harper looks down at the baby, then back towards the mother. “Do you want to name her?” He asks.

“Lydia,” Christabel whispers, and closes her eyes. “She shall be Lydia.”

Harper washes the baby off in the basin, then swaddles her and lays her down in the crib. He then goes over to the bed where Christabel is drifting. Her eyes flutter, and her breath is shallow and choppy. Harper places his hand over her eyes, and raises the blade he used to cut the umbilical cord to her throat.

The baby starts to cry again, and Harper turns his attention to her. He picks her up and holds her to his chest. “It’s all right, Lydia. I promise.”

The Revenants float down by the bedside, standing on either side of their daughter. Her body sinks into the bed, and her blood rises up and mists the air. 

“The lamb is yours,” Harper chokes. “The lamb is yours.”

He takes baby Lydia out of the house, intent on bringing her back to the village where he was hiding. As he leaves Salem, the air crackles, and he can taste copper on his tongue. Once he returns to his home, he gives Lydia to Moses, who stares at her with fear.

“She is a baby, Moses. She needs us.” Harper says. “If we raise her with love, we have nothing to fear.”

“But what if she’s a witch?” Moses gasps.

“Then we have nothing to fear.”

Harper leaves again and goes back to Salem, where the sky has turned red in the few days since he left. Blood rains from the sky, spilling down the streets in a terrible river. Harper goes to the cells below the courthouse.

There, he finds Andrew cowering in the corner. The Revenant of Percivell screams and taunts him. “You insignificant worm! You lech! You monster! Look what you have done!” Percivell roars. “All of this is because of you!”

“Kill me! Kill me, I beg of you!” Andrew wails.

“Percivell,” Harper yells.

The Revenant has greatly deteriorated. His jaw has fallen away, and he is missing both arms. He lurches forward, hissing at Harper, who simply moves past him.

Andrew leaps to Harper’s feet, clawing at his legs and sobbing pitifully. “Thank god you are here! Save me! Please! Save me!” He is rag and bone, barely human, kept alive only out of Christabel’s spite.

“Do you understand?” Harper asks of him.

Andrew only answers in sobs.

Harper kicks him away. “Do you understand?” He bellows.

Andrew screams and cowers again in the corner.

“All of this is your fault!” Harper screams. “All of it! You’ve destroyed everything! But you are no monster. No. You are far worse. You are pathetic. If you can’t even admit to your own guilt, there is nothing worthwhile about you at all. You’re scum. You’re worms. You’re nothing.”

Andrew yowls and whimpers. “Please let me go-” he bleats. “Please! I’ll do anything.”

Harper looks to Percivell. “Once I do this, you’ll be gone forever.”

Percivell nods his head. “We have our child and you have what matters,” Percivell whispers. “Do it. Let me watch.”

Harper grabs Andrew by the scruff of his neck. He drags the poor fool, kicking and screaming, out of the courthouse and towards the gallows. Lydia stands there in wait, holding the noose in her hands.

She places the rope in Harper’s hands, and tilts her chin up to him. “Let it end,” she whispers, before descending the scaffold to stand with Percivell.

“No! No!” Andrew whines. “Anything but this! Anything! I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die!” He begs pitifully.

Harper doesn’t listen. He fastens the rope around the gallows, then places it over Andrew’s throat. He steps away while Andrew continues to scream for mercy. Harper looks out and sees a red figure come out from between the Revenants. She saunters to the gallows, stepping onto the scaffold, and Andrew screams in terror before Harper lets fly the trapdoor beneath his feet.

Andrew dangles in the air, kicking and twitching, but only for a moment. He goes slack, and his body sways in the air while the red figure watches.

The Revenants turn to dust, crumbling away until only bones remain on the cobblestones. Ash and dust float into the air, fading away into the red sky. Then, the clouds part, and a beam of light shines down onto Salem.

The red figure turns to Harper. “It ends,” Christabel whispers.

Harper sheds a few tears as he looks at her. “Then please, go,” he shudders.

Christabel shakes her head and holds her hand out to him. “You have to come with me, Harper. I told you, it’s over.”

Harper looks down, seeing a figure at his feet. It is small and shriveled, with long white hair covering its face. Harper blinks tears from his eyes and looks back to Christabel. “The baby…” he gasps.

Christabel takes hold of his hand, leading him towards a glowing door in the center of the city. “For her, it is only the beginning.” 

“No!” Harper struggles against her grip. “No! Let me go! Let me go!”

Christabel’s grip tightens, and she gazes up at Harper with familiar brown eyes. Harper stills for a moment, losing his breath and his will.

“Time to go,” Christabel urges, pulling him through the blinding light.

“Y-yes,” Harper stammers hesitantly. “Of course,” He laces his fingers with hers, and vanishes into the light. 

Moses waits. Over the years, he raises Lydia up into a bright young girl. Her long black hair falls in waves, and her dark brown eyes eventually shift to blue. When they do, Moses takes her back to Salem, where he finds the long-vacant house of the High Priestess. Inside, the house is empty and ransacked, but the bedchamber is boarded over.

Moses removes the boards, and enters to find the skeletons of Christabel and Harper laying in the bed. He sets Lydia down and looks into her bright blue eyes.

“Can you bring them back?” Moses whispers.

Lydia nods. “Yes, I’ve been practicing like you asked.” She smiles up at him. “Do you think I’m ready, Papa?”

Moses kisses her forehead. “Yes. It’s time.” He stands aside, watching as Lydia turns to the bed. “It’s time.”