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Authors: Pamela Ditchoff
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to break the spell . . . ," Rune interrupts, but Helga does not notice.
“I slid down at sunset, and when I transformed, my webbed hands were still torn from night before. Bloody with my own blood at last rather than the blood of others!" Helga exclaims and twirls about, her translucent hands held before her face like an offering. She picks up two twigs and crosses them. "I made a border of crosses around Michael's grave, and as I did so, my webs fell away. I went to the water to wash and saw my hands restored. I made the sign of cross over his grave and I spoke the words Michael had spoken over and over,
Jesus Christ
. My frog skin slipped from my body and I stood as a girl in the dark for the first time."
Elora pauses and raps her nails over the crystal ball. Croesus noses the palm of her hand, his doggy eyebrows drawn up with perplexity.
"Is it not reasonable to assume that Helga, after spending centuries as a glorified light bulb, would be short circuiting? Maybe I should send her back now, in case she tries that conversion routine on our young beast. Girls that age are groping for something to give themselves over to, something that seems to answer all their questions. Brother, does Christianity ever do that, one answer for every problem--simple. Sure worked well for the girl saints." Elora counts off on her fingers: "Agnes, thirteen, sent to a brothel then beheaded; Faith, twelve, scourged and beheaded; Joan of Arc, thirteen when she started seeing vision and hearing voices--burned at the stake; Lucy, fourteen, brothel, burned, stabbed through the throat."
Croesus sits up on his hind feet and rapidly paws the ball. Within, Rune picks up two twigs and bites the corner of her lip. "Do you think that would work for me?"
Helga's aura turns violet and her ghostly form trembles. "Wait!" she cries. "There's more. I lay down by the stream to sleep, and I was awakened at midnight by a bright light. Before me was the dead horse, flames playing in his neck wound and Michael was riding him."
Helga begins to pace. "His face was sad and serious--oh, so beautiful. I knew I was being judged, this time justly."
"Judged for what? You saved him from being sacrificed, you . . ."
"The time, the time is slipping away," Helga interrupts. "Listen to me. I understood then that the struggle within me had been a struggle of love. I had followed a will greater than my own and had not been the maker of my fate, but guided and led."
"Your love for Michael," Rune whispers.
Helga stops pacing and stands before Rune, her dark eyes sparking neon blue. "Yes! And I thought he loved me too. Why else would he come back to me from the grave? I bent my head, tears falling on the ground, and I felt a flame burn within me."
Rune clasps her hands over her heart, and if she had proper eyelids, her expression would be dreamy. "I know that feeling."
"I said to Michael,
I'm on fire
. He smiled, such a pleased smile, and told me it was the flame of the Holy Ghost."
"What did you say?" Rune asks breathlessly.
Helga wrings her ghostly hands and resumes pacing. "I just nodded. I thought he was the Holy Ghost. I would have agreed to anything to keep him by my side. Then he said:
Of earth were you made and from the earth you shall be resurrected. The sunbeam within you shall return to its maker. No soul is doomed, but earthly life can be long and the flight into eternity can seem endless.
When will mine end?"
Helga howls mournfully as a banshee and Rune can't help clicking.
Helga's light changes from violet to crimson and she drops to her knees before Rune. "Michael said:
I come from the land of the dead where the radiant mountains are, and where all perfection lives. You too shall one day travel through the dark valleys to that land.
Take me with you now, I pleaded, and he smiled again, that pleased smile. He said he would take me to the great bog where I must break
“I slid down at sunset, and when I transformed, my webbed hands were still torn from night before. Bloody with my own blood at last rather than the blood of others!" Helga exclaims and twirls about, her translucent hands held before her face like an offering. She picks up two twigs and crosses them. "I made a border of crosses around Michael's grave, and as I did so, my webs fell away. I went to the water to wash and saw my hands restored. I made the sign of cross over his grave and I spoke the words Michael had spoken over and over,
Jesus Christ
. My frog skin slipped from my body and I stood as a girl in the dark for the first time."
Elora pauses and raps her nails over the crystal ball. Croesus noses the palm of her hand, his doggy eyebrows drawn up with perplexity.
"Is it not reasonable to assume that Helga, after spending centuries as a glorified light bulb, would be short circuiting? Maybe I should send her back now, in case she tries that conversion routine on our young beast. Girls that age are groping for something to give themselves over to, something that seems to answer all their questions. Brother, does Christianity ever do that, one answer for every problem--simple. Sure worked well for the girl saints." Elora counts off on her fingers: "Agnes, thirteen, sent to a brothel then beheaded; Faith, twelve, scourged and beheaded; Joan of Arc, thirteen when she started seeing vision and hearing voices--burned at the stake; Lucy, fourteen, brothel, burned, stabbed through the throat."
Croesus sits up on his hind feet and rapidly paws the ball. Within, Rune picks up two twigs and bites the corner of her lip. "Do you think that would work for me?"
Helga's aura turns violet and her ghostly form trembles. "Wait!" she cries. "There's more. I lay down by the stream to sleep, and I was awakened at midnight by a bright light. Before me was the dead horse, flames playing in his neck wound and Michael was riding him."
Helga begins to pace. "His face was sad and serious--oh, so beautiful. I knew I was being judged, this time justly."
"Judged for what? You saved him from being sacrificed, you . . ."
"The time, the time is slipping away," Helga interrupts. "Listen to me. I understood then that the struggle within me had been a struggle of love. I had followed a will greater than my own and had not been the maker of my fate, but guided and led."
"Your love for Michael," Rune whispers.
Helga stops pacing and stands before Rune, her dark eyes sparking neon blue. "Yes! And I thought he loved me too. Why else would he come back to me from the grave? I bent my head, tears falling on the ground, and I felt a flame burn within me."
Rune clasps her hands over her heart, and if she had proper eyelids, her expression would be dreamy. "I know that feeling."
"I said to Michael,
I'm on fire
. He smiled, such a pleased smile, and told me it was the flame of the Holy Ghost."
"What did you say?" Rune asks breathlessly.
Helga wrings her ghostly hands and resumes pacing. "I just nodded. I thought he was the Holy Ghost. I would have agreed to anything to keep him by my side. Then he said:
Of earth were you made and from the earth you shall be resurrected. The sunbeam within you shall return to its maker. No soul is doomed, but earthly life can be long and the flight into eternity can seem endless.
When will mine end?"
Helga howls mournfully as a banshee and Rune can't help clicking.
Helga's light changes from violet to crimson and she drops to her knees before Rune. "Michael said:
I come from the land of the dead where the radiant mountains are, and where all perfection lives. You too shall one day travel through the dark valleys to that land.
Take me with you now, I pleaded, and he smiled again, that pleased smile. He said he would take me to the great bog where I must break
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