Ailurophobia
Lionel Penn walked into his office and saw the pink WHILE YOU WERE OUT message on his desk. His sister, April Brower, had phoned at 8:30 and wanted him to call her back. After drinking the cup of coffee his administrative assistant, Judy Stanfield, had thoughtfully put on his desk, he dialed his sister's number and began going through the day's mail while he waited for her to answer.
"Lion," April said after the usual pleasantries were concluded, "I want to invite you to dinner on Saturday."
"Let me guess. Either you have a single friend you're trying to fix me up with or you have an unofficial patient you would like me to talk to off the record."
"And free of charge. Don't forget that detail," his sister laughed.
"Okay, who is it this time? Another woman from the PTA suffering from a fear of heights or one of your high school students with a fear of gaining weight?"
"Neither. It's my new babysitter, Priscilla. Matthew and Holly absolutely adore her, and despite her little idiosyncrasy, she's great at what she does. And you know how hard it is to find a good sitter these days."
"No, actually, I don't, April. That's probably because I'm a single man and I don't have any children."
"But even you read the newspapers, dear brother. In this day and age, when you hire someone to watch your children you never know what kind of pervert or homicidal maniac you're likely to wind up with. At the very least you have to worry about the sitter using physical force as punishment."
Lionel thought it best not to voice his opinion that even the most depraved child molester would have his or her hands full with his niece and nephew. As much as he loved them both, he believed those two could tax the patience of a statue.
"So, what's this babysitter's problem, anyway, pedophobia?"
"What's that in English?"
"The fear of children," he laughed.
"Very funny, Lionel. You should have been a stand-up comedian instead of a psychiatrist. Actually, I imagine her phobia is a pretty common one. She's afraid of cats."
"What's the big deal then, April? Just put the cat outside or lock him in the basement when your babysitter is there."
"I tried that, but Holly accidentally let the animal in when she went outside to play. Priscilla actually fainted when she saw the cat, and Holly had to call me at work because the poor woman was out cold."
"Okay. I'll have a talk with your sitter, but don't expect a quick cure. These things take time."
"I know, Lion. I've heard that spiel of yours a million times before. Just come over to the house on Saturday night and meet her. Even if you can't help her, at least you'll get a home-cooked meal. What have you got to lose?"
Considering his sister's limited culinary skills, Lionel thought he stood a good chance of losing his appetite.
* * *
On Saturday evening, promptly at six, Lionel Penn arrived at his sister's Queen Anne Boulevard home where he was introduced to the babysitter, Priscilla Kraft. As he looked at the strikingly beautiful woman with the long, black hair and the most amazing green eyes, he wondered why, as a child, all his babysitters had been either skinny teenagers with braces and acne or elderly women who smelled of mothballs and wore heavy wool sweaters even on the hottest days of the year.
After a pleasant and surprisingly delicious dinner, April and her husband, Tom Brower, went to the kitchen to do the dishes, giving Lionel a chance to talk privately with Priscilla.
"You know why my sister invited me here tonight, don't you?" the doctor asked bluntly, trying not to stare too deeply into those dazzling emerald eyes.
"April told me you're a psychiatrist with a great deal of success treating people with phobias. She thinks I'll get over my fear of cats if I talk to you about it."
"I only wish it were that easy. But I have helped a good many people overcome their fears, or at least made them more manageable."
"That would certainly be a blessing. It isn't very pleasant living in fear of something as common as a housecat."
"Do you recall the first time you were frightened by a cat?"
Lionel tried to act and sound professional, but he kept getting distracted by the way the babysitter's ebony hair shimmered with every movement of her head.
"If memory serves me correctly, it was the nightmares. I got them so often when I was young. I still do occasionally."
"What sort of nightmares? Tell me as much as you can about them."
"I'd love to, but they're fragmented like most dreams. What I can tell you is that they all involved a cat, an old woman and a young man."
"What happens in these dreams of yours?"
"Different things. Sometimes I'm in a kitchen where the old woman is cooking. Other times I'm walking beside a stream with the young man. However, the dreams are not always so pleasant. I see their faces, and I feel an overwhelming sadness and fear. And always there is a cat in the dream, its body cloaked in shadow. Its eyes stare at me wherever I go, and I'm terrified of it but don't know why."
"Does the cat ever try to harm you in any way?"
"No. It just watches me, but its eyes seem so malevolent!"
Priscilla shuddered at the memory.
When April and her husband were done with the dishes, the four people went into the living room, and the conversation turned to more pleasant topics. By the end of the evening, the handsome psychiatrist was quite taken with the beautiful babysitter. So much so, that he made plans to spend the following day with her.
Lionel picked Priscilla up around eleven the next morning, and the two of them had brunch at the Sons of Liberty Tavern. After the sumptuous repast, he suggested they take a stroll down to the beach, ostensibly to walk off the heavy meal, but actually, he thought it was the best way the two of them could become better acquainted.
"My sister told me you're from New Jersey," Lionel said.
"I grew up there, but I was born in Warrentown, right here in Massachusetts," Priscilla told him.
"Warrentown? That's a town that has quite a history, almost as colorful as that of Puritan Falls but not quite."
"Does it? My mother moved to New Jersey when I was just a baby, so I never learned anything about Warrentown's history. In fact, I really don't know much about the town at all."
"If you don't have any plans for the rest of the afternoon, why don't we drive up there and do a little sightseeing?"
* * *
"So, tell me, Lionel, what's so special in the annals of history about the town of Warrentown, Massachusetts?" Priscilla asked as she and her companion made the leisurely drive to Warrentown in Lionel's MG.
"During the Revolutionary War, a skirmish between the British and the local militia took place there. It wasn't Concord and Lexington, but it was a minor victory for the American cause. Also, like most old towns in the northeast, it has got its share of restored colonial homes and inns."
"It sounds beautiful. I wish I'd brought my camera with me."
"And then there's the more sensational side of its history." Lionel continued. "The town was named after one of its original settlers, Giles Warren, who was found murdered several years later in the town common. Some people claimed it was the Wampanoag Indians that killed him as a warning to the English settlers to leave the area. Others said that old Giles, who had an eye for the ladies, was a little too friendly with one of the married matrons of the town and that he had been done in by a jealous husband."
"Did they ever arrest anyone?" Priscilla asked.
"No. His murder remains unsolved to this day. That's probably why people say you can see his ghost walking along the town common on some nights."
"What?" she laughed. "Now you're putting me on, right?"
"Absolutely not!" he insisted. "The citizens of Warrentown claim to have a ghost." Then, remembering another of the town legends, he added, "Make that two ghosts. I forgot about old Martha Ward."
"Martha Ward?" Priscilla repeated with a good deal of interest. "I've heard that name before. Perhaps my mother mentioned it when I was a child. Who was she?"
"Back in 1690, Martha Ward was accused of being a witch. But, unlike Salem where the hysteria spread through the whole village, in Warrentown only one person was ever accused."
"What happened to her?"
"They tried her, and she was found guilty and hanged. There have been reports of her ghost wandering all over Warrentown for the past three hundred years."
"How do you know all this, anyway?"
"I once had lunch with one of the members of the Warrentown Historic Society, a nice old man who, like me, enjoys delicious food and good conversation."
"Lionel, could we go there today, to the Historic Society?" she asked innocently. "I'd love to learn more about the place where I was born."
The psychiatrist had a nagging feeling that there was more to her request than simple curiosity about her birthplace. Still, he saw no harm in agreeing to her request.
* * *
The Warrentown Historic Society was housed in a large brick home built in 1752 by one of the descendants of Giles Warren's brother. Displayed in the house were hundreds of photographs of the town throughout its history. There were also diaries, newspaper clippings, public records, articles of clothing, household goods and many other items that were deemed of historic value.
Lionel and Priscilla were greeted by a sweet old woman who reminded them of Aunt Bea on the old Andy Griffith television show.
The woman greeted them with a heavy Yankee accent.
"Hello, there. My name is Mattie Prentice. Can I help you folks, or did you just come in to look at our exhibits?"
Although she was speaking to both of them, the old woman's eyes never left Priscilla's face.
"Maybe you can help us," the babysitter said. "I'm interested in learning about Martha Ward."
"You're in luck then," the old woman replied with a friendly smile. "Of all the members of our society here, I possess the most knowledge about that poor woman. Is there a specific question you have, or do you want to sit and hear the whole story?"
Priscilla turned to Lionel and asked, "Do we have time?"
Lionel nodded, and he and the babysitter were led to a cozy sitting area in front of a large bay window overlooking the ocean.
When the old woman went to fetch a pot of tea, Lionel whispered to Priscilla, "I wonder when Andy, Barney, Opie and the other folks from Mayberry are going to arrive."
Mattie soon returned, and over tea, she told them the tale of the infamous witch of Warrentown.
"Martha Ward was an old widow who lived on the edge of town. When she was young, she married a harpooner on a whaling ship. While he was away on his long voyages, Martha had to find ways to support herself. She'd work as a midwife, cook, housekeeper—anything to make a little money to get by on. Eventually, her husband died at sea. By then, she was too old to do any manual labor, so she sold tonics and cures made from herbs—a common practice in villages where there was no doctor. Soon some foolish, superstitious people began spreading tales that old Martha made potions that could put a hex on an enemy or make someone fall in love."
As she said this, Mattie looked from Priscilla to Lionel and smiled.
"One day young Benjamin Adams, heir to one of the largest fortunes in New England, fell in love with a peasant girl from Warrentown. Benjamin's father, a hard-hearted old Puritan, claimed his son had been bewitched. The girl was brought before the magistrates of a special court. To save her own skin, the girl accused Martha Ward of being the witch, claiming she, herself, was but an innocent victim, guilty only of loving a man above her station. So, Martha was arrested and tried for the crime of witchcraft, and based on the girl's damning testimony, she was found guilty and condemned to death. A week later Martha Ward and her cat were hanged."
"Her cat?" Priscilla asked.
Lionel noticed that just the mention of the word cat caused an ailurophobic reaction.
"Yes. The judges claimed that the cat was the witch's familiar and therefore an accomplice to her evil deeds. It seems a bizarre practice now, but it wasn't that uncommon for witch hunters to execute a familiar along with the accused witch."
"And the young woman," Priscilla asked, "the one who testified against Martha Ward, whatever became of her?"
"The judges found her innocent of all charges. Still, her life had no happy ending because while she was in jail, old Jacob Adams had married his son off to a more suitable maiden. No one knows for sure what happened to the young woman after that, although some gossip did go around at the time that she'd gotten herself in trouble with young Benjamin and had to leave town before people found out."
"It's so tragic ...," Priscilla began, but she never finished her sentence, for into the room walked Mattie Prentice's old gray and white tomcat.
Priscilla took one look at the harmless animal and fainted.
* * *
Over the next several weeks, Lionel noticed a marked change in Priscilla's appearance. The girl seemed to be losing weight, and sometimes there were dark circles beneath those beautiful emerald-green eyes.
"You haven't been getting enough sleep, have you?" Lionel asked with concern.
"No, it's the nightmares again. I've been having them every night since I saw that damned cat up in Warrentown. And now my subconscious is even incorporating the elements of Miss Prentice's story into my dreams."
"In what way?"
"Remember I told you that I always dreamt of a young man and an old woman? Well, now the young man has conveniently become Benjamin Adams and the old woman, Martha Ward."
"What about the cat?"
"Just what you're probably thinking: in my dreams, Miss Prentice's cat has become Martha Ward's familiar. I sometimes wake up at night screaming because I see its gray and white body dangling from a noose."
"I never should have taken you up there," Lionel said, pulling her into his arms and burying his face in her long, silky black hair.
"It was my idea to go to the Historic Society, not yours."
The nightmares got progressively worse as the weeks went by. It was those terrifying dreams that inexplicably drew her back to the town of Warrentown.
When Priscilla returned to the Historic Society, this time without Lionel Penn, there was an elderly gentleman behind the desk.
"Can I help you, Miss ...?"
"Kraft. Priscilla Kraft. I'm looking for one of your associates: Mattie Prentice."
"I'm afraid I don't know anyone with that name," he replied.
"She works here at the Historic Society, or at least she did the last time I was in here."
"You're mistaken. There's no one here with that name."
"But my friend and I sat and had tea with her in this building while she told us the story of Martha Ward."
"I'm sorry, Miss Kraft, but I've been volunteering at this society for almost thirty years, and I tell you there is not now and never has been a Mattie Prentice here."
Priscilla thanked the man and headed for the door.
Then, on impulse, she turned and asked him, "Where was the body of Martha Ward buried?"
"In the old burial ground on Lower Concord Road, but I don't know if you'll be able to find her grave. Many of the pre-Revolutionary War tombstones have eroded over the years to the point of being nearly illegible."
* * *
It was a large cemetery with tombstones dating from the early days of colonial Massachusetts. As Priscilla walked through the oldest section of the graveyard, straining to read the writing on the headstones, she spotted a familiar face: Mattie Prentice. Although they had met on only one occasion, Priscilla and Mattie greeted each other like old friends.
"You know, the old gentleman at the Historic Society tried to tell me he didn't know anyone named Mattie Prentice," Priscilla laughed, wondering if the elderly man might be suffering from Alzheimer's disease.
"That's because Prentice was my maiden name. I'm better known around here by my husband's surname: Ward."
"Mattie Ward? Are you a descendent of Martha Ward?"
"Actually, Mattie is just a nickname. My given name was Martha."
Priscilla realized with a shock that the woman was none other than the seventeenth-century accused witch of Warrentown herself. The sweet-old-Aunt-Bea-from-Mayberry Mattie Prentice had been only a pretense.
A rustling of leaves nearby presaged the arrival of the gray and white tomcat. Priscilla was paralyzed with fear at the sight of him, but she managed, on this occasion, not to faint.
"When I told you and your young man my story," Martha explained, "there was one detail I omitted from my narrative."
"What was that?" Priscilla managed to ask despite her fear.
"The name of the young girl who accused me and then later testified against me at my trial. And naturally, you never asked. Could it be because deep inside your subconscious mind you already knew the answer?"
"I have no idea who she was," Priscilla insisted, but even as she cried out her denial, visions from her nightmares flashed before her eyes: Benjamin Adams, Martha Ward, the judges and the cat staring at her from the end of a rope.
"Her name was Priscilla Kraft. It was your ancestor who came to me for a love potion. When I gave it to her, I had no idea she'd try to use it on Benjamin Adams. The young fool should have known his father would never tolerate his only son marrying a common girl like her. It wasn't fair that I had to die for her stupidity."
Priscilla watched as the old woman scooped up her cat. The animal continued to stare at Priscilla, its eyes glowing with hatred. Martha stroked the familiar as she spoke.
"We cursed her from the gallows, Widdershins and I, and every subsequent generation has borne that curse. Each woman in her line gave birth to a daughter who carried on the name of that traitorous bitch. And each of those women lost the man she loved before she could become a bride. And you, like your mother and grandmother and all those who came before, are the recipient of that curse."
"But I've done nothing wrong!" Priscilla screamed.
"That's exactly what she said when she was accused of bewitching Benjamin Adams. At least fate spared him: he was lucky enough to marry another girl before he fell victim to my curse. All the other men who had the misfortune to fall in love with the Kraft women died young, just as that man who is in love with you will die shortly."
"You mean Lionel?"
"He's already considering marriage, although he hasn't spoken of it yet. But he'll never live to place the ring on your finger," Martha threatened with a malevolent laugh.
"No," Priscilla cried, her green eyes shining defiantly. "If you want to punish someone, then punish me. I'm the one who bears the Kraft name. Kill me if you want vengeance, but not him."
Mattie's face softened somewhat.
"For over three hundred years I've waited for a Kraft woman to put someone else's life ahead of her own," the witch said with deep sadness. "Very well, then. My curse will end with you, and I will spare the life of Dr. Penn."
* * *
Lionel spoke with Priscilla's landlord inside the empty apartment.
"Didn't she leave a forwarding address or phone number where she could be reached?" he asked in disbelief.
"I'm afraid not," replied the landlord. "All I can tell you is that a woman showed up the other day, claiming that she was Miss Kraft's mother and that Priscilla would not be returning to Puritan Falls. Then she had a moving company remove all her daughter's belongings."
Lionel thanked the woman for her time and then walked slowly back to his car. What had gone wrong? he wondered. Had he only imagined that Priscilla's feelings for him were as strong as those he had for her? Why had she left town without a word either to him or to his sister?
As Lionel agonized over the answers to these questions, he felt something rub against his leg. He looked down and saw a cat with a silky ebony coat. The animal unexpectedly jumped into his arms and started to purr.
"You're certainly a friendly feline," Lionel said as he scratched the soft black fur under the animal's chin.
The cat rubbed against Lionel's chest and then picked its head up and gazed into the psychiatrist's face with the most incredible emerald-green eyes. As Lionel looked into those eyes, he was painfully reminded of Priscilla—her eyes had been the same shade of green.
Finally, the cat jumped down, ran across the lawn and, after looking back at Lionel one last time, disappeared into the woods.
Don't worry, Salem, people are no longer hanging witches or their familiars in Massachusetts.
