Balance

by Heather Anslow

Even for the unsuspecting, death has its responsibilities and repercussions as Mrs. Josette Collins was about to find out.

Josette, Angelique

My name is Josette.

I am dead.

My story was over, or so I thought.

My life ended when I tripped and fell from Widow’s Hill after seeing a hideous vision of my future self after becoming forever bonded with my beloved Barnabas.

Now, I am dead.

That vision was nothing compared to my poor, tortured broken body after the fall.

“Name,” A disembodied voice stated.

“Je suis Josette Marie Yvette Dupre, Monsieur”

“And you gave up your life because of a witch?”

“Je suis non-comprendes pas?” I had no idea what the fellow was referring to. He was a small, shrunken fellow with a grey complexion. The man stood at about half the height I would have expected of him in real life.

“Madam, did you or did you not jump from the cliff known as Widow’s Hill because a witch identified as Angelique Bouchard spoke to you and foretold you would become ugly if you went to meet with a potential future husband, Barnabas Collins?”

“Oui, Monsieur. C’est vrai.”

“Madam,” the diminutive man replied, “Thank you. Will you now describe to the court your relationship with the current vampire, Barnabas Collins, and Angelique Bouchard? I also remind you to immediately tell the court if you harbour any negative will toward anyone of whom you speak. If you do not, your entire testimony may be stricken from the record.”

My heart was now beating in my chest. I, recently deceased, having not spoken to anyone after my departure from life faced this court room in what felt like an assault. Shameful to say, I needed breathing space and so did what any other self-respecting woman would do: I cried, l professed confusion and requested someone to speak in my native language, French. It was a delight and relief to find that chivalry was not unknown even in the land of those long departed.

I must have fainted. To my surprise, I awoke in luxurious rooms with a pinkish hue and found myself in a bed of four-posts decorously drippling with lace and between sheets of such silken softness that only the most demanding of aristocracy would have been so privileged to expect.

“Madam.”

The voice was velveteen as the silk of the sheets.

“Madam, please awaken.”

My eyes reticently opened, not of their own accord but in response to the audible requests of a frantic young lady.

“Madam, please Madam, you are due in in court in two hours. Beautiful Madam, please wake up.”

This caused me to sit up. Startled into activity, I swung around to the floor, attempting to stand up and fell unceremoniously on my face.

“Ahh-ha.” It was not a lady-like phrase but it escaped me when I fell.

“Madam, lentement s’il vous plait. Please slowly.”

I realised as we eased myself back to the bed I that could understand her words becoming English, or at least a universal equivalent.

“Yes Ma’am,” almost as if it were an afterthought, “my name is Bonnie.”

“Bonnie?” It was not so much a question as a petition for help.

“Aye, Ma’am.” The look on my face must have confirmed her questions and so she responded.

“Aye, Ma’am. We are dead. Ye’ll be required back in the court to address the concerns about yer death.”

The Celtic lilt from her accent was unmistakable and I ventured, “Bonnie, I have just awoken here and I’m on trial?”

“No, Ma’am, it be not yer trial; it’s the witch’s trial.”

“The witch?” The astonishment in my voice could not have been mistaken for anything other than utter shock. I, of course, from the initial meeting had thought I was under condemnation.

“Aye, Ma’am” Bonnie replied. “Ye are the key to convicting the witch.”

My heart felt faint at this. One minute alive and looking forward to a half-life with a man in the shadows, the next dead and in court attesting to a woman’s occult and unnatural deeds.

It was some time later when Bonnie guided me to the court house and to my appointed court representative, Mr. Blair, a man resplendent in attire and of captivating smile. His nature appears to be someone of whom I remember my Papa, Andre, warning me. It seemed strangely perverse that this type of man was now the sort of whom my fortune and myself depended.

At the entrance to the court, I stopped. A vision. A vision in gossamer of loveliness with the most engaging eyes. I knew to whom those icicle-dripped blue eyes and the frozen heart belonged.

“Angelique!”

That gasped breath from me drew the most contemptuous hate-filled stare. At that moment, I knew for me it was either sink or swim. My childhood friend, teenage conspiratorialist and confidant was now my bitterest enemy. Feeling the heat of betrayal and loss, at that moment I desired only to return to my youth, to the security of Papa’s arms and my bedroom.

Unfortunately, there is a time when one must grow up as a part of the natural order of things. This also seemed to be the case now, even after life had ceased. For me, it seemed the time had finally arrived.

During the next few days of the trial, the court and jury listened to accounts of the defendant being wronged by Mr. Barnabas Collins which then led to her decisions to possess his servants and to curse and eventually harm (aka murder) Mr. Barnabas Collins’ sister, Sarah.

The subsequent response by Mr. Barnabas Collins towards the accused then led to further investigation of the events: the marriage of myself to Mr. Jeremiah Collins, the uncle and dearest friend of Mr. Barnabas Collins, which resulted in the death of Mr. Jeremiah Collins from a duelling pistol.

Finally, I was asked to step up to answer questions. Honestly and as diligently as I could, I answered all questions. After all, I was responsible in part for my beloved Barnabas not being with Angelique, though I had not known it at the time. I admitted freely that I had eloped and thereby betrayed Barnabas with his dear uncle, Jerimiah. I cannot honestly say whether I jumped or fell from Window’s Hill, instead of opting to be with my beloved. All I can say is that my heart aches for him.

I will never forget the screams from Angelique as she was escorted from the courtroom. It was so soon after my death that I cannot even recall the outcome, only the screams. Strange to say, I still love her as a sister though I do not expect any similar return of kindness of feeling.

For my part, I was awarded the duty of eternal vigilance over my beloved Barnabas Collins. If not with him in life, I am always with my love in spirit. As part of the outcome, I agreed that I would suffer the fate of Barnabas’ evil action if he did not repent or was unable to return to this light. His sister, Sarah, has been so supportive and with the help of Dr. Hoffman and Willie Loomis, there might even be hope for Barnabas.

With the last rays of daylight streaming beyond the horizon, I eagerly await my beloved to draw in his first breath of life and with the light of moon rays setting my heart dies with the loss of my love to his eternal slumber. There are so many of us tied to Angeliques’ curse. Dr Hoffman might break it one day. I fear that until Angelique finds peace within herself and a love outside of Barnabas whether there will ever, truly be an end.

Heather Anslow is a novice writer from Australia who became acquainted with Dark Shadows through the Big Finish original cast recordings in 2015. From only a few episodes of the series, there was no going back. Heather lives with a very patient and accommodating husband, two long-haired Chihuahuas and a cat. No guesses for who rules the household, especially at four am when the breakfast dish is empty.