haven hollow 00 - 01 to 10, page 5
“Those really work?”
“They have for me.” I cleared my throat. “I’ve dealt with quite a few ghosts in my time, some were even poltergeists, and I used banishment potions on each one.”
He smiled then, grin bright and infectious, and I found myself smiling back, despite the worry that curled in my gut.
“I’d love to try a banishment potion,” he said as an idea birthed itself across his expression. “How about I help you set up your shop and we can talk about coming up with some marketing materials and you help me out with some potions?”
“Sure,” I smiled and nodded, thinking I could definitely use the help. I wasn’t exactly handy, and the shelves weren’t going to put themselves up.
Chapter Five
I was sitting in my bed, looking at the moonlight streaming in through the window. It was calming, beautiful even. Finn was sitting next to me, playing his Gameboy. Yes, he had his own bed, but he’d asked if he could spend the first night in our new house with me and I wasn’t about to argue. Not after everything he’d been through at the old house.
But, this wasn’t going to become a habit. Tomorrow I would cleanse the house with Purification Oil, which was a blend of Frankincense, Myrrh and Sandalwood. When placed in a diffuser, it dispelled negativity and bad energy. It was perfect as a cleansing recipe for a new space when you weren’t sure what sort of energy you might be dealing with. After I cleansed the house, I’d burn a purple candle anointed with Magus Oil, which would provide protection and power against any influences that might mean to do us harm.
But, for now, I took a deep breath and faced my phone, and more particularly, Match.com. Yes, my mother had finally talked me into setting up my profile. It had only taken another hour-long phone call, but I’d finally given in. Mostly because I didn’t want to suffer through any more conversations about it.
Match.com served up the local available bachelors and...
I was a little stunned. Haven Hollow was about the size of a postage stamp. A proverbial spec on the map of Oregon. And yet, the first several profiles weren’t unimpressive…
Lorcan Rowe, age forty-one, had movie-star good looks. Handsome, chiseled face. The strong, Roman nose might have been considered hawkish by some, but it balanced with the rest of his face. His eyes were a green so deep, a girl could drown if she wasn’t careful. Apparently, he was the dentist Marty had told me about. Hmm…
Roy Osbourne, forty-six, had missed his calling as the Brawny Paper Towel man. Broad-shouldered, short, thick brown hair, and stubble… ahem, really sexy stubble. He had a dark tan, which made his gray eyes stand out all the more. Marty had mentioned him too... The Bar and Grill owner.
And then there was...
McFly.
I couldn’t help my smile as a picture of Marty grinned up at me in that boyish way of his. His hair was shorter than it was today—more of a buzz cut, really, but otherwise, he looked exactly the same. His username was ‘MartyPix’ and it listed him as being forty-six. There were three other pictures of him—one where it looked like he was camping, maybe. Another of him with longer hair and he was surrounded by three older women—maybe family members? And one more of him standing in front of his hearse, wearing another weird shirt, no doubt another of his marketing creations. But it was the picture of him in a tux that attracted my attention the most. Yep, he was cute. Strange, yes, certainly dorky, extremely friendly and possibly… sexy?
“Guess who’s on Match?” I asked Finn.
“Who?” he answered, not bothering to look up from his game.
“McFly.”
Finn nodded. “Cool. You should go out with him.”
I eyed him. “Yeah, I’m not so sure about that.”
“I have a good feeling about him.”
A tense knot of... something... eased in my back. If Finn trusted Marty, maybe I could too?
After another second, my phone buzzed with an incoming text. It wasn’t a number I recognized.
Hey, it’s McFly, the text read. Thanks for giving me your number. Just wanted you to have mine.
Got it, I typed back. And saved you to my contacts.
Cool! BTW, did I just see you on Match?
***
My body felt... wrong.
Different.
I felt like I was crouching on my knees, or my center of gravity had shifted. I opened my eyes and looked down at myself, only to find I was wearing a vivid yellow pinstripe dress-shirt with a matching tie patterned with little, green clovers. Neither were mine. Below the shirt, I wore dark slacks, buffed leather shoes, and a waistcoat. A man’s waistcoat. A beer gut I didn’t ordinarily possess strained the fabric and the buttons.
I raised my hands to my face and traced a line of stubble.
What the...
I was a man. But, how was this possible?
That was when I realized I was dreaming. One of those strange, body-swapping dreams.
I took a glance around the room and it felt somehow... familiar, though I’d never set foot in this place before.
The walls were painted a light sage, the large couch and matching chair also a variance of green. Even the gingham curtains were green.
Gingham.
Dread zipped down my spine, like death itself was playing me like a xylophone.
No, this couldn’t be happening. Not again!
I hadn’t put any potions in the diffuser. I hadn’t anointed myself with anything. Usually I didn’t dream! So, how could I be dreaming this nightmare again? And why?
Something creaked in the hallway, and the body I was currently sharing was slow to turn. The man was tired. Bone-weary, like he’d been moving heavy things all day and just couldn’t force himself to budge another inch. He nearly jumped out of his skin though when a shape appeared in the doorway.
It was monstrously large and dark, looking like a shadow as it entered the room. But as the man (and I) watched, the shadows began to delineate themselves into lines and the lines formed the shape of something… hideous.
Its shoulders were wide enough that it had to slant its body sideways and stoop to enter the room. Even in the darkness (the gingham curtains were drawn to keep away the light from a street lamp just outside), I could see the immense size of the beast and the breadth of its chest. A slice of the night sky was visible through the curtains, curtains that danced in the breeze from the open window, fluttering as though nothing was the matter.
The creature had russet fur, and, in the low light, I could see ribs standing out against the dark skin of its belly. It looked emaciated, bony, despite its immense size. Something scraped the ceiling as it moved toward us. I glanced up, and in the brief flickering from the light of the street, I could see a massive pair of horns.
It was the same creature from the graveyard. The same creature from my last nightmare.
“Time to wake up,” the creature said—it was the same thing it said the first time I had the nightmare. But, this time, the voice wasn’t deep and monstrous. Instead, the words came out jarring and shrill, like talons raked across a chalkboard. Goosebumps strained at my skin. My eyes burned. I couldn’t blink. I couldn’t even breathe.
“No,” the man said, and I felt my mouth open along with his.
“Give me what you promised!” the thing yelled, voice now a deep growl.
“I promised you nothing!” the man yelled at it.
And then the thing was on me, us, throwing one clawed hand through the air toward us.
It didn’t make contact.
Before the thing could strike, the tightness in my chest increased, like a band being pulled taught. A pain shot through my arm, sharp and sudden. I felt my mouth drop open as I stared at the thing before me. And then I saw the glinting of a jewel hanging around its neck—something blood red. A ruby.
The same one I’d given my wife.
His wife… so that meant his wife had probably killed him.
My heart was going a mile a minute, black spots danced across my vision. I choked, unable to draw in air and then...
I bolted upright in bed, hands flying to my throat as if to pry loose an invisible stranglehold. It took my body a moment to realize it could breathe. That my heart wasn’t actually seizing up. I tugged my knees up to my chest, wrapping my shaking arms around them.
I lost control of the dream again, I said to myself, shaking my head. I lost control again! That wasn’t supposed to happen. Not again. I knew how to take control and pull myself out! So, why hadn’t I?
My body was slicked with sweat. A chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the house made goosebumps rise on my arms, once again. I glanced over and saw Finn sound asleep, which was a relief.
But it was the only relief.
I should never have had the nightmare twice, I reminded myself. I should have been able to wake myself up—I knew I was dreaming. I should have been able to take control… but, instead, the nightmare had taken control of me. Again.
Unless it wasn’t actually a nightmare...
I was starting to believe the dream was less of a nightmare and more of a vision. Visions were different from dreams. Dreams were entirely dependent on your subconscious. Visions, however, were like short and pithy vignettes depicting something from the past or the future. And while dreams were random, visions weren’t always. Sure, you might randomly receive a vision in a psychic moment, but more often than not, visions were sent. They were specific and they were intended.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, trying to stabilize my breathing and the thundering of my heart.
If this truly was a vision, that meant that somewhere, at some point, what I’d seen in the nightmare had actually happened. Something awful had come for this person. And whatever the creature was, I was fairly sure it had killed him. A fatal night terror? Maybe. But I wasn’t so sure...
Because I’d seen that creature before. In the graveyard and in my nightmare just one night earlier.
Monsters aren’t real, Poppy! I reminded myself.
There was that. So maybe whatever this entity was, it was just presenting itself as a horrendous beast? That was possible. If entities were strong enough, they could present themselves however they wanted to. And, clearly, this one intended to bully the man into submission. What better way to do so than scaring him half to death? Or… all the way to death?
Yes, I was convinced I was receiving this nightmare purposely. That is to say, someone was trying to reach me. But who? And why? I wasn’t sure. Maybe it was the man, himself?
The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if maybe whatever had happened to the man had happened in this house? Was this place truly haunted, as Finn feared? I hadn’t sensed anything other than a few cold spots when we’d first moved in, but that didn’t mean anything. Sometimes spirits took their time manifesting.
What if I’d moved us into a home where another violent murder had occurred? This one by some sort of… creature?
Monsters aren’t real, I had to tell myself… again.
I know, but…
No buts! Monsters aren’t real!
Then what was that thing? And why did I keep dreaming about it? And why had I seen it in the graveyard?
It’s just an entity presenting itself as a monster. It’s nothing more than negative energy festering, growing stronger.
There aren’t any such things as monsters.
I curled up in my bed and tried to get back to sleep. I had to get a grip. If there was a spirit in this house, I would find a way to banish it, just like I’d done to the last one.
“I’ve done it before, I can do it again,” I whispered to myself.
But the pit of dread in my stomach refused to budge. It wasn’t convinced.
At the sound of buzzing, I reached over to see my phone lighting up from where it sat on my side table. Unlocking it, I realized I had a text from Marty.
Poppy! It read. Just wanted to check to see if you wanted to get together maybe early next week so we could talk shelves and brochures for the shop and banishment potions?
Sure. I texted back.
Awesome! Maybe we could chat about it over dinner at Half-Moon?
Was he asking me out? On a date? I wasn’t sure, but also didn’t want to assume. Maybe he was just being a kind neighbor. Yeah, I’d go with that. It was easier to swallow. That sounds great, but I’ll have Finn.
He’s invited too.
Okay, sounds good, I responded.
Cool. Goodnight.
Night.
I clicked off the phone and placed it back on my side table as I tried to drift off again, but didn’t manage to close my eyes until the pastel shades of early morning filtered in through the window.
Chapter Six
A Few Days Later
“In this house, you’d think the spiders would eat the butterflies,” I mumbled to myself, straining onto the very points of my toes to reach the last visible cobweb in the room. I gripped the ladder with one hand and dusted with the other.
Most of the moving boxes were unpacked, and I’d managed to clean the store and most of the house.
“What?” Finn asked, head bobbing up from the floor.
He’d been pretending to polish the baseboards for half an hour now. From my vantage point on the ladder, I could see he was actually fifty-six percent through a Kindle book. I didn’t call him on it. At least the book was on his school reading list. We’d agreed he’d start school again in a few more days, after we were settled. I’d been sending him to bed by eight-thirty every night so he could get into a routine again.
“Nothing. Why don’t you get to bed, okay? I’ve got this.”
Finn sat up, reaching his hands over his head and stretching. He scrubbed a hand over his eyes casually, trying too hard not to appear tired. There was worry in his eyes. We’d tried to get him to go to bed in his room all week, but each night he ended up coming into mine.
“You have your stars nightlight and your sound machine,” I said. “And you’ve got Piggy. Plus, you know I cleansed and protected the house with three different potions, Finn. This house is safe.”
“I know… I just can’t help it that I still have nightmares.”
I nodded and took a deep breath. “Just try to make it through the night, okay? I’ll be up to tuck you in in just a few minutes.”
“Okay,” he answered, but then paused as he eyed the ladder. “Are you sure you should be up on that thing?” He swept his gaze up the twelve foot podium ladder, face twisting up in worry. It barely put me level with the front entryway. This house seemed to have been built for a giant. Everything on the bottom floor was set comically high on the wall. Our home in Los Angeles had forced five-foot-ten Jeremy to stoop to avoid the ceiling fan. That’s how ridiculously low the ceilings were.
“I’m fine,” I answered.
“Seriously mom, if you fall off and break your neck, what am I gonna do?”
“Call 9-1-1?”
“I’m being serious, Mom.”
“And I’m forty-three, not eighty-three, Finn. I’ll be fine.”
“Mom…”
“I’ll turn in when I’m done in the living room and if I fall, you can say I told you so the whole way to the hospital, okay?”
“That’s not funny,” Finn grumbled, but got to his feet. I strained my ears for the tell-tale moan of the stairs as he started up them. It was fortunate the lights had all been working, or we’d have been living in the hotel for months until I could get an electrician inside this dusty old house. I was not navigating those stairs in the dark.
I yawned—one of those full-mouth, cave style yawns. I was exhausted. My hands wandered self-consciously over my body, smearing a little of the Pine Sol multi-surface cleaner over my oversized cotton t-shirt. Stained with speckles of paint and ground in dirt, I wasn’t worried about keeping it pretty. My belly bulged a little over the equally stained yoga pants, reminding me I should start showing some interest in running again.
I was aging like my mom. The lines on my face were subtle, the grays few and easy enough to conceal. My eyes though... I noticed recently that I looked perpetually tired. And the year-round chapped lips were bothering me. Hmm, there was another idea for a potion. Magic lip balms would constantly be in demand if I could master a solution.
“You ought to try cold cream, doll,” a high, nasal voice sounded from just inches behind me. “Always worked wonders on my lips.”
I nearly screamed and even more nearly launched myself from the ladder. It wobbled, thrown off balance by my sudden movement, threatening to spill me painfully, possibly lethally, to the floor. I hastily clung to the thing, trying to steady it. A pale hand shot into view, giving the ladder a light shove in the opposite direction, helping to stabilize it. It wobbled once again, then settled with a rattle.
For a few, incredibly long seconds, I was certain this was how I was going to die.
“Oh, stop your worrying, dollface. Everything’s jake,” the nasal voice huffed in the elevated pronunciation of the Mid-Atlantic accent that characterized movies until the 1950s.
I rounded on the pale, translucent shape hovering behind me. If she weren’t already dead, I’d have killed her myself.
Darla leaned against the door frame I’d been polishing, as casual as you please. It was difficult to tell in this light, but I knew she’d be wearing a deep pink, drop-waist silk dress, beaded with rhinestones. Her inky black bob was accentuated by a jeweled headband, and you could have choked a horse with the amount of pearls around her neck, wrists, and fingers.
She smirked at me, unrepentant as I tried to burn a hole between her eyes with my glower alone. “What are you doing here, Darla?” I hissed, mindful to keep my voice down. If Finn heard the ‘D-word’, he’d go ballistic.
No ghosts. I’d promised.
Darla pressed a slender, bejeweled finger to her lips and winked. She’d died with falsies on, forever the image of an aspiring Hollywood starlet. She’d have looked poised and elegant if it weren’t for the neat little bullet hole just under her feathered headband, courtesy of her jealous ex-lover, Frankie. He’d cut her life and career short just before she hit the big time. Or, at least, that’s what she said.
