The Witching Hours, page 21
I texted the number he’d given.
me: Got your email. Would like to talk on the phone. When is a good time? - Valerie
I got up to start oatmeal, but had just pulled a bowl out of the cabinet when I heard a notification ding.
David: Thank you so much. I’m so grateful. More than I can say. I’m at work, but I can step out. Call ANYTIME!
Gosh. Poor guy. My phone was gripped by desperation.
me: Okay. Put me in your contacts. I will call in twenty-ish. Oh. And DO NOT give out my phone number.
David: Never. I cannot thank you enough.
I really wished he would save the gratitude for celebration. At this point, all I knew was that there was a disturbance. Whether or not I could influence it one way or another was yet to be determined.
Going through the oatmeal preparation ritual didn’t require much thought. My attention kept wandering back to the big window that had given me so many hours of pleasure looking at sunlight on water, skateboarders, sailboats, and the bridge.
Switching the TV on again, I watched the updates from local and federal officials. Who was affected? What will be done? How many injured? How many fatalities? It was a grim breakfast, and I was glad when I was finished. It felt like permission to look away from the tragedy.
My desk chair swiveled so that I could look outside when on the phone. A guaranteed window office was one of the perks of being self-employed and working from home.
I dialed David’s number.
“Hello?” It had barely rung once. Rung or beeped or whistled or chirped or played “Wipe Out”. Whatever noise he’d chosen as part of his tech personality.
“Hi, David. This is…”
“I can’t believe I’m actually talking to you.”
I couldn’t fault him for interrupting when he sounded so darned excited about talking to me. “Why?”
“Why? Well, because you’re, em, famous.”
I thought that might be going a bit far. “Don’t put me on a pedestal. You know that cautionary saying about never meeting your heroes?”
“No. I really hadn’t heard that.”
“It just means I’m not all that special, but I would like to hear more so that I can tell you whether I can be of any help.”
“Of course. What shall I call you? Ms…?”
“Just Valerie is fine. When was the last time you had an extranormal occurrence?”
“I’m at work right now, but if I was at home. The assault is pretty much ongoing.”
“Assault? That’s not a word I’ve ever heard used to describe a domestic peace disturbance.”
“I don’t want to sound overly dramatic, but that’s what it feels like.”
“Does your wife work outside the home?”
“Yes. Part time. For an insurance company. She gets off in time to pick up the kids from school.”
“So, the children aren’t ever left alone in the house.”
I couldn’t tell by his voice or his words, but somehow, I knew he’d shuddered during the brief pause before he said, “Oh, gods, no. That would be… unthinkable.”
I agreed. “Who in your family seems most vulnerable?”
“I think it’s my little girl. She’s nine.”
“The middle child?”
“Yes.”
“Brothers? Sisters?”
“Two brothers. One older. One younger. Well,” he chuckled nervously, “I guess that went without saying after I said she’d the middle child. I just have to know one thing. Did I bring this plague down on us because of my work with magick?”
“Wow, David. You sound like a woman. Trying to find a way to take the blame for whatever goes wrong.” The pause informed me that he didn’t know what to say. “And don’t you dare take offense at me saying that was a womanly thing to do or we’re done.” More silence. “I’m just kidding. But now I’m being serious.” It was clear I needed to spell that out. “The answer is an absolute no. Whatever is happening at your house has nothing to do with your study of the magickal arts.”
“That is… a big relief.”
I believed him. I could hear it in his voice.
“Yeah. So. Were there people living in the house when you bought it?”
“No. The last occupants lived there, like twenty years ago?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Is that bad?”
“It’s not good or bad, but it is one of the pieces I’m trying to gather to put a picture together. Has anybody in your family been harmed? I mean physically?”
“No. It was really hard on the kids when we had to take our dog to my brother in Maryland. Baxter was barking all the time. I mean he never stopped. You would think a dog would lose their voice or have to sleep or something, but he never stopped.”
“You think he was being protective?”
“I know he was. When the vacuum cleaner started wandering around on its own, trailing a cord that wasn’t plugged in… Well. He kind of lost it. He tore into the bag and ripped it to shreds. It was one of those uprights where you put a paper bag inside the permanent bag? I was left with mixed feelings.”
“On the one hand you were so glad to have Baxter trying to protect your family. On the other, a replacement outer bag is expensive.”
“That’s it exactly. I think he was just as scared as we are. We’ve seen everything from window curtains standing straight out like ironing boards and furniture floating two feet off the ground to talking meatloaf.”
Okay. I had to stop him right there. “Talking meatloaf? How, ah, did that work?”
“Well, it transformed itself into the shape of a head. A big round meatloaf head, kind of like Charlie Brown. The cartoon?”
“Yes. I know Charlie Brown.”
“It was horrifying. And, if that was horrifying for me, I can’t help wondering what this stuff is doing to our kids.”
“You said it talked. What did it say?”
“It said not to eat it or we’d be sorry.”
“I have to ask. Did you?”
“Of course not. Would you?”
“Probably not. Sounds like an appetite suppressant. What did you do with it?”
“I put it in a plastic bag, waited until late at night, took it down the block to a vacant lot and buried it.” I sighed. “What’s wrong? That was the wrong thing to do, wasn’t it?”
“Let’s finish my questionnaire then circle back to the interred meatloaf.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t suppose Bob is in a position to take the dog and the kids? Just until this is settled?”
“I’d have to tell him why and he’d…”
“He’d think you’re all certifiable.”
“I don’t want anybody telling my kids they’re not experiencing what they’re experiencing. Somehow, I think that would do more damage than living with whatever this is.”
“I believe you are right on both counts.” It seemed like a good segue to resume my questionnaire. “Are you experiencing phenomenon at any particular time of day?”
“No. All day. All night.” His voice broke a little. “We’re all so… tired.”
“I can imagine. Tell me, is there a particular part of the house where stuff is more likely to occur?”
“Things happen all over the house. Yesterday, my wife went to the grocery store after picking up the kids from school. She came home and put everything away. When it was time to cook dinner, it was all gone.”
“The food?”
“Everything she’d bought yesterday and everything that was here right down to salt and pepper. Pantry and refrigerator were completely empty. I got to tell you that we’re one of those families they talk about on the news who’re a few hundred dollars away from ruin at any given time. Having all our food disappear really hurt. Oh, wait. I forgot to mention the dining room table. It seems to be an irritant.”
“What do you mean?”
“Half a dozen times we’ve come down in the morning to find the dining room table moved to the middle of the living room. Once it was even in the backyard. Molly, my wife, used to be an athlete. She’s strong enough to help me put it back. Thank goodness. Hiring movers to put furniture back where it goes would be such a crazy use of money. Especially when we have to be careful about food. Now we try not to buy more than we need for a half day at a time. It’s a pain.”
“It’s almost like the entities have you under siege. Meaning that, since they haven’t scared you away, Plan B is to deprive you of food until you give up.”
“If they want us out so bad, all they have to do is get us a new house. At this point we’d go gladly.”
I laughed softly. “Far too rational. I find that reason rarely comes into play with unusual occurrences such as these.”
“Spirit psychopathy?”
“Well. Gosh. I hope not, but let’s do one step at a time.”
“Agreed.”
“Your eleven-year-old. Is he pubescent?”
“I’m… not sure?”
“Voice change? Taking showers more than once a day? Heightened interest in girls.”
“No. Not yet. I’m not questioning you, but I just have to ask why you want to know that?”
“Oh. Poltergeist phenomena sometimes accompanies a big hormonal shift in some member of the household. Like puberty. I don’t think that’s the cause here, but I’m leaving no stone unturned. At least not the ones that jump out at me. So, you know I have to ask if you practiced the recommendations made in your first-year training about moving to a new residence?”
“Oh, fuck yes. Sorry.”
“No worry. Go on.”
“I came over by myself. Opened up all the windows and doors. Did a thorough smudging with a chant I’d written about a good life for my family. Used a shoo broom and sealed the entrances with salt. I don’t think I missed anything.”
“No. You’re a good student. If things are getting past that, they’re more powerful than can be handled by a typical new home prep. Did you notice anything unusual while your rituals were in progress?”
“Couple of slamming windows. I figured they were just old and gave way to gravity. I leaned the broom against a door jamb when I was finished with it. It wasn’t there when I went back for it. I searched the whole house. It was a headscratcher. When I went back to the car to leave, it was there. Leaning against my car.”
“Huh. Not exactly subtle. With your training, you’ve probably become more sensitive than average. Do you have the sense that there’s more than one entity causing these things? And do you have the sense that there’s an anger motivation or a misguided attempt at playfulness?”
“I do think there’s more than one spirit or whatever.” There was a brief pause before he said, “I’m not qualified to talk about this really.”
“Why not?”
“Well, because I’m not… em, you or someone like you.”
“Since you live in the house, you’re the most qualified person in the world. Tell me your feelings even if you think they’re silly or wrong.”
“I don’t get the feeling it’s about anger or games. I get the feeling they just want us to leave. And they’re going to keep raising the ante until we do. The problem is we don’t have anywhere to go. Well, I guess it could get bad enough that we’d decide to live in the SUV. But five people in an SUV…”
“With luck it won’t come to that. Just out of curiosity, why were you attracted to the school and undergoing this training?”
“Oh, you know. I’ve always been sure that there’s stuff going on that nobody talks about. It’s like we live in a culture that’s taken a collective oath to be deaf, dumb, and blind to anything different.”
“Well said. What does Molly think about your dabbling?”
“We work at being supportive of what the other one needs. That helps a lot. It’s also a pretty big gift to me that she’s open minded. Well, I guess after all this, it’d be pretty hard for her to be a skeptic.”
“Um-hmm. Well, David, I know you’ve said you’re strapped financially, but if I help you, you have to pay me something. That’s how it works. How much can you pay me?”
“Pay you? For the phone call?”
“No. Not for the phone call. For the consultation. I’m coming to pay you a visit.”
“You mean you’re going to help us? Yourself? In person?” He sounded too excited for me to turn back now.
“How much can you pay me?”
“I have a savings bond my grandparents gave me when I turned eighteen. It’s not mature, but I think I could get a couple hundred dollars if I cash it in early. And we can pawn our wedding rings. They weren’t worth a whole lot when we bought them, but whatever we get, you can have it.”
“Alright. Here’s my plan. Today I’m going to get together the things I think I might need to bring, and make arrangements to be gone for a few days. Tomorrow I’ll drive there. Text me your address. I’ll stay at a motel close by. Day after tomorrow I’ll go to work when the five of you leave for work and school.”
“Oh. Wow.”
“Hope so.”
“How are you going to keep your children from talking about this at school?”
“Molly and I have told them that other people won’t believe us, that if we say what’s going on, they’ll laugh at us and call us crazy. We’ve asked them to hang on a little while so we can sort this out. They’re pretty good kids. I can’t be sure they won’t still talk about it, but the school hasn’t called us yet.”
“I think it would be hard for kids that age to keep this to themselves.”
“I know.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow night when I’m checked in.”
“Thank you. I really can’t thank you enough.”
“Your faith in me is so flattering, but unfortunately, your gratitude is premature. See you soon.”
I ended the call and turned my head toward the bank of three triple armoires lined up in my living room. They held my treasure trove of magickal tools, books, herbs, oils, artifacts, crystals, candles, and the extra odd item here and there.
There was no internal debate about the first thing to do. I headed toward the center drawer of the center cabinet where I knew I’d find my most precious possession, my master grimoire. It wasn’t mine in the sense of a journal or diary, or even in the sense that I’d done the compilation. But it was mine in the way a Christian might view a Bible.
An acquaintance of mine had spent a lifetime collecting magickal spells from antiquity and every culture on the globe. The volume was impressive. The work was magnificent. So much so that I wanted to help her publish it. So, I partnered with her in exchange for editing. The final result was my proudest accomplishment. Unfortunately, she passed away just before it was available in print. She had no heirs. Ownership became mine, but the credit remains with her.
I don’t just own the rights to it. I’m also a confirmed user.
I dived into the index, which was familiar since I’d created it myself. On occasions such as this, I was glad I’d gone to the extra trouble. I jotted down page references to hauntings, poltergeist activity, physical phenomena, and so forth then spent the next three hours sorting through options and making choices.
There was a part of me that wanted to hire a small moving truck and just load the three armoires up. My concern was that, no matter how carefully I narrowed my choices, I would arrive without the one thing that would’ve made all the difference. But I couldn’t allow negative thinking to contaminate the success of ousting these intruders from David’s home. So, I did a simple combination spell/meditation to make sure I had the right stuff.
At some point both he and I had begun referring to the cause of the disturbance in the plural, as if we sensed it was more than one spiritual presence.
As soon as I pulled a rolling night case down from my closet, Wolf showed up to supervise. He knew what the night case meant. Have magick. Will travel. His yellow eyes were intense set against the black as space color of his fur. He had absolutely no markings of any kind anywhere and was the definitive black cat.
I’d come across him by accident at the SPCA. I was picking up a friend whose car was in the shop. I arrived early and decided to walk around while waiting. Wolf, as precious tiny kitten, practically called to me.
As I began packing, I said, “Sorry. You’re sitting this one out ‘cause it’s not local and you hate traveling.” With that he turned one ear backward in the most comical way.
I pulled out my phone and called Patrice. “Hi, there. I’ve got to be out of town for a few. Can you look in on Wolfie?” After confirming that his food and water schedule were the same, no new meds, I’d just struck a top of the list item off my leaving-town-to-do.
The next most important item was packing. On the bottom I layered white tealight candles and crystal holders. I went with all white because I didn’t want to pull a muscle trying to choose otherwise. Magick can squirm and come back on itself if the wrong color is introduced. Better safe than sorry. If there’s a question, go with good old neutral white.
Likewise, all my candles are unscented. Scents can play havoc with spells, potions, notions, charms, etc. Especially if they’re competing with the aromas of herbs or oils, or both. Yeah. It’s complicated.
On top of the candles, I placed a makeshift piece of cardboard to create separation and began layering Mother’s Wort, St John Beans, Nightshade, Spikenard oil, Dragon’s Blood, Cedarwood, a fresh lemon with peeler, my favorite Irish sea salt, my pendulum crystal that I use for scrying, and my rosewood wand that looked like a twisted bit of branch. I had four rosewood wands in various shapes and stained colors, but my hand usually went straight for the one that was least attractive and most menacing.
My taste in wands was confirmed by the fact that Wolf always responded like it was catnip. He came trotting over, jumped onto the table where I’d set the travel case and began to purr while rubbing his cheeks against the wand.
I chuckled. “Yeah. I like it, too.” Sigh. “I wish you could go.”
