Over the Broomstick

by Mara Webb

  I threw the bag into the trunk and jumped into the driver's seat. I knew the route so I just needed to swing by a gas station and then I could get going.

  I turned the key and made a beeping sound with my mouth, a fun game I play with the car. Whenever the gas is low the car beeps for a few seconds when it’s turned on, I match the pitch and sing my little “low gas” duet.

  After two beeps I realized I was performing a solo.

  The indicator on the dash showed a full tank of gas. That made no sense, it had beeped when I had left the cafe earlier. I quickly looked in the rear-view mirror for any obvious head wounds.

  Was I imagining my whole day? Had I been drugged at the cafe somehow? Was it something that lawyer did to me? Was I even safe to drive? I felt fine but these lapses of memory were concerning. I obviously have gotten gas today at some point, I must have.

  I decided to drive in the direction of my aunt’s town, reevaluate myself in thirty minutes or so and see how I feel. I noticed that the small chip in the windscreen seemed to have disappeared. A week or so ago I had driven near some roadworks and the car in front had whipped up a few tiny rocks at the glass. It hadn’t turned into a crack straight away and I wanted to postpone unnecessary repairs where possible. I just needed to get myself back on my feet financially and then everything would be fine.

  The whole way to Sucré the gas level didn’t drop. “Obviously faulty,” I thought. I couldn’t afford to take the car to a garage, maybe after seven or fifteen more pay cheques. I listened to the radio, a few podcasts, a good chunk of an audiobook about the benefits of meditation, and then I saw the sign.

  ‘Welcome to the sweet life. Sucré welcomes safe drivers like you.”

  I had no idea what I was about to get into.

  3

  I pulled up outside Edith’s place. Her home had always been a fascination for me as a kid. A big beautiful wooden house with a wraparound porch, each spindle on the porch fence was painted a different color than the one next to it. The body of the house was painted a brilliant white, it seemed to stay so bright, she must have it repainted every couple of months or Sucré had no dirt in the air. The roof was blue, a dusty blue like a new pair of jeans. It was a dream house, as if a child had drawn it and it came to life. I didn’t see Edith’s car, so I parked on her driveway.

  As I stepped out of the car, I could swear I saw movement behind me, I turned and saw a lace curtain quickly fall back into place across the window of a neighboring house. Nosey folk trying to get a good look at the niece of the crazy lady. I shouldn’t think that, she isn’t crazy. She has lived alone for a long time in this strange little town and I’m sure that these hallucinations and wild stories she had started to create were just an attempt to make life a bit more interesting.

  The outside of the house looked immaculate as always. Edith must have been out getting groceries or maybe she had taken herself to a doctor, who knows. She sure wasn’t home though. I knocked and knocked, even hollered through the keyhole at one point, but no response. Edith kept a spare key underneath her doormat, she always told me that the key was for me and that no one else would be able to find it.

  I’m sure Sucré was very safe and all but it still seemed like a risk. I peeled back the welcome mat and found the key which granted me access to the inside. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

  It was empty. Where was all her furniture? Her coats on the rack?

  I ran around looking in cupboards and drawers, everything was gone. She had been robbed; she must have been. She told me to come here and it’s empty. She wouldn’t pack up and move out without telling me. Did she even know that her stuff was gone yet? Did the police know? I searched for a phone but couldn’t find one.

  I pulled out my cell and I couldn’t get a signal. I decided to drive to the police station, it was in the center of town and was only a few minutes away. I might bump into Edith and I could warn her not to go home yet. I checked my watch, it was approaching 10pm. The summer light had let me think it was earlier in the day. Nothing would be open now. I’d need to find a hotel for the night, Edith had nothing to sleep on herself never mind a guest bed and even if she did, I'd be too scared after a robbery.

  I locked the door behind me, smirking a little as I did so because what else could anyone steal at this point. I jumped into my car and made my way to town, there was one motel just outside the center on the other side. I hadn’t been into Sucré for a while, maybe a year or so, but I remembered the route. The ‘no’ on the vacancy sign was dull and lifeless suggesting I could get a bed tonight.

  This was a cheap motel and it showed. I paid at the front desk with my credit card and stuck a few coins into a vending machine. I hadn’t eaten dinner and my stomach was furiously dancing in anticipation of a meal, all I could offer was a bag of chips and an apple. I didn’t dwell on how long that apple had been there. The receptionist was still looking at me, an unrelenting stare. I reminded myself that I needed to double-check the lock on the door tonight, that lady was creepy.

  The room key was now hanging in the lock from the inside. No one could use their master key to get in here and watch me sleeping tonight, thank you very much. I had planned to savor those chips but instead I tore the packet open and tipped them into my mouth, head leaning back to aid them sliding down my throat after three chews. The apple was dry, but I was glad to have it.

  I turned on the shower to allow the water to heat up a little and was immediately disappointed with the water pressure, but it would get the job done. As the shower ran, I walked out into the bedroom and made sure it was ready for me to slip straight into bed once I was clean. I closed the curtains, pulled the bedsheets out from the tight tuck at the foot end of the mattress and brought my pajamas into the bathroom.

  The complimentary shampoo was lightly scented like coconut, the body soap a gentle lavender. I felt refreshed after the shower, it was a good reset after the day’s events. I had woken up at home this morning and it had taken a wild turn. I wrapped a towel around my wet hair and twisted it up onto the top of my head so that I could put on my pajamas without them getting wet. I stepped out of the bathroom and saw something strange on the ground, something new. A business card had been slipped underneath my door. I picked up the card and saw the printed text:

  ‘Zoe Rose. Let the light in. Trusted psychic bringing ancient wisdom into modern times.’

  A contact telephone number and website. Written on the back of this card in neat handwriting were the words ‘she wants you to go back to the house Nora’. Ok. I triple checked that the door was locked and then pushed the nightstand up against the door. What was happening? Why was a psychic trying to drum business out of me?

  I sat down on the edge of the bed and typed the website address into my phone. A large photo of a woman holding a crystal ball materialized, followed by the drop-down menu to navigate through the various types of mystic guidance she could provide. The woman was the receptionist that had been staring at me at check in. I can’t imagine that elaborate crystal ball photoshoots are cheap, she probably has to try and recruit clients anywhere she can. The fear that I wouldn’t sleep soon passed. As I lay on the pillow trying to think of how to avoid the creepy lunatic on the reception desk when I left in the morning, I could feel my eyelids getting heavier.

  I woke to the muffled sound of passing cars outside. I was still holding the business card. After a quick, sickly-sounding phone call to my manager I packed away the few items I had taken out of my carryall and said a quick prayer to no one in particular that there would be someone else on the reception desk this morning. Thankfully when I walked down the corridor to hand the key back to the reception desk it was a teenage boy on duty, he did not try to offer me his psychic services.

  I parked on the high street and scanned the buildings for the police station. It was nestled between a bakery and a barbershop; small towns don’t need a huge amount of policing. There was a young, red-headed woman standing behind the desk inside. All
in all, there were only four people in the building, five now I’d entered. She smiled as I approached.

  “Hello there, are you lost?” she asked politely. It was a fair assumption that a stranger wouldn’t be in a tiny towns police station on purpose.

  “No, I’m here to report a break-in. Well, a burglary. Robbery? I don’t know which word to use but my aunt’s house is completely empty, someone has taken everything.” The tone of my voice caught the attention of the three officers sitting at their desks.

  “Your aunt’s house you said? Let me get a notepad, give me a second,” she started to lift up piles of paperwork looking for something she could use, I guessed there wasn’t a lot going on here that they would need one to hand quickly. “Here we go, ok. So, could I get your name please, and your aunt's name and address.”

  “Yeah so, my name is Nora Wildes, that’s W-I-L-D-E-S. My aunt is Edith Wildes, same spelling, and she lives at…” I paused. All four officers were staring at me, baffled. What had I said? Did they already know about this? This could have happened weeks ago for all I know; Edith could be staying at the same miserable motel I had stayed in last night while it all gets sorted. “Has Edith already reported this? Is she alright? I know she hasn’t been herself lately, but I think she just needs to speak to someone. Get her meds right. I haven’t visited in a while and she wasn’t home when I arrived, so I haven’t spoken to her yet.”

  The badge on the woman in front of me said ‘Emma Chatterton’ and it was Emma who spoke next. “Let me bring you into an office, I think perhaps there are a few things we should talk about.”

  Was she alright? A lot of crazy stuff had been going on the last few days and I was starting to lose track of all of it. I hadn’t had any voicemail messages or texts from my mom, surely if anything had happened with Edith she would have been informed somehow, then let me know. Emma gestured to a beat-up fabric chair and lowered herself into a plastic one.

  “I’m sorry to be the one to inform you Ms. Wildes, but Edith Wildes’ body was found next to Lake Spectre ten days ago. The coroner has confirmed that she drowned, water in her lungs apparently. We tried to contact family, but we were unsuccessful. A copy of the will that was found on her property requested a cremation and that took place over the weekend, a few members of the community attended the ceremony. I can help you with any of the paperwork of course, we didn’t realize that you would be arriving today. Again, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  I sat there stunned.

  She was dead and I was the only one here.

  A tear swelled in my right eye, threatening to flow over and roll down my cheek. I didn’t have any words for Emma who was sitting patiently across from me. The tear fell. She died alone, no family here, and none of us had been to her funeral. My heart ached with a sadness so raw that I couldn’t bear it.

  Some thoughts of our conversations fluttered through my mind like a carousel, then I re-focused, homed in on the note I received yesterday from the hand shaking lawyer. That note in the strange ink had told me that “they will tell you she drowned.” I had been told yesterday in shimmering gold ink and had assumed it was a prank, or a mistake, or a dramatic tale from Edith to provoke a visit.

  One of the other officers was gesturing through the glass in the door to indicate that Emma had a phone call waiting. She shuffled out quietly and after a brief exchange of words she walked over to the reception desk and the man she had been speaking too walked in. He had kind eyes or was at least projecting sympathy. The words he said washed over me as my mind struggled to organize my thoughts.

  “Ms. Wildes, does that work for you?” I looked up to meet his gaze. “I know that this is a difficult time, like I said, I can drive you over to the house and we can discuss this possible robbery once I have had a look around, from there I can make some calls for you. Then I can bring you back to get your car.”

  I must have nodded. According to the shiny metal pin on his chest I was getting into a car with Officer Brent Murphy. He seemed to notice that I wasn’t capable of holding a conversation just yet, so he allowed silence to fall over the car on the way to Edith’s place.

  Was this my house now? Isn’t that what the lawyer lady had said? Having that in writing would have been more helpful than an offhand comment and a peculiar handshake. I didn’t even know how to get in touch with her. There would be so much to do now, and I don’t know if calling in sick would buy me enough time from work to do it all.

  I hadn’t even realized that the car had stopped until Brent was opening my car door. The house seemed different now, as if the colors had shifted to colder tones. I still had the key for the front door, so I turned it in the lock and we both stepped inside. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

  4

  Yesterday I had entered Edith’s house and found it empty. Brent was here with me for that very reason. Now I was standing in a fully furnished home with a very confused police officer. The living room was now adorned with a plush couch, end tables, an ornate picture frame hanging above the fireplace holding up a painting of Lake Spectre and thick, heavy curtains lined the windows.

  What was happening?

  This didn’t even look like Edith’s furniture. None of these things had been here yesterday I was sure of it. With each passing second, I felt less sure. Brent was a few feet away from me looking around the room with awe and confusion. “This is a beautiful home Ms. Wildes, what was it that you worried may have been taken again? I thought I heard you telling Emma that the furniture was missing.”

  How did I respond?

  “Oh yes Brent thank you, the furniture was absolutely stolen yesterday, and the thieves have put it back, or have stolen furniture from a second home and then filled my aunt’s home with stolen things.”

  No. I couldn’t say that because that was nonsense, but was it? I thought I didn’t recognize anything in here, but some of the framed photographs were starting to look familiar. Very familiar. I needed Officer Brent to leave.

  “You know, I think I have just had a stressful couple of days, and I have gotten mixed up. It looks like everything is here. I will need to call my folks and break the news, there will be a lot of tears you really don’t want to stick around for that. Thank you for the ride and all.”

  He wasn’t sidestepping towards the front door as I had hoped he would. He seemed to be waiting for something.

  “What about your vehicle?”

  Oh, that’s right, my car. I’d left it at the station.

  “I’ll collect the car later,” I said quickly. “I can walk back into town once I have spoken to everyone, the fresh air will do me good. Thanks again. Bye now.”

  “All right,” he said with a note of hesitation. “But call if you need help.”

  “Will do!”

  He left.

  I couldn’t even imagine what he would tell everyone back at the police station. They would probably send some medics round to check my pupils haven’t blown. I watched him back out onto the street and drive away before I rushed over to the closest photo frame in the living room.

  The photo was of me as a child with my mom and aunt Edith. I was six or so and we had gone to a history museum in the summer, eaten ice cream on a pier and had my face painted.

  My dad had taken the photo, this was back when my parents had split up but were trying to co-parent and be civil to each other on family days out. That didn’t last too long, but that day had been a great day. I was getting the ‘divorced parents guilt deluxe package’ for a few months of that year before it eased off.

  I had a copy of this photo in my apartment in a wooden frame that I had decorated that same summer. It had glued on sequins and glitter with the words ‘BEST DAY EVER’ written in my neatest handwriting. That was the very same frame I was now holding in Edith's house.

  This was from my apartment. How was it here?

  There were a few photos that I recognized on the cabinet, some in frames that looked alarmingly similar to ones I owned, and some I
hadn’t seen before.

  I walked to the kitchen. It too was re-furnished.

  The refrigerator was peppered with magnets from my place and underneath one of them was the last letter Edith had sent to me. How could that be here? I had packed it, but I hadn’t brought it out of my bag since I got here. I didn’t want to be losing my mind.

  "Don’t be crazy, don’t be crazy” I whispered to myself.

  Whatever had been happening to Edith's brain lately, was it somehow happening to me too? Was there a gas leak in here? This house was empty yesterday I could swear but now I was walking around a fully furnished place that somehow had my things in it. Had I brought these and forgotten? Would I pack an overnight bag with picture frames and magnets? How long had I been here? It was like I had been living in this house for a while. I was starting to get a sense of where things were kept as if I had put them there myself, but I hadn’t.

  I opened the refrigerator and every shelf was full; fresh vegetables, cans of my favorite soda, butter, milk, fruit juice, a bottle of wine. There was a loaf of bread on the counter in a paper bag with a small plastic panel that enabled you to see inside, it was untouched. The freezer was equally full of things that I typically ate, or at least the things I ate when I could afford to buy them.

  “No, no, no!” I started to panic that in some sort of blackout, or whatever had happened here, I had bought all these things myself. I was already in so much debt it was giving me anxiety attacks, had I taken out another credit card? Borrowed cash from someone? How had I paid for all of this?

  I pulled out my cell and logged into my mobile banking app. My main account had been below $0 for months, and I was living in my overdraft and acquiring fees every month because of it. The value of the money in my account was not displayed in a red font anymore, it was black. It was displaying a number that gave me a lump in my throat. There, on my screen, in my bank account, was a large number after the dollar sign. Enough money to live off for months and months without having to make sandwiches or measure feet.