“Good to know,” I said. A locked basement in a mysterious dead woman’s cabin was definitely not something I wanted to investigate tonight. “Looks like it’s going to be a busy week for me.”
“Let me know if I can help you with the funeral arrangements. Martha was a dear friend.”
After Angie left, I double bolted the door and chewed my lip. Anxiety crept back in. I had this unshakable feeling that I wasn’t alone in the cabin.
“Of course you’re alone,” I muttered under my breath. “And this beats staying at Grant’s place.”
I meandered through the rooms while the dog from The Omen lounged on the sofa.
Aunt Martha had decent taste. Framed paintings of snowy mountain scenes hung on the wall. The furniture was all earth tones and went nicely with the woodsy vibe of the house. I did notice that it was covered in Benjamin’s thick black dog hair, which would need to be vacuumed up. A fireplace stood in the living room, bordered with two beautiful panels of rock. It reached all the way up to the second floor loft. To the left were sliding doors that led to a wooden porch.
Fortunately, Aunt Martha hadn’t been a hoarder. The granite counter tops were shiny and clutter-free. The only visible appliances in the kitchen were a coffee pot, an oven, a microwave, and a refrigerator—all in good condition.
Upstairs, I checked out the bedrooms. The master bedroom had French doors that opened up to a spacious balcony.
And it’s all mine, I thought as I ran my fingers along the soft patchwork quilt neatly spread out on the king-size bed. The situation felt so surreal to me.
I heard a rustling behind me. With a gasp, I whirled around to see Benjamin sitting in the doorway.
Relief flooding my body and I touched my hand to my chest. “Wow, you scared me half to death.”
He whimpered.
“You’re not sleeping up here, so don’t even get your hopes up,” I said, shooing him out of the room. Holding his collar, I walked him down the stairs. “You’re sleeping here. Look, you have a whole floor to yourself, you lucky dog,” I said.
He regarded me cooly with those unusual yellow eyes.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I said. The cabin was gorgeous, no doubt, but something felt off—a nagging sense of foreboding. Something’s here. The thought played on a loop in my mind. Something’s watching.
Benjamin barked and I glanced over at him, noticing now that he was sitting in front of a door.
“What have we here, Benjamin? Is this the mysterious locked basement door?”
He barked again, and circled around my legs.
Ignoring him, I tried the door knob and felt a jolt of static electricity. “Ouch!” I jerked my hand back and shook it. “What is with this static electricity?”
To my surprise, the door creaked slowly open, revealing a narrow flight of stairs leading down into the dark.
I took one look and shook my head. “That’s a hard no.” I reached to pull the door closed. The latch clicked shut.
Benjamin whined, staring at the door.
“We’re not going down there tonight, Dog. Have you never seen a scary movie? That’s a straight-up murder basement,” I said.
As soon as the words left my mouth, the door swung open, slow and deliberate.
I stumbled backwards, my pulse speeding up. I stood there, mesmerized by the dark passageway.
Suddenly, my phone buzzed. I almost cried out in joy as my screen lit up. It was only an email, but still! I had one bar of service, one beautiful, magical, wonderful bar!
My joy turned out to be short-lived because as soon as I discovered I had service, the phone slipped out of my hand, slid across the floor and down the stairway.
I swallowed as my phone disappeared into the darkness with a sickening clatter.
Not the phone, I thought. Anything but the phone.
I looked at Benjamin. “Fetch!” I said, pointing at the stairs. “Go get it, Boy.” I bent and patted my knees with my hands, pasting a fake smile on my face. “Go get it, Boy! Get the phone!”
Benjamin barked excitedly and took off down the stairs, his claws scraping against the wood.
I paused, shocked that he’d actually done it. Maybe dogs weren’t so bad after all.
Minutes passed and Benjamin do not emerge with my phone, triumphant like a modern-day Lassie.
“Benjamin, come here, Boy.” I gave a feeble whistle. “Come on up.”
I could heard Benjamin’s collar jingling, which I took to be a good sign. If there was anything nefarious down there, the dog would have barked or whimpered or something, right?
I groaned. I really, really didn’t want to go into that basement, but… my phone.
I started down the steps. My fingers searched the wall and brushed against the smooth metal of a light switch.
Instantly, the overhead lights in the stairway went on. “Much better,” I remarked, the sound of my own voice bringing me comfort.
The stairs creaked under my weight. Benjamin appeared at the foot of the stairs, panting. Next to him, lay my phone.
I double-timed it the rest of the way down the stairs and snatched up my phone. I turned it over in my fingers, checking for damage, and finding none.
I glanced to my right where the basement space opened up to a big windowless room. A tan overstuffed sofa, identical to the one upstairs, was positioned in the center of the room. In front of that, stood a mahogany coffee table with a single book resting on top.
That was it. There was nothing else in the room.
The dog rushed over to the coffee table and nudged the book with his wiry gray snout.
“There’s nothing to see here,” I said. “Let’s go back upstairs.”
Benjamin circled the table with the book on it, barking anxiously. Then he paused, resting his muzzle on the book before looking back to me.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to get me to open that book.”
Benjamin barked again and opened his mouth, panting. If that face had been on a human, I’d have said he was downright exasperated.
You and me both, I thought.
“If I get the book, will you stop barking at me?”
Benjamin whimpered, his yellow eyes locked on mine.
I should’ve just gone to bed, but curiosity got the best of me. I’d never seen a book like this before. It was a massive black leather bound book with gold script embossed on the cover.
“The Grimoire of the Carolina Wilder Witches,” I read. “What kind of creepy stuff was Aunt Martha into?” I picked up the book, turning it over in my hands.
The pages had gold edging, though the gold was rubbed off in places. It was clear that this book had gotten a lot of use.
As soon as my fingers touched the smooth leather of the book, I heard a deep, male-sounding voice behind me.
“It’s about time,” it said.
The book slipped through my fingers and I screamed, wildly searching the basement for the person who had spoken.
“You’re by far the most nervous witch I’ve ever met,” said the voice.
I stared at Benjamin. It sounded like the voice was coming from… the dog. But that was impossible.
“Yes, yes, I know. I talk. Actually, I’ve been talking the whole time. You just couldn’t understand me until now. You can’t imagine how frustrating it is.” Benjamin mouth appeared to be opening and closing like it would if he was barking, but instead of the normal “woof”, full sentences flew out of his mouth.
I gaped. “You talk. You’re a talking dog.”
“Terrifying, isn’t it?” he said.
“How are you talking?” I felt like a total nut job asking this question, but my mind was reeling from all of this. Had I hit my head at some point today? Did I have a brain tumor? Was I dead? Dreaming? In a coma? How else could I explain a talking animal?
“I’m a familiar,” he said. “Your familiar. My name is Benjamin, but you already know that. Why you don’t know is that I’m not a canin
e at all. This is simply the form I chose to take.”
I nodded, dazed.
“I was a guide to Martha Wilder, and now that she’s moved on, I’ve been assigned to you—to guide you. Martha wasn’t sure I’d be the one assigned to you, but had she hoped.”
“Guide me?” I sat down on the edge of the couch, fearing I was close to fainting.
“Yes, that’s what familiars do. We guide witches.” Benjamin said, and I swore I saw him roll his eyes at me.
“I’m not a witch though.”
“Well, that’s just not true, is it?”
“There’s no such thing as witches,” I said, my voice sounded shrill.
“If you can understand me right now, you’re a witch,” Benjamin said, his stubby tail wiggling.
“I’m dreaming,” I mumbled, rubbing my temples. My head was throbbing now that the adrenaline was wearing off. “I must be dreaming.”
“Look around,” Benjamin said. “Does the room look different to you?”
I turned my gaze to the rest of the basement. What had once looked like an empty room with four cream-colored walls now appeared to be lined with shelves, cabinets, and tables. Every available surface was covered with half-burned candles, dusty books, colorful crystals, jars of dried herbs, and a big cast iron cauldron. “Where did all of stuff come from?”
“Martha put a protection spell on this room. No one can enter it unless they’re supernatural.”
“I’m not supernatural,” I insisted.
“You’re related to her, aren’t you?” Benjamin sounded irritated.
I tugged nervously at the elastic in my hair. “So I’m told.”
“Then you’re part of the Wilder Coven. The Carolina Witches, as they’ve become known as, have lived in these mountains for over a hundred years.”
I leaned back onto the couch, and closed my eyes. “Ok. This is… a lot. I think I’m shock.” I felt numb all over.
Benjamin hopped up on the couch beside me. “Martha passed on at about five in the evening yesterday. Did you notice anything weird around that time? Any strange sensation in your body? Any visions or thoughts that turned out to be premonitions?”
“No, I don’t think so.” I blinked. “Maybe I felt a little light headed earlier, and I’ve been getting these jolts of static electricity.”
“Those are all signs that you’ve unlocked your power.” He lazily itched at a spot behind his ear with his hind leg.
I frowned. “My boyfriend also got stuck in a revolving door. Do you think I did that?”
“Were you mad at him?”
“Very.”
“Then probably,” Benjamin said. “A witch’s powers are tied to his or her emotion. “If you feel strong emotion for something or someone, you might accidentally end up using your magic.”
I dropped my head into my hands. “I think my brain is going to explode.”
“That’s to be expected,” Benjamin said. “Normally, witches learn who they are as children. They grow up with magic. You got it all at once.”
I heard a fluttering and glanced up to see the book I’d dropped on the floor was levitating in the air. No strings, no wires—it was floating on it own.
I stared wide-eyed, paralyzed by fear and shock. I watched as the book flopped open on the coffee table. The thin, yellowing pages began to flutter back and forth.
Abruptly, the pages stopped, wafting down like autumn leaves. Benjamin and I both leaned forward to see what the pages said.
With trembling lips, I read the beautiful black calligraphy. “A Spell To Receive the Witch’s Birthright.”
A very short poem was handwritten underneath.
As my eye moved across the page, I heard the words being spoken in my head by an unfamiliar voice.
I now pass down to you what once was mine,
To Natalie Wilder, the next witch in line.
A beam of golden light rose up from the page. It began to take shape before my eyes. I wanted to scream or run, but I couldn’t make my body obey.
A ghostly woman appeared in the light. She was translucent, and she seemed to fade in and out like a camera lens trying to focus.
I now pass down to you what once was mine,
To Natalie Wilder, the next witch in line.
She repeated the words over and over. Each time, it sounded louder.
Her lips were moving, but rather than creating sound, her voice echoed in my head.
“Hello Martha,” Benjamin said.
“Aunt Martha,” I murmured. Terrified as I was, I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.
The woman stopped speaking and smiled. “Natalie, my sister’s only child, look how big you are.” She had the same aqua-blue eyes as my mom and the same high cheekbones. Her hair was a blonde pixie cut—the exact same shade as mine.
I didn’t think I had ever seen this woman before, but she felt familiar, like maybe I’d seen her in a dream.
“I’m so happy to see you,” she said warmly. Her aqua eyes shone with tears. “All that was mine is now yours. Honor the coven. Use this power with grace and wisdom.”
Martha opened her palms, sending out a string of glowing yellow electricity that cut through the air like a thin sheet of ice cracking in half, connecting Martha to me.
That electric shock sensation I’d felt several times in that that day buzzed all over my body. This time, it didn’t hurt or cause me to pull away.
It felt exhilarating.
Then she spoke again. “My death was not an accident. I was murdered, and though the memory of my last moments has faded, I see one thing clearly—terrible, evil eyes. Those eyes stole my life away. You have the power of a hundred Wilder Witches. You are the only one who can finish what I started. The safety of everyone on Wolf Mountain depends on you.”
Instantly, the room was filled with light for a split second before going pitch black like a camera flash going off.
Chapter 6
As soon as the room went dark, something inside of me broke. It was like the dam of my sanity had finally burst open and I was drowning in a flood of terror, shock, and confusion.
This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real. The voice of sanity screamed in my head like a car alarm. The ghost of my aunt, the floating book, the magical electricity, the talking dog—all of it was impossible.
Before I could think, I was sprinting up the stairs, flinging the basement door open and charging for the front door. Benjamin was right on my heels, but I barely noticed him in my frenzy.
My fingers found my car keys, and slid in to my Fiat, cranking the ignition. Tires squealing, I floored the gas petal, reversing to make a three-point-turn.
The squealing gave way to a gut-wrenching CRASH!
The sound crunching metal was the last thing I heard before my head was whipped forward, slamming into my airbag.
“No, no, no.” I swatted at the airbag, fighting back tears. I’d hit something—something big, heavy, and metal by the sound of it. I didn’t want to deal with any of it—I just wanted to get far, far away from Wolf Mountain. I would have taken my cheating ex’s apartment over this haunted house nightmare.
Something knocked on my car window, and my stomach flew into my throat. I caught my breath and peered out.
A man was tapping his knuckle on my window. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, his shoulders tense, like he was fighting for warth in the chilly mountain air. His other hand was shoved in the pocket of his down vest.
I didn’t want to talk to this strange man, but what choice did I have? I’d probably just smashed up his car.
I rolled down the window. “I’m just going to warn you now. I’m not having a good night. I have insurance. I’ll pay for whatever damage I caused.”
“First things first, are you ok?” the man asked.
In the dim glow of my headlights, I was able to make out some of his features. He had sandy brown hair that might have been styled or might have been tousled. I couldn’t tell, but it suited h
im. He had dark eyes, almost navy, and a day’s growth of stubble on the lower half of his face.
I let out a laugh and swallowed the emotion welling up in the back of my throat. “I’m ok,” I said. It made me feel better to say it even if it wasn’t true.
He studied my face, his gaze dancing over my eyes, my cheeks, and my lips. “You’re the niece,” he said. “Natalie, right?”
“How did you know that?”
A ghost of a smile appeared on his face. “Martha was a good friend of mine. She told me about you.” He looked away. “She said if you ever made it out to Wolf Mountain, she’d introduce us. She said we were about the same age.”
I sized him up, guessing he was just on the other side of thirty. “I’m sorry. Her death must have been hard for you.”
A muscle pulsed in his jaw as he ran a hand through his thick hair. “It was. It’s going to be hard on the whole town.”
“That’s what the sheriff said.”
“You never got to meet her, did you?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t even know I had an aunt until a few hours ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that—for you and for Martha.” He shoved his other hand in his pocket. “So, it looks like you really did a number on your car. That’s where I live.” He pointed at the cabin next to Martha’s. “And that’s my truck you backed into.” He nodded to the gray Ford Ranger now attached to the back of my little red Fiat. “Listen, it’s the middle of the night. It’s cold. We’ve been through a lot. I’m not all that concerned about my truck. It’s going on twenty years. What do you say we figure this out tomorrow?”
I dug my finger nails into the steering wheel. “I’m not staying, so we should just do it now.”
His eyebrows knitted together. “No? Didn’t Angie get you set up at Martha’s place? I’ve got a spare key to the place if you need to get in. Someone’s got to make sure Benjamin’s got enough food and water in there.”
Carolina Witch Page 3