The Witching Hour

by Morgana Best

  I had no idea if Aunt Beth had pets, but there was no sign of a dog or a cat. The back yard wasn’t secure for a dog.

  The yard was long. I walked down the length of it past a rickety, old, wooden shed, and happened across a nicely tended herb bed. There was not a weed in sight. There was lemongrass as well as citronella, both used to clear away evil, basil for drawing in money, and chamomile, which also brought in money but was also a protective plant.

  Aunt Beth’s herb garden also had a thriving calamus plant. Calamus root was a main ingredient in Bend Over oils or powders, used in bending someone to one’s will.

  The verbena was abundant and was planted next to yarrow and more rue. These were three of the herbs from the old European blend of nine herbs used as protection against witches. I tried to remember my article last month on traditional European witchcraft which mentioned the other six herbs used in the tea. Wood betony, lesser celandine, nettle, mugwort, white clover. Yes, all present, but what was the ninth?

  I slapped my head, but that didn’t help. I looked at the other herbs growing in the same patch. Then I saw it. The leaves looked like those of mullein, but the plant had yellow daisies resembling small daisies. Elecampane. Aunt Beth had the nine herbs, all growing together, traditionally used for keeping away evil. In fact most of Aunt Beth’s herbs were used for protection.

  Surprisingly, there were only two garlic plants in sight. From the smell in the living room, I would have expected a plantation.

  I walked back around the side and came up behind the old blue car, just in time to see a hearse pull up. Apparently, the English don’t waste any time.

  I introduced myself and averted my eyes as they took Aunt Beth out of the house. To my relief it was all over pretty quickly. They had informed me that Aunt Beth had a pay-now, go-later funeral plan and that everything had already been paid for. I hadn’t thought of that. That was just as well, as there was no way I could have paid for anything.

  Now that the funeral directors had taken Aunt Beth out of the house, I sat at the bottom of the stairs and put my head between my hands. I didn’t know Aunt Beth well. Actually, I didn’t know her at all. Still, she had just died and I had discovered her body. It was all too much.

  I didn’t intend to sleep until night time, but despite Cordelia’s advice and the shock of Aunt Beth’s demise, I was falling asleep on the stairs when I awoke to the uncomfortable sensation of something licking my bare ankle.

  I awoke and looked into the eyes of the biggest, furriest, cream-coloured cat I have ever seen. “Here, kitty, kitty,” I said in a kindly voice, and reached to stroke the cat.

  Less than a second later, I was nursing a long scratch on my arm. I looked from the droplets of blood making their way in a little stream down my arm back to the cat, who was unperturbed at the damage he or she had just inflicted on me and was now purring, rubbing her head on my shoes.

  “You must be Aunt Beth’s cat,” I said, but the cat just kept purring. I was just about to return to the kitchen to look for cat food when I heard the doorbell. The cat suddenly looked more like a toilet brush than a cat, as all its hair was at once standing on end. The cat hissed and took off down the corridor.

  I opened the door. The woman standing there looked frail and elderly, but reached out and took my hand in a firm grasp. “Misty! I’m Mrs Miller. You may call me Cassandra. I’m so sorry to hear about your aunt. The funeral directors just then told me what happened to her. I’ve lived next door to Beth for many years. I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

  Cassandra headed for the kitchen, but the fat cat swiped at her leg as she went past.

  “That damn cat,” she said. “It’s deranged.” To my shock, she aimed a rather vicious kick in the direction of the disappearing cat.

  As I sat down at the wooden table, I asked, “Do you know the cat’s name? And is it a boy or a girl?”

  Cassandra snorted rudely while spooning tea leaves into a teapot. “Your aunt doted on that cat. That’s why it has no manners. It’s a female. Nasty creature! She called it Merlin, a stupid name for a female cat if you ask me.”

  I nodded and then hit myself on the forehead. “The car keys!”

  Cassandra looked puzzled at my inappropriate segue. “Sorry, dear?”

  “I was in here not long ago and I could swear the kitchen table was bare except for the books. Now the car keys are sitting in the middle. Did you put them there?”

  Cassandra shook her head. “I realise you didn’t know your aunt well, but it would have still come as a terrible shock, finding her like that, and with you just arriving in the country.”

  I nodded and noted that she hadn’t mentioned the keys. Perhaps she was just vague.

  Cassandra moved a pile of old books aside to make room for my cup of hot tea. It tasted amazing and very sweet. “I put in three spoons of sugar to get you over the shock.” Cassandra sat down opposite me and slurped her tea noisily.

  “I’m sorry, Cassandra. You must be in a state of shock, too. Were you good friends with my aunt?”

  Cassandra shrugged then shook her head. “No, not really. I used to drive her to the doctor’s and post letters for her. Food shopping too, that sort of thing. She had her car for years but didn’t like driving. I did have a cup of tea with her many a time but Beth mostly kept to herself. She was excited about you coming. I could hear her bustling around all morning making the place ready for you.”

  “This morning? But the doctor said she died yesterday.”

  Cassandra appeared not to have heard and kept talking. “She kept to herself, but after the article in the paper, she had several visitors. She wasn’t happy about that at all.”

  “What article?”

  “I’ll go get it for you. Just a minute.” Cassandra pulled herself to her feet with some effort and headed out the kitchen door.

  I had another sip of tea and then decided to take a quick look around. A hallway leading to the back door opened off the kitchen, and that hallway had a tiny, pale blue bathroom opening off it. On the other side of the kitchen was a small room. It would have been the size of a small bedroom. I guessed that this was Aunt Beth’s office of sorts, and she sure had not watched any of those shows on decluttering a house.

  Framed landscape prints were hanging at angles on the wall. Papers were strewn all over the floor. Unlike the tidy yet crammed living room, and tidy but minimalist kitchen, this room was a downright mess. Barely an inch of carpet was to be seen.

  “Goodness, how untidy,” Cassandra’s voice said behind me.

  “Was it always like this?”

  “I’ve never been in here before, dear. Beth always had the door shut when I was in the kitchen.”

  I saw a big, blue glass evil eye ornament hanging over the top of the door, and on the back of the door was a chalk-drawn pentacle. It had strange symbols around it.

  Cassandra was watching me. “Do you know what that is?”

  “The pentacle with symbols? Not exactly.” I knew it had something to do with Ceremonial Magick, but I wasn’t about to tell Cassandra.

  “Me either. Your aunt was into New Age things.”

  I was intrigued. “What do you mean? What sort of things?”

  “Candles and tarot cards and things like that.” Cassandra pointed to the symbols on the door. “Now sit down and drink your tea. You’ve hardly touched it.”

  I dutifully did as I was told, and Cassandra slapped the newspaper clipping down on the table in front of me, causing my tea cup to jiggle.

  The headline on the Bucks Free Press read as follows: Local Resident Donates Rare Book to Cambridge University Library. Next to a photo of an ancient looking book in a glass case, was the story.

  Long time High Wycombe resident Beth Banks has donated a rare and valuable book to the Cambridge University Library. The book, Exposition of the Hieroglyphical Figures, is believed to be a later copy of the 1624 original attributed to legendary alchemist Nicholas Flamel.

  Flamel, it is claimed, discov
ered the Elixir of Life which many believe gave him immortality.

  Dr Blake said there was no scientific foundation for alchemy, which had no more fact to it than vampires or werewolves. He said the Cambridge University Library was indebted to Mrs Banks for her generous gift.

  “Your aunt was very upset at that article,” Cassandra said. “She didn’t know a newspaper would print the story. She had phone calls from other newspapers, television, radio, and antique dealers and book collectors wanting to know what else she had in the house. I got her to change her phone number and get an ex-directory one.”

  I figured an ex-directory number must be the English version of an unlisted number. “It’s a wonder she wasn’t robbed after that!” I exclaimed.

  Cassandra shrugged. “She was afraid of that. She always kept the doors and windows locked. So dear, are you married?”

  I shook my head.

  “Boyfriend?”

  I shook my head again and groaned inwardly.

  “Surely a pretty girl like you would have a boyfriend. Never mind, you know what they say, one will come along when you’re not looking for him. Just work on yourself dear, and the right one will come along.”

  Comments like that always annoyed me. “Actually, Cassandra, I’m not looking for one. I have my career to think about.”

  Cassandra looked at me disbelievingly and opened her mouth to speak, but was forestalled by the sound of the phone. We looked at each other. Cassandra signalled for me to answer it, so we both hurried back into the living room.

  “Hello, Aunt Beth’s house, oh I mean, Beth Banks’s house.”

  “Hello, this is Flowermead Medical Clinic,” said an official sounding voice. “Mrs Banks missed her appointment this morning. I’m calling to see if she’s running late or would like to reschedule.”

  I was taken aback. I could only suppose that the doctor had been too busy to inform the receptionist of Aunt Beth’s passing. “I’m sorry, but my aunt died yesterday. The doctor was here this morning. Weren’t you told?”

  “I’m so sorry. Which doctor attended?”

  “Dr Spence.”

  The receptionist’s tone changed from official to perplexed. “Did you say Spence?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “There’s no Dr Spence here. Could it have been Dr Singleton?”

  “Is he around sixty, um, not thick hair, and not thin?” I was trying to think of a polite way to say he was balding with a comb over and had a huge belly.

  “No, Dr Singleton is a woman. Please hold. I’ll check.”

  I put my hand over the mouthpiece and turned to Cassandra. “Cassandra, did you know the name of Aunt Beth’s doctor?”

  “No dear, I only used to drive her there and back.”

  “To Flowermead Medical Clinic?”

  Cassandra nodded. “Yes, that’s the one.”

  The voice returned and said, “No one here seems to know anything about it, although her doctor, Dr Cooper, isn’t here at the moment.”

  “Could my aunt have gone to a different doctor?”

  “It’s unlikely. She was a patient here for years and we hold her medical records. What did you say his name was again?”

  “Oh, hang on,” I interrupted her. “His name and phone number are stuck to the wall.” I looked up at the notice board but to my disbelief, the paper was gone.

  “Cassandra, you didn’t by any chance take a note off the notice board, did you?”

  “When, today?”

  I nodded.

  “No, I didn’t. What’s happened?”

  I pointed to the phone and spoke into it again. “I can’t find the note now, but I’m sure he said his name was Dr Spence. Anyway, he filed the, err, death report, and the funeral directors have already picked up the, err, body.” I still had trouble coming to grips with the fact that Aunt Beth had died. Of course, I didn’t really know her at all, but finding a body is quite a shock.

  “It all seems in order then. I’m sorry about Mrs Banks. Goodbye.” The receptionist hung up.

  I walked back down to the kitchen in a daze and sat back down at the table. I felt I was going quite mad. The note had been there, and a doctor had come. This was getting weirder and weirder. I was in a total head spin.

  Chapter 4

  After Cassandra left, I explored the house. On the surface it was fairly ordinary. There were two bedrooms upstairs, both fully furnished and painted in dismal shades of pale blue and yellow. Old peeling wallpaper covered most of the walls, livened up by a spot of mould at intervals. There was a small upstairs bathroom. The third bedroom, or at least, I assumed it was a bedroom, was locked.

  The smaller bedroom at the back of the house had a nice view over football fields. Aunt Beth had clearly chosen that room for me; for one thing it wasn’t locked, and unlike the main bedroom, it had been dusted, and had two towels sitting on the end of the bed.

  I grabbed one towel from the bed and headed for the bathroom. The bathroom was tiny and the shower was over the bath. The enamel was wearing off the tub. It was all a bit depressing not to mention dusty. I rinsed out the tub with warm water, and then ran a nice hot bath. I fished the vanilla bubble bath out of my luggage and poured a generous amount into the running water.

  Water always makes me feel good. I lay in the water so long that I was afraid I would fall asleep.

  After the bath, I dried myself on the scratchy towel and heaped on copious amounts of Japanese Cherry body butter. The room was full of steam, so I opened the bathroom window. My skin felt dry after the long flight. I was thirsty, but didn’t want to go downstairs to get a drink of water so I slurped some water out of the faucet.

  Despite the soothing, hot bath and my sleeplessness, I tossed and turned. Well, I tried to toss and turn, but Merlin appeared and planted herself firmly on my legs. She purred loudly, and every time I tried to roll over, she hissed and scratched my legs. Worse still, I felt frightened of the dark for the first time since my childhood.

  I had not long been asleep when I heard the voice.

  Misty, where is the page? The disembodied voice crawled from the dark, like fingers clasping for my throat. Was I still dreaming?

  Misty, tell me.

  I felt I was slipping; a sensation of darkness pressed on me and I struggled against it. “I don’t know!” I squeaked. I must have fallen into a deeper sleep, for next I dreamt that there was a man standing at the end of my bed. He was tall and thin and appeared to be dressed in old-fashioned clothes. His bony fingers extended and stretched towards me, clutching at my throat.

  I awoke from my nightmare in a cold sweat and shaking. That was the first dream I’d had about ghosts. I’ve had those dreams where you think you’re awake and it feels as if a heavy weight is pressing you down, and various other scary dreams, but never a realistic dream about a ghost.

  I was too scared to get out of bed. Merlin was no longer lying on my legs and was not in the room. The room was dark, apart from the moonlight streaming in. Rather than being a comfort, the light made scary shapes on the walls. I felt like a child again.

  My heart was pounding in my ears and I did my best to talk myself into getting out of bed. My iPhone was lying on the bedside table, so I turned it on and shone it under the bed. No monsters there.

  I leapt out of bed and ran for the light switch. As soon as the light was on, everything looked so much less scary.

  I decided to have a shower and then make a sugary cup of hot tea to calm my nerves. One of the pale lemon, scratchy towels left for me by Aunt Beth was still sitting on the end of my bed. As I snatched it up, a piece of paper fell to the carpet. I thought it just garbage, and picked it up to put it on the desk on the corner of the room, but as I did, I saw the words scrawled in capitals:

  MISTY DANGER DASHWOOD TRUST

  The writing, badly scrawled as it was, worsened at the end of the note and it looked as if Aunt Beth had been interrupted when writing it.

  What did it mean? Was it to be taken seriously?
I was too jet lagged to think clearly.

  I headed to the bathroom, and shut the sash window, which afforded a view of the neighbours’ bedroom and in turn afforded the neighbours a view of the bathroom.

  The shower took away the fuzzy feeling in my stomach, and the hot tea cleared my head. For good measure, I heaped another two spoons of sugar into my cup. I didn’t want to be paranoid, but it was getting a little weird.

  I thought it all through. My aunt passed away the day before I arrived from a heart condition, or so I was told. A man collided with me as I arrived. No one had heard of the doctor who attended. The paper with the doctor’s name and number went missing from the wall. I found a mysterious note with my name on it.

  What did it all mean? Was Aunt Beth’s note about to tell me to trust a certain person? Or was Aunt Beth going all X-Files and advising me to Trust No One? Aunty June had said that too. There might be logical explanations for all these happenings, but the twisting churning feeling in my gut suggested otherwise.

  It became clear to me that Aunt Beth had been murdered, and someone was trying to cover it up. I remembered the Miss Marple episode I had seen only the month before, Murder Is Easy. Murder is easy if no one knows it was murder.

  But who would try to cover up the murder? For that matter, who would want to murder Aunt Beth in the first place?

  The rest of the night passed uneventfully, and I awoke the next morning with the sun streaming in the window. I felt groggy and headachy. The lemon towel I had used last night was now sitting folded and unused at the end of my bed. Surely I hadn’t dreamt, of having a shower last night?

  Worse still, a check of my iPhone revealed the time was 10.03 a.m. Horrors, I’d slept past my caffeine time. At home, if I did not get my two cups of strong coffee before nine a.m., I would get a dreadful headache that nothing would shift, no amount of headache tablets or even more caffeine. I didn’t know what impact changing time zones and even hemispheres would have on my caffeine timing. Yes, I’m an addict.