The white stuff? “You mean snow?”
“Is that what it’s called? Then, no, we don’t get any snow.”
“Well, I don’t know if I can get you home,” I said finally. “I can try to get you some place better, though.”
“How?” Erika looked genuinely curious.
“I don’t know yet,” I forced a smile for her benefit. “I’ll figure it out, though. That I promise you.”
Twelve
I spent another hour with Erika. It was only after leaving her – with a promise to come back as soon as I could – that I realized I’d missed breakfast at the inn. I thought about calling Landon, he was probably wondering why I didn’t show up, but there was something else I wanted to do first.
Instead of heading towards The Whistler, though, I went to Hypnotic. I wanted to tell Thistle and Clove what I had learned. When I got there, though, I found that I wasn’t the only visitor at the shop.
“Hi, Chief Terry,” I greeted him warmly.
“Bay, what are you doing here?” Chief Terry asked in surprise. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”
“I’ll get there eventually,” I said, finally noticing that Chief Terry wasn’t alone. He had another man with him.
“This is Dean Browning,” Chief Terry said, suddenly realizing he hadn’t introduced us. “He’s the new dock operator.”
“We have a dock operator?” Hemlock Cove didn’t exactly have a busy port. In fact, the only boats that usually came in – or launched – were small fishing boats owned by local denizens. In the summer, tourists rented boats for quick excursions, but it’s not like any commercial boats ever made a stop in Hemlock Cove. If they ever had in the past, they certainly weren’t doing so now.
“Well, he’s not just going to be working on the dock,” Chief Terry conceded. “He’s also going to be working on restoring the Dandridge. The dock job is more of a part-time thing.”
I blanked out for a second. I couldn’t figure out what he was talking about.
“The Dandridge,” Thistle furrowed her brow. “That old lighthouse?”
“Yeah,” Chief Terry nodded. “The building has been falling apart for ages.”
An old building by the lake. Erika’s words chimed in my head, chilling me from within. “What’s the deal with the Dandridge?”
“What do you mean?” Chief Terry looked confused. He was used to the scattered chaos that often masqueraded as my brain, but this time, even he couldn’t keep up.
“I mean, what’s the history behind it?”
“I don’t know,” Chief Terry said. “ Do I look like a history professor? I would have to look it up.”
I turned to Dean expectantly. “Do you know the history of it?”
Dean looked surprised by the question, but happy to converse. “It was initially built in 1847 and was in general use up until the 1960s.”
“Why did they build it here?”
“There are some dangerous rock formations out a little further in the bay,” Dean explained. “I wasn’t on the original planning committee but, back then, lighthouses were usually built as a safety precaution.”
“So, why would people just let it fall by the wayside?”
“Older lighthouses are a lot of money to keep up,” Dean shrugged. “They probably thought it was cheaper to let it go. And with modern updates, lighthouses can be tricky to refurbish.”
“But you want to refurbish it? Why?”
“I like lighthouses,” Dean shrugged. “I like the history behind them. Plus, given this town’s little niche, I thought I could turn it into a tourist destination. You know, a haunted lighthouse”
I ignored the haunted comment. What could I tell him? It was really haunted? That probably wasn’t the best tactic. “So, you bought it?”
“Not exactly,” Dean hedged. “It’s more like I leased it.”
“You can lease a lighthouse?” Clove looked surprised.
“The state owns the land,” Dean explained. “I have come to an agreement with them. If I refurbish the lighthouse, I can have operating rights over it for ten years. After that time, they’re willing to work out an extended deal. We’ll see where it goes. There’s a lot of work to be done out there. The building itself is sound, but it needs some cosmetic work and the grounds are a mess.”
“It sounds like a great project,” I said honestly, an idea forming. “How would you feel about me doing a story on it for the paper?”
“Really?” Dean looked tickled, running a hand through his brown hair excitedly. “That would be great.”
“I would want to go out there, you know, get a feel for the property,” I said.
“Sure, we can set something up for next week, if that works for you?” Dean said.
“Sounds great,” I agreed, taking his business card from him and shoving it in my back pocket. “I’ll call you.”
I made small talk with Chief Terry and Dean for a few more minutes and then waited until they were safely on the other side of the door before I spoke again.
“The ghost is back.”
“The little black girl?” Clove asked curiously.
“Her name is Erika.”
“She talked to you?” Thistle said. “Well, that’s a step in the right direction.”
“Not after what I tell you,” I said grimly. When I was finished with the story, Clove looked ashen and Thistle looked enraged.
“I want to hit somebody,” Thistle said. “A bunch of kids in a boat? Not allowed out? You know what that means, right?”
“It’s not a three-hour tour, that’s for sure,” I agreed.
“That’s why you want to go out to the Dandridge,” Clove said suddenly. “The little girl said she was by a building that was falling down, by the water.”
“Exactly,” I agreed.
“You’re not going to be able to talk to Erika out by the lighthouse with Dean there,” Thistle pointed out.
“No, I agreed.”
“So we’re going, all three of us,” Thistle said, she looked excited at the prospect. “We’ll go out there and explore.”
“You doing anything this afternoon?”
“Yeah,” Thistle said. “We’re going to check out a haunted lighthouse.”
“I don’t know,” Clove hedged. “It could be all gross out there. Maybe there’s a body. I might just stay here.”
“Fine,” Thistle said irritably. “But when Bay and I solve a child trafficking ring, you’re going to be the one that stayed at the store – and we’re not letting you have any of the glory.”
I frowned. I didn’t like the way she put it, but it was an effective argument.
“Fine,” Clove blew out a sigh. “And, just FYI, for all we know, that little girl died decades ago. We don’t know that she died recently. She told Bay she had been here a long time. There might not be any children to save anymore. Why do I think this is going to lead us to nothing but trouble?”
“Because you’re a pessimist?” I suggested.
“No, because this has trouble written all over it,” Clove countered. “I can feel it.”
“Are you getting a vision?” I asked hopefully. “Maybe one that says this is all going to turn out fine?”
“I don’t get visions, remember?”
“Well, I thought maybe you suddenly could.”
“No, you hoped,” Thistle replied. “We’re going out to a lighthouse in the middle of the day. There’s nothing dangerous about that.”
“Maybe Bay should call Landon, just to tell him where we’ll be,” Clove suggested. “Just in case we go missing or something.”
“That won’t make Landon happy,” Thistle pointed out.
She had a point. “Let’s just keep it between the three of us for now,” I said finally. “We don’t even know if the lighthouse has anything to do with this. There could be lots of abandoned buildings by the water.”
“It’s seems like too much of a coincidence,” Thistle said. “Like the powers are driving us the
re. I mean, what are the odds that we would find out the lighthouse is being refurbished right after your little ghost decides to start talking?”
I didn’t say it out loud, but I agreed with her.
“Let’s take it one step at a time,” I said. “First, we go to the lighthouse. After that? We’ll figure it out.”
“To the lighthouse it is,” Thistle agreed.
“I just know this is a bad idea,” Clove grumbled. “At least we’re not sneaking around in the snow this time.”
“See, you can see the bright side,” Thistle said.
Thirteen
“You didn’t tell me we would have to hike.”
Clove hadn’t stopped whining since we left Hypnotic and the sound of her voice was starting to mentally chafe.
“This isn’t hiking,” Thistle grumbled. “This is walking from the car to the lighthouse. It’s like a half a mile.”
“That’s hiking,” Clove complained.
“Hiking is climbing up a mountain or traversing the wild terrain of Alaska,” Thistle countered. “A half a mile is not hiking.”
“Traversing the wild terrain?” I raised an eyebrow as I glanced at her.
“I was watching Finding Bigfoot the other night,” Thistle replied absently. “They’re a little dramatic.”
“That’s something we should do,” I said. “Look for Bigfoot.”
“We would be awesome at that,” Thistle agreed.
“Camping in the great outdoors, following tracks, it sounds like fun,” I laughed. “We would need to bring Aunt Tillie, though. Even Bigfoot would be scared of her.”
“We would definitely bring Aunt Tillie,” Thistle agreed. “If she didn’t scare off Bigfoot, at least she’d be slow enough to distract him while we got away.”
“Bigfoot isn’t real,” Clove interjected knowingly.
“That’s what people say about witches,” Thistle replied.
“Bay, you don’t think Bigfoot is real, do you?” Clove was now scanning the tree line worriedly, despite her oral bravado.
“I don’t know,” I replied truthfully. “Most of those old legends have some basis in fact. Bigfoot was sighted in this area for more than a century, if you believe the old stories.”
“And that song,” Thistle added. “What was it called? The Legend of the Dogman?”
“I remember that,” Clove said suddenly. “It was a big deal when we were kids.”
“It was just a radio gimmick,” Thistle scoffed. “Every seven years or so they bring it back around. Every group of kids thinks they’re the first one to hear it.”
“But it’s not true,” Clove said, her eyes skittering warily around the dense foliage that surrounded us. “Right? It’s not true?”
I glanced over at Thistle, who wasn’t even trying to hide the evil expression gracing her face. I had a feeling a plan was forming and the next solstice celebration was going to be a full on Bigfoot extravaganza – just to torture Clove.
“I think you’re safe,” I replied. “If Bigfoot is real, he’s probably more scared of us than we are of him.”
“I doubt that,” Clove said nervously.
“Don’t worry, we’ll protect you,” Thistle teased.
“I won’t,” I said. “If I see Bigfoot, I’m running like hell. I’m not worrying about you two.”
Clove seemed to consider the statement. “Okay. If Bigfoot attacks, then it’s every witch for herself.”
“This is easily the silliest conversation we’ve ever had,” Thistle muttered, rounding a bend in the trail we were following and pulling up short. “There it is.”
The three of us picked our way through the overgrown trail and found ourselves in front of the Dandridge. It had probably been beautiful when it was built – even majestic. Tall white walls, a red cap on the spire, and octagonal windows at various points across the structure.
Time had marred all of that, though. The white paint was peeling. The red cap was now a muddy brown. And most of the windows were either shrouded in fallen ivy or missing altogether.
“I bet it was pretty, back in the day,” Thistle said finally.
“Yeah,” I agreed. I glanced around the area for a second. “How are they going to use this as a tourist destination, though? Do you think people are going to be willing to hike up here to see it?”
“I told you it was a hike,” Clove said triumphantly.
Thistle ignored her. “I think there’s a road over there,” Thistle pointed through a line of trees. “Isn’t that Wetzel Road?”
I wasn’t sure, but I followed Thistle to the area she was pointing. Once we moved through the trees, I realized she was right. Wetzel Road was two lanes of rural highway that cut a swath through the forest and ended at a small Lake Michigan inlet two miles away. The road could use some repairs – especially after this snowy winter – but it wasn’t in terrible disarray.
“All they have to do is rip this line of trees out,” Thistle said thoughtfully. “There’s enough room here to build a small parking lot.”
I nodded, letting my eyes wander through the landscape. “This actually could be pretty cool,” I said finally. “There could be a picnic area over there,” I pointed. “And the building is big enough for the haunted lighthouse tour and a gift shop.”
“I’m surprised someone hasn’t thought of this before,” Thistle mused.
“Well, someone has thought of it now,” I said blithely. “The truth is, this could be really good for the town. It’s another draw that sets us apart from the rest of the touristy towns in the area. Plus, it’s something that could draw people back to the area – people that haven’t seen the lighthouse yet.”
“Then what’s wrong?” Thistle asked knowingly.
“Nothing is wrong,” I countered. “I just feel . . . uneasy out here. I can’t really explain it.”
“Maybe it’s Bigfoot,” Thistle suggested.
“Or maybe it’s a ghost,” Clove said ominously.
“Erika?” I glanced around again, hoping the little girl with the sad eyes would return, but the area around the lighthouse was empty. “I don’t see her.”
“Are you sure?” Clove asked, a little miffed. “Maybe she’s here and you’re just not looking hard enough.”
I glanced at Clove curiously. “Why would you say that?”
Clove started nervously wringing her hands. “If I tell you, you’ll think I’m crazy.”
“We already think you’re crazy,” Thistle replied.
“You’ll think I’m being a baby,” Clove added.
“We already think you’re a baby,” Thistle replied with a bright smile.
I shot a glare in Thistle’s direction. “Why don’t you tell us what you’re getting at and then we’ll decide if you’re a baby or crazy,” I said wearily.
“Okay,” Clove said, glancing at me for reassurance. “Well, you see that window up there?”
Thistle and I followed the line of her finger midway up the building, to a lone window in the peeling paint. “Yeah,” I prodded her.
“I swear, when we were coming back through the trees – after looking at the road – I swear that I saw someone watching us.”
Thistle and I exchanged dubious glances. “And why wouldn’t you tell us then?” Thistle asked.
“Because I thought it might be Bigfoot and you guys would laugh at me,” Clove lifted her chin defiantly.
“Maybe it was just a reflection of the sun,” I offered lamely.
“Or maybe it was a ghost,” Thistle said grimly.
“Clove can’t see ghosts,” I reminded her.
“Clove can’t see ghosts like you,” Thistle agreed. “But everyone has the capacity to see sometimes. Aunt Tillie taught us that. She came to this place expecting to see a ghost – or Bigfoot – and maybe she really did see a ghost.”
“You’re saying it was a self-fulfilling prophecy?”
“Maybe,” Thistle shrugged noncommittally.
“There’s only one way to find out,
” I replied grimly.
“What way?” Clove looked confused and then, when realization washed over her, terrified. “I am not going in that building.”
“It will be fine,” Thistle waved off her concerns. “Ghosts can’t hurt us.”
“And if Bigfoot is in there, we’ll run right out, I swear,” I added.
“What if it’s dangerous?” Clove tried a different tactic. “What if the building is about to cave in?”
“Dean said the problems with the building were all cosmetic,” I reminded her.
“Well, Dean said,” Clove complained. “Dean, a guy we’ve never met before and who could be crazy – or stupid, for all we know – said that building was safe so we automatically take him at his word.”
“If you don’t want to go in, don’t go in,” Thistle said irritably, climbing the steps to the main door of the lighthouse. “Wait here. Bay and I will go in and check out things and then we’ll come back out and get you.”
“You want me to stay out here alone?” Clove squeaked.
I couldn’t take much more of this, so I pushed past Thistle and tugged on the door of the lighthouse. It didn’t open at first, but with a little magical push, the lock tumbled and the door sprang open.
I entered the lighthouse first, pausing in the doorway to let my eyes get accustomed to the sudden gloom. Inside, the building was surprisingly clean. There was a musty odor permeating the premises, but that was from abandonment. If there was a body in here, it was so old that it couldn’t decay anymore. That was, at the very least, a small sense of comfort.
Thistle must have been thinking the same thing. “It doesn’t smell like death,” she said.
“What does death smell like?” Clove asked curiously.
“Rotting flesh, in a lot of instances,” Thistle replied dryly.
“Thanks for the visual.”
“You’re welcome.”
“We should have brought a flashlight,” I lamented. “It’s too dark in here to do a proper search.”
Thistle thought about it a second and then rubbed her hands together, causing a spark to emanate from between them. I heard her mutter a spell under her breath. When she opened her hands again, she had conjured a handful of small fireflies – magical fireflies that would dissipate on their own in an hour or so – that she tossed into the air. The fireflies dispersed through the room, emitting enough of a glow to make the lighthouse visible – if not quite cheery.
4 Witching On A Star Page 9