Cryptic Curses in Witchwood

by Jessica Lancaster

She spun her head and clicked her claws on the ground. “I’ve only been in the garden and some of the trees since we got back,” she said. “But there’s so much more to living here.”

  “Oh?” That was a pleasant surprise to hear. I nodded for her to continue.

  “We’ve never been anywhere for longer than a few weeks, and everywhere starts to feel different after a while, but you know—you know this is actually really good for me here.”

  “I’m glad you think so.” I picked at the edge of the toast. “So, what did you get up to?”

  “The garden is clean now,” she said twisting her head to the back door. “But there are an awful lot of bats and ravens in the area.”

  I chewed on the toast for a moment, thinking about what had happened yesterday and anything else I could reference it with. After the first ten investigations, the rest of them blurred together into some twisted whirl. “I’m glad the garden is clean, I can call Greg over to see what we can do with it,” I said, still turning over thoughts of bats and ravens and how they manifested around bad energy.

  “I saw a lot of nice gardens too,” she said, opening her beak widely in a yawn. “A lot of sheds.”

  It was on my mental list of things to do now that this was our permanent place of residence. I had cleaned most of the house, perhaps I’d add some more colour to the place, the only piece of colour that gave the house life were the chartreuse curtains, and they were an eyesore. It still had the off-white cream and eggshell colour to the walls—albeit worn away since I originally moved in.

  “Is that a hint?” I asked.

  “At what?” she snapped her beak in a laugh.

  “You know that’s the goal,” I said. “I don’t want you cooped up in here, it’s no place for an owl to live.”

  Clicking her clawed talons on the tile, she strutted out of the kitchen down the hall to her room . She reminded me of a certain boy who lived beneath the stairs, except we didn’t have any stairs, and she was an owl.

  Brinng. Brinng.

  It was a house phone.

  But I didn’t have one.

  “Loud already?” Ivory squawked.

  I followed the ringing into the living room where to my surprise there was a landline telephone connected to the socket on the ground in the far-right corner. I must’ve connected it on a prior visit.

  Kneeling, I picked up the receiver.

  “Hello?”

  Thud. The call cut out.

  SEVEN

  Before I could pick myself off the ground and dust my knees, the landline phone rang once again. I grabbed the receiver, pressing it to my mouth.

  “Hello, who is it?”

  Through a choking cry, I heard a voice. “Nora? It’s me—Maureen.” Her heavy breathing was deep and loud, creating a husky buzz.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, squeezing a hand against the fabric of my dressing gown.

  “It’s—it’s—”

  “Maureen, what’s happened?”

  Through her sniffling, she was unintelligible. “It—it—”

  “I’ll be right over!”

  “No.”

  I paused, ready to slam the phone down and rush outside in my dressing gown. Of course, I was thinking rationally, so I put on some clothes with a little magic; a pair of black jeans and a floral print beige blouse

  “Tell me,” I said, my fingers tight around the phone.

  “There’s someone—” she let out a sobbing cough. “Someone out there.”

  “Who? Where?”

  A groan came through the phone. “Come over.”

  I wanted to choke back tears with her. The distress from her voice caught me off-guard, considering I didn’t find anything in her garden yesterday, I wasn’t sure if this was another episode, or whether she was telling me the complete truth.

  Before leaving, I rinsed my hands and rings with some rosewater, energising the rings to keep myself focused and my detection abilities at peak performance.

  As I walked up the cul-de-sac of Crescent Road, my eyes wandered the skies, searching for any sign of bat or raven. If Ivory’s detections skills were still sharp—and they were, then she wasn’t lying about what she saw.

  Maureen stood by her front door, her fingers clasped together, shaky. She had both of her wellies on and wore a heavy gardening smock; I wasn’t sure if she was about to go to war, harvest honey from bees, or tackle the mess in my garden.

  The smile that touched my face in thought didn’t appear to give her any comfort. I forced a sullen frown on myself, reaching out for her shaky hands. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m glad you believe me,” she said, clenching my hand as she stepped back into the house, pulling me in with a strong lead.

  The jury was still out on my belief, but I believed in signs, and I knew that whatever it was around here terrorising Maureen, the ravens couldn’t have been a good omen.

  “Can you tell me what you saw?” I asked as we paused in her kitchen.

  “Dark—dark—really dark.”

  An apt description of almost everything on Crescent Road. “Well, was it a person? Where were they?”

  She puffed her cheeks. “I just—I—”

  “It’s okay,” I said, rubbing a hand on her back. “I’ll take a guess and say it was outside.”

  Maureen reached into the deep pockets of the full-body plastic gardening suit, pulling out a keyring with several keys jingling together. “Let me,” she said, fiddling with the keys as she unlocked the back door and released the deadbolt.

  Many layers of protection. Although I couldn’t blame her. My house itself was warded in a similar way, locks were human, but for anything else, the wards kept the house from harm’s way.

  “Best to stay safe,” I said. “I’m glad you locked the door.”

  Relief washed over Maureen’s brow. “I thought you were going to say it was overkill, or that I’m going crazy.” She gulped hard. “I was going to ask Greg to just take the compost heap, it’s not worth the hassle.”

  “Oh, Greg,” I said.

  She nodded at the garden, gesturing at the pastures. “He helped me get this sorted,” she said. “And he helps himself to the compost. He calls it the best fertilizer, better than any of that premixed stuff you get anyway.”

  Maureen was more comfortable now, and that transcended through to me. Her nerves had kept me on edge.

  “Do you want me to go out and see?” I asked.

  “If you wouldn’t mind.”

  Not at all – but inside, my gut told me otherwise.

  I sped up on the walk down the single strip of grass, wishing I’d had some cold water to wash the coffee and toast down.

  Glancing ahead, there were no signs of ravens in trees, or bats waiting to attack from behind. The sound of Maureen in her plastic gardening outfit rubbing as she walked behind at a slower pace, disturbed me.

  I looked above my glasses.

  Just dirt.

  And no-one .

  “All clear,” I said, turning to her and smiling.

  Maureen let out an excitable gasp, approaching the compost bin at my side. “Thank you so much,” she said. “But there was definitely something here. Maybe someone is stealing my compost. Maybe one of the compost manufacturers.”

  There was the paranoia I knew associated with seeing things.

  “Do you dig through it?” I asked.

  “You’ve got to!” she snapped. “To keep things fertile.”

  I hovered a hand above the soil, sensing a great deal of energy.

  “Can I?” I asked, pressing a finger inside.

  “Sure,” she said in a sighing breath.

  I dug with my bare hand, pressing into the soil, deeper. The soil reached my wrist. I forced it harder until the texture of the soil changed. My hand jerked back as the suction of the soil around my skin let me leave with a pop .

  “What is it? What was it?” Maureen’s plastic body suit squeaked as she jumped back. “I don’t want to see.”

&nbs
p; My heart throbbed at the temples of my head. “Just cold,” I said, examining the dirt on my hands. It was a mix of deep browns. “A little wet.”

  “Moisture,” she said with a nod.

  I went in for a second time. Placing my fingers into the same part of the soil, forcing them just as deep as they had been. The cold earth sent a pinching shiver through my body. I pressed harder.

  Thick.

  Cold.

  My hand touched something—

  Solid.

  EIGHT

  A yelp left my mouth from instant horror. I yanked my hand from the soil, pulling the thick ice solid object with it. It slipped from the side of my hand like wet soap, flying up into the air.

  “Argh!” Maureen jumped back.

  A slug . A slug landed on Maureen plastic overalls.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “It’s just a—”

  “One of those bleedin’ slugs.” She grabbed it and threw it into the neighbour’s garden. “I don’t need them in here, eating up my plants.”

  I hadn’t thought about that. I hated slugs and the slimy residue they left behind. Although I’m sure the one I’d picked up hadn’t been alive. It was stone cold, it felt more like a wet rock.

  “Ick,” I grumbled. “I think there might be something else in there.”

  Rubbing her overalls, Maureen approached me, looking inside the small groove my fingers had made in the soil. “Well,” she said, glancing at me.

  “I can have a look,” I said, taking the hint.

  “Ever-so kind,” she replied, showing me her bare hands. “My gloves are inside, or I would put my hand in.”

  In I went again. I wasn’t sure if it was just cold soil and a mixture of rock, but I felt something solid. Before pulling it from the heap, I rubbed a finger across it, feeling a smooth curved edge.

  A glint came from it as dull light came into contact with it.

  A gold ring.

  “Wow.”

  Maureen looked away, shying her eyes to the ground. “Tell me it isn’t.”

  “It’s a ring,” I said.

  She shuddered. “Where’s the finger it belongs on?” A sniffling weep left her mouth. “Where’s the body? That’s it, the police will have to listen to me about this one. I’m not having it anymore!”

  “Mrs. Witton,” I said, softly placing a hand on her shoulder. “It does seem like someone has been here, but please don’t worry about it.”

  “Worried?” she snapped. “I’m frightened for my life.”

  “Perhaps you know who it belongs to?” I asked, examining the ring with a hand in the air, looking up at it. “There’s a little engraving here.” I rubbed away dirt with a finger. “Albie?”

  “Albie? My Albie?” She snatched the ring from me, leaving me to stare at my filthy hand. I glanced at my rings, there was dirt mixed between the metal and my skin, but good soil always gave life to the crystals – the dirt didn’t bother me anyway.

  “Do you know them?”

  “Do I?” she said, breathing deeply. “He was my husband.” Maniacally, she frisked herself, pulling at her plastic overalls, tearing small holes to reach into her pockets and the metal chain around her neck.

  “It’s yours, then?”

  She continued to gasp. “Absolutely. It’s been with me since his death,” she said. “I don’t know how it got in there.” Feigning to touch her face in horror, puffing her cheeks out. “It must’ve slipped off, I—I—I thought it was odd when it went missing, but I’ve misplaced many things.”

  “Recently?” I asked.

  “Recently, what?”

  “Misplacing things?”

  She faffed her hands around. “Gosh, I have no idea, but I’m glad I’ve found it.”

  I was the one who’d found it, but Maureen seemed to be losing her memory. “Can I wash my hands?”

  “Absolutely, dear.”

  Maureen led me back into the house. She took a seat at the table, the plastic of her overalls continued to ruffle. Her eyes stared at the ring, turning it around in her fingers. While I washed my hands and tried to get as much dirt from beneath my nails as possible, I watched Maureen’s face change as she admired the ring.

  “Thank you, Nora,” she said, standing once I dried my hands on a hand towel. “I don’t know how I can thank you.”

  “If you can, try and take a picture next time you see something,” I said. “It would help prove someone is coming into your garden.”

  She hummed and tapped a finger to her chin. “I don’t even have a phone. Only use my landline.”

  “Okay, well, see anything else, please tell me,” I said. “And how did you get my number?”

  “The Yellow Pages,” she chuckled. Maureen wrangled her arms around me, hugging me tight. “I really appreciate it.”

  I pushed my glasses up on my face, smiling at her. “Anything else you see, I’m all ears.” I pulled my blouse straight. “It’s keeping my mind occupied.”

  She chuckled at the comment, but it was true. I was growing bored of cleaning, I didn’t know anyone who enjoyed cleaning, and this kept my mind occupied. I was clearly too young to retire.

  I looked around at Maureen’s gnomes on the way out of her house, they were planted throughout her garden. It was a little chillier than it had been earlier, an expectation of the weather in spring. On the street, a woman dressed in a thick jacket waved in my direction, with her other hand she held the lead of a large alsatian dog.

  Me. She was approaching me.

  “Hey, hello!” she shouted.

  I creased my brow in concern, trying to walk faster to pass her.

  “You,” she said. She wore a thick pair of sunglasses and reigned in her dog with a giant pull. “You just came from Maureen’s house?”

  “Me?” I asked. “Yes, I did.”

  She tipped her head slightly, her pointy chin against her neck as she looked over her sunglasses. “She’s crazy,” she said. “Not someone you want to be associated with. Her family don’t even visit.” She threw her head back in a single laugh.

  “Just being a friendly neighbour,” I said.

  She hummed. “Don’t get too close, she’s contagious.”

  “You live around here?” I asked.

  “If I didn’t, I definitely wouldn’t walk my dog here,” she scoffed. “I just wanted to warn you, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into with that one .”

  Perfect. The neighbours were crazy. I turned.

  A snap came behind me. My entire body tumbled back.

  NINE

  Clenched. My fists were ready again to cast the first defensive spell on the tip of my tongue. I turned sharply on the ground with my glasses tilted on my face from the jolt.

  “Luna!” the woman screeched.

  A wet sloppy tongue covered in drool collided with my cheek, while a paw pushed on a shoulder to pin me down.

  I accepted the licking, screwing my eyes shut as I let out the breath held in my lungs.

  “Luna!” she shouted again, snapping the lead and pulling the large dog closer. A hoarse cough came from the back of her throat as she shouted again.

  He must’ve smelt Ivory on me. I stood, straightening my glasses out and dusting my clothes off at the knees and elbows. “It’s fine,” I said. The woman turned away, chasing after her dog as it left.

  The more I came to Crescent Road, the stranger the place became.

  On the way home, I checked my body. There was a slight tear in the back of my blouse and at an elbow. It was nothing a little magic wouldn’t fix or the sewing machine I swore I had inside the dusty spare room.

  “Nora, Nora!” Greg called from his front garden as I passed.

  “Hello,” I said, double checking to make sure I’d removed any signs I’d just been sat on the ground, knocked over by a dog.

  He approached the fence of the garden, resting an arm on top of a rake. “I’ve just been to yours, but you weren’t in.”

  I grinned, pointing at myself. “Nop
e, I’m right here.”

  He laughed. “I see that.”

  “What can I help you with?”

  “More like, what can I help you with?”

  I scrunched my brows together for a moment in thought. Perhaps I hadn’t cleaned myself as well as I thought my magic did. I brushed a hand through my hair. “I’m not sure,” I said.

  “Your garden.”

  “Oh.”

  “Well, your back garden,” he added. “I’ve been waiting to get my hands on it, wrangle the mess.”

  My face blushed. “You’ve seen it?”

  “I’ve seen it from the empty house beside yours,” he added. “I didn’t want to say anything, but I’d love to get in there and take a look at the situation.”

  Well, that was the initiative. He had been on my mind earlier, and Ivory had mentioned the grass was now without rodents. It couldn’t hurt to have him come and look at it. “Whenever you’re free,” I said.

  He dropped the rake and pulled his gloves off. “I can come by now,” he said.

  “Oh—well.”

  “If it’s not a good time for you, then—”

  I held a hand up. “Now’s great,” I said, taking a look at my wristwatch. “Perfect.”

  Greg only lived a couple houses away from mine. We walked down the road, enjoying the shift in weather. The winds were gone, and the sun was out shining once again.

  “I went to Maureen’s house,” I said.

  He hummed. “Is she doing okay?”

  “She has her own things going on,” I said. “I like the way she has decking in her garden. I’d like that. A shed, of course, perhaps a little compost heap.”

  He pursed his lips into an ‘o’ shape. “Thinking of gardening?”

  “Now I’ve taken on early retirement, I think it’s something I’d really like,” I said.

  There weren’t many jobs witches had, most of us were entrepreneurs, starting businesses to exploit our Goddess-given gifts. I’d toyed with the idea of reading fortunes, but there were so many versions of it played on TV, I’d probably need to add a bunch of theatrics for people to think it was worth their time. Although, I knew this is what my mother was doing in Scotland.

  “Well a compost heap is definitely great for fertilizing, and it’s great for recycling degradable foods for rich soil,” Greg said, explaining the benefits to me while I was away in thought.