Horrorbook

by A. R. Braun

  Delia rubbed her back. “I feel so much love. The spirits will watch over us.”

  They broke the embrace. Heather looked up at her, grinning. “Blue Star rocks!”

  Delia smiled, brushing Heather’s hair out of her eyes. Then Delia turned and used the snuffer to put out the candles. “Never use the air element against the fire element.”

  Heather nodded. “That smells good.”

  Delia gathered the tools, leaving the candles for Heather to smell. Perhaps it will help her rest. “It’s time for bed.”

  “Kay. Goodnight.” Heather hopped into bed.

  “Sleep tight.” Delia kissed her forehead and walked out, closing the door. “Thank you, Pan, for your protection.” She went back to her bedroom, shutting her door and climbing back into bed. Delia fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

  A rustling noise at her bedroom door woke Delia. She looked at the clock: midnight. She hesitantly glanced at the window, but nothing lurked there.

  The suffocating smell dominated the room even worse than before. “Oh, God, what now?” Delia got out of bed and started, feeling mud beneath her feet.

  Trembling, she looked at the carpet.

  Muddy tracks stopped at the foot of her bed.

  Delia’s heart leaped. Oh my God, someone broke into my house!

  She followed the tracks, tip-toeing into the hall. They led to the living room. Her feet squished on the loamy, cold residue. Delia followed them to the front door . . . which stood open. The tracks led into the night.

  With shaking legs, she shut the door and locked it, shivering from the cool night air.

  Panic took her mind as a thief. What if that homeless man broke in here and felt me up?

  The stench filled the whole house.

  “Mom?” Heather asked, rubbing her eyes as she walked into the living room. “What smells so bad?”

  Delia went to Heather and put an arm around her. “Let’s get you back to bed, kiddo.” She walked Heather into her bedroom and turned back the covers for her. She tucked her daughter in. The child looked at Delia with a furrowed brow.

  “Who tracked mud in?” Heather asked.

  “I don’t know, but I’m calling the police.” Delia headed toward the kitchen, where the cordless phone’s cradle sat on the counter. She snatched up the phone and dialed 911.

  “I’ve checked all around the outside of the house, Ma’am,” the young, muscular officer with hair cut so short he almost had a shaven head said. “He’s nowhere in sight.” The cold spring air drifted in as they stood in the doorway.

  Delia stepped back, motioning with her arm. “Please come in.”

  He walked in, surveying the home. “Nice house.” Then he wrinkled his nose and spotted the muddy footsteps. “Uh oh; what stinks in here?”

  “I woke up at midnight and found the door open. The tracks lead to my bed, and then stop.”

  “Did you check everywhere inside?”

  Delia shook her head. “I’m afraid to. The horrible smell’s all through the house.”

  Seriousness was in his eyes. “I’ll search the home.” He flicked on his flashlight and spoke into his radio. “Looks like we’ve got a break in at eight twenty-seven Juniper Street…”

  Delia chewed her fingernails as she watched him walk off. She moved to Heather’s room, opening the door gingerly to check on her. The nightlight showed her daughter sleeping soundly.

  Delia walked back into the living room.

  The officer came back, frowning. “I didn’t find anything. Just to be safe, why don’t you take your daughter to stay with your parents or a friend’s house tonight?”

  Delia shook her head. “I’m not letting whoever it is scare me out of my own home.”

  “How about just your daughter, then?”

  “You’re right. I’ll call Dad.”

  He nodded. “How’s your daughter taking it?”

  Delia frowned. “She’s sleeping.”

  “Good.” He stared a bit with his bright green eyes. “I’ll be parked a couple houses down, keeping a lookout. Goodnight, Ma’am.”

  “Goodnight.”

  The officer went out the door and turned toward the cruiser.

  Delia hesitated where closing the door was concerned. She looked up at the full moon, which shone with a gray and white brilliance. The face of Pan, her Wiccan god, leered down on her from the midst of the orb. Thank you, god and goddess, for the blessings today.

  She shut and locked the door, walked to the kitchen and called her father. It rang five times.

  “Hello? Bruce here.” his raspy voice said.

  “Dad; it’s Delia. Sorry to wake you up.”

  “What’s wrong? Why are you calling this late?”

  “I think someone broke in here. Could Heather stay at your house tonight?”

  “Oh my goodness. Sure; are you staying too?”

  Delia tossed her hair out of her eyes. “No. I’m going to wait it out. See what happens. I’m not letting some nut scare me out of my domain.”

  “Tell you what. I’ll bring you my magnum. At least you’ll be safe.”

  “No, Dad, no guns.”

  He hung up.

  Delia made sure all the doors were locked, along with the windows. She sat on the couch and waited.

  A loud knock on the door woke Delia. Oh no, I fell asleep. She hurried to the door, opened it and her burly, gray-haired dad stood before her. He sported a plaid shirt, jeans and brown work boots.

  “How you doing, pumpkin?” he asked, stepping in.

  “Hi, Dad; I’m fine.” She gave him a hug, and he patted her back. She pulled back a bit. “I’m a bit shaken up.”

  Her father smiled, still holding her. “You sure you don’t want to come too?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve got to protect my fort.”

  “All right.” He released her. “Where’s my granddaughter?”

  “I let her sleep. I’ll get her.”

  Her dad sighed. “Let’s get a move on. It’s late.”

  Delia took off for Heather’s room. She opened the door, turned on the light, walked over and shook her. The lingering scents of the candles, incense and coal haunted her. “Poppy, wake up.”

  Heather turned toward her, flicking her eyelids. “What now, Mom?”

  “I want you to stay with Grandpa tonight.”

  Heather frowned, rubbing her eyes again. “Grandpa? Why?”

  “Just get dressed. It’s not safe here right now.”

  Heather got up, throwing a pair of jeans, sneakers and a purple shirt with green flowers over her pajamas. “If nothing bad happens tonight, can I come home tomorrow?”

  “We’ll see.” Delia’s heart broke seeing the girl woken up three times in the middle of the night. “Are you scared, Poppy?”

  Heather shook her head, but confidence wasn’t in her eyes.

  “I think someone broke in here,” Delia continued. “I’m a bit scared, even if you’re not.” She sighed. “Do you think we’d feel better if Dad was here?”

  Heather smirked. “If Daddy was here, you’d need someone to protect you from him.”

  Delia smiled. “All right, Angel. Come on.”

  Lugging her pink rucksack, now full of her books and supplies, Heather followed her.

  Delia’s Dad stood holding the magnum. He set it in a chair.

  Heather’s eyes lit up. “Grandpa!” She ran and hugged him.

  “Hi, sweetie; ready for a sleep-over?”

  “Um-hmm.”

  Delia put her hands on her hips. “Really, Dad, a handgun?”

  He let go of Heather, picked up the gun, walked toward Delia and handed it to her. “If anything happens, I want you to be protected. It’s loaded.”

  Delia sighed and took the gun, uncomfortable while looking over the hard, black beast.

  Her dad walked toward Heather and put his arm around her, moving her toward the now open door. “Come on, Sugar Pie. Let’s get you to bed.” He walked through the thr
eshold and then craned his head around. “Goodnight, honey. Be safe.”

  Delia nodded. “Goodnight.” She followed them and shut the door.

  She looked out the window, and sure enough, a patrol car sat a couple houses down. That calmed her a bit.

  Knowing the cop had searched the house made her feel a little safer. Yet she still worried. It didn’t mean the homeless man wasn’t hiding in here somewhere, but she pushed the thought out of her mind.

  Some thoughts were just too much to take.

  Once in her bedroom, she pulled down the blinds and closed the curtains. Delia slid into bed. I have to be at work at eight. I’d better get some sleep.

  Delia woke in the morning, the magnum still sitting on the dresser. Realizing nothing else had happened, she felt a lot calmer and knew the police presence had scared the hobo goblin away. She didn’t want Heather back home until she was completely sure the house was secure, however. Delia trudged toward the bathroom.

  After a hot and soothing shower, she put coffee on and drank the whole pot while she ate breakfast. Then Delia went to work.

  She booked three trips to Greece. After work, she called her dad from the phone in the kitchen.

  “Del?” he asked.

  “Dad, yes; I don’t think it’s quite safe enough for Heather to come home yet. Nothing happened last night, but I want to be sure. Can you hold onto her for another night?”

  “Sure, honey. Glad you were safe.”

  Delia heard squealing in the background.

  “Heather wants to talk to you.” The mechanical impersonations of footsteps, talking and air blowing into the phone came through the receiver.

  “Mom?” Heather almost screamed.

  “Hi. How are you, Poppy?”

  “Can I come home?”

  Delia sighed, feeling sad. “Let’s give it one more night, honey. I want to make sure it’s safe when you come back.”

  “Oh, Mom! I wanna come home!”

  “You will, you will. Just not tonight, okay?”

  “God.”

  “Now listen.” Delia frowned. “You be a good girl for Grandpa. Then tomorrow night, I’ll buy you the whole Teen Wiccan series as a reward, okay?”

  Heather squealed again, hurting Delia’s ear. “Really?”

  “No phony bologna.”

  “Wow! You’re the best mom ever!”

  Delia chuckled. “Be the best daughter ever.”

  “I will. Love you, Mommy.”

  “Love you, too. Bye.” Delia hung up, missing Heather greatly; it was more important that the child was secure, however.

  Stay safe, kiddo.

  It took a couple of hours for Delia to fall asleep since her daughter was gone. An empty feeling assaulted her, forging a void in her heart. It was truly a dark night of the soul.

  After cleaning up the muddy footprints with the Rug Doctor, Delia drove to the video store. Delia bought the Teen Wiccan movies and also rented a movie called The Inquisition, about the Catholic and Presbyterian atrocities.

  Delia made some popcorn, sprinkled it with butter salt, and brought the huge bowl to the living room, along with a bottle of strawberry wine and a wine glass. Engrossed with the documentary, she didn’t stir until it ended. She couldn’t believe what her sisters of old had gone through.

  A knock came to her door. She’d called Miriam from work and asked her to come over to cast a protection spell.

  Delia rose and answered it.

  The plump woman with long, coal hair and glasses smiled. She wore a black dress cut into zigzags at the bottom. “Merry meet.”

  “Merry meet.” Delia motioned inward. “Come in.”

  “Sorry it took so long, but I had to finish up a class I was teaching, and you know how they like to gab about the craft.” Miriam walked in, looking at the DVD. “That’s the one I told you about.”

  “It was great.”

  Miriam nodded, looking serious. “So you’re having problems with a trespasser?”

  Delia nodded.

  “For a protection spell, there are some things you need to know. You’ve probably heard of that stupid horror movie called The Craft, right?”

  “Why, yes. I thought it was pretty good.”

  “Well, I actually want to debunk horror. In the movie, they invoke. Never invoke. Taking all the power of the God into them is what drives people insane.”

  “Huh?”

  Miriam shook her head. “Just tell the god ‘Come be with me’ instead of invoking. Then, when you’ve finished the spell, tell the god, ‘I release you.’ That way you can keep your wits about you because you’ll need them. Sometimes spells can go wrong. Do you understand?”

  Delia nodded. “I think so.”

  “I’ve got some books for you. A good author is Scott Cunningham, another is Silver Ravenwolf. I’ve written a couple, also.” Miriam whipped a black candle, a bag of betony, and a stone out of her purse. She lit the candle and handed it to Delia. “Keep this inside at all times.” Miriam placed the irradiated smoky quartz by the door, where she sprinkled the betony. “We’re done. That’ll be thirty-six dollars, please.”

  The next morning, with the threat still held at bay, Delia picked up the phone. “Dad, nothing happened last night, so I guess it’s safe for Heather to come back. Apparently, the police scared the freak away.”

  “I’m glad, honey,” he answered.

  “Did Heather behave?”

  He chuckled. “Like an angel.”

  “Good. Bring her by after I get off work.”

  “No problem. See you then.”

  At work, Delia was able to concentrate, enjoy her lunch, and arrive home calm enough to do a load of laundry. Then a knock came to the door. Delia dropped what she was doing and answered it.

  “Mommy!” Heather jumped into her arms, her wan legs locked around Delia’s waist.

  Delia hugged her tight. “I heard you were a good girl.”

  Heather gingerly pulled away from her mother’s neck and nodded.

  “So you know what that means!”

  Poppy squealed. “Oh, Momma, can we go buy ‘em now? Please?”

  “I already bought ‘em.” Delia retrieved them from the stacks of DVDs and gave them to her.

  “Oh, Mom, you rock!” Heather jumped into her arms again and gave her mother a bear hug.

  Delia put her down, then swatted her on the ass. “Go put your book bag away.”

  Poppy took off down the hall yelling unintelligible words.

  Delia handed the gun back to her father. “Dad, get this beast out of my house.”

  Her father grinned, then shook it at her. “This ‘beast,’ as you call it, might have been the only thing that saved you, had that lowlife showed up.”

  “Bye, Dad.” Smiling, Delia shut the door on him.

  Heather stormed into the living room. Delia watched the Teen Wiccan series with her, then, after supper, Heather read for the rest of the night after finishing her homework as Delia watched TV. The officer watching the house also came by and asked if everything had been kosher. After hearing that the prowler hadn’t shown up, the cop told her he’d be shoving off. Then Delia put her daughter to bed.

  Delia woke in the middle of the night and opened her eyes.

  Grinning, the homeless man was bent over her. The stench this close made bile rise up in her throat.

  Wide-eyed, Delia screamed.

  The bum screamed right back at her.

  Delia shot out of the right side of the bed like a cannonball and ran around him as he rose up.

  “Run, bitch!” he said to her back.

  Delia rushed to her daughter’s door and opened it, then closed and locked it. She threw on the light. Amber illumination flushed out the darkness.

  Heather stirred in her bed and rubbed her eyes. “Mom?” She had fear and grogginess in her voice.

  Delia grabbed Heather’s pink phone that sat on her pinker nightstand and called 911. “Quiet, baby.”

  “Why? What’s going on?
”

  “Shush. Hello? Yes, this is Delia Lawrence at 222 Runyon Street. Please send a squad car immediately. A homeless man broke into my house.”

  Banging came to Heather’s window. The child jumped and screamed. Delia flinched and her eyes went to the window.

  The homeless man stood laughing. He flipped her off.

  Protective mother’s instinct kicked in. Delia scowled. “Get the fuck away from my daughter’s window or I’ll kill you, you hobo!”

  He threw a bottle of booze in a brown wrapper at the window. The panes shattered.

  Delia jumped back, and Heather bounded off the bed and cowered in the corner, shaking.

  “Fuck you, whore!” He flipped her off again.

  With that he walked away.

  Delia breathed hard and felt as if she’d have a heart attack but didn’t. A siren headed toward her house.

  “We meet again.” The officer raised one eyebrow. “What did he do now?”

  Delia had found the entry door opened. More angry than disquieted (though the fear was palpable), she said in a low voice, “Come in.”

  He walked in, surveying the home again.

  Delia crossed her arms. “The bum was in here.”

  “Where, exactly?”

  “He was in my room, and he broke my daughter’s window.”

  He gave her a serious glance. “I’d get some protection. Along with mace and an alarm system, a gun would be a good idea. Just make sure you get a permit.”

  She nodded. “I will.”

  He looked her over. “Promise me.”

  “I promise.” She met his bright green eyes, then looked away shyly. Remembering how she’d found the door, she made eye contact again. “I found the front door open after he’d gotten in. You wouldn’t mind searching the house again, would you?”

  “Not at all.” He left to perform his obsequious duty. When he returned fifteen minutes later, he simply stared a bit, then shook his head. “I’ll watch the house again tonight. And I’ll drive by every so often to check for the assailant.”

  Delia smiled. “I appreciate it.”

  The officer nodded. “Well, goodnight, Ma’am.” The cop started to head off.

  “It’s . . .”

  He stopped.

  “It’s Delia.”