The Witches of Dark Root

by April Aasheim [paranormal]

“Coincidence.”

  “Yeah, right.” He thought for a moment, scratching his head. “I’ve read about this on the internet. Electro-kinesis. You manipulate the energy of electrical devices like the radio and cell phone. It’s a pretty rare gift...”

  “The internet? Oh, then it has be true,” I said dryly, pretending to bite on my nails.

  I was angry at him, but I wasn’t sure why. His references to Eve? His talk of Dark Root? His insistence that I was...something? And why was he so excited about me being special? Was he like Michael? Hoping to use my so-called powers for his own gain?

  “I may be able to turn a radio off, or pop a light bulb once in a while,” I snapped, my anger growing. “But I have no control over these things, they just happen. And maybe they really are all just coincidences. So no, Shane, I am not a witch, if that is the burning question you are dying to ask me...”

  “I never called you a witch.” He turned, giving me his full attention.

  “Wilder, then.”

  He looked sorry for me and went to squeeze my hand, but I pulled back. No, he hadn’t called me either of those things, but the words wilder and witch were my labels back in Dark Root. Labels I had tried to leave behind.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, staring back at the dark road before us. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  I took a deep breath and nodded, accepting his apology. I knew I was being overly sensitive.

  We had escaped the darkness of the forest, and had come to a large area where most of the trees had been cleared. Shane turned off his high-beams and we picked up our pace. Neither of us spoke, and with the radio off, the silence was painful.

  Finally, our headlights caught a sign.

  Welcome to Dark Root. Where Every Day Is Halloween.

  Shane lifted his chin and hit the gas, ready to unload his troublesome cargo.

  “Where we headed to?” Shane asked, as we drove down the back roads of Dark Root towards the downtown proper. He had a weariness to his voice, and I could tell he wanted to get home himself. We passed houses I recognized from my childhood, large Victorian structures, many dark and boarded over. Had they been that way before I left? Or had I been only one of many people who had fled the town?

  “Do you know where Harvest Home is?” I asked.

  Of course he had to know. Harvest Home was the largest house in Dark Root, and the only Bed and Breakfast in the area. At least it was seven years ago.

  He nodded. “I kinda guessed you weren’t going straight to your ma’s. At least not until...”

  He let his words trail off.

  “...I have a few drinks,” I finished for him.

  He laughed at my joke, and I was glad. I knew that I had frustrated him on our ride and I was grateful for how he had saved me. I had a few triggers, namely magic and my mother, and he had pushed them. But I knew he hadn’t meant to upset me.

  “Bring back memories?” He relaxed as we headed onto Main Street. It was dark and hard to see, but I could feel that something wasn’t right. The shops didn’t look the same. I was going to ask him about that, but decided I could only take so much news in one sitting.

  As we approached the intersection where Miss Sasha’s Magick Shoppe sat, I looked down.

  Shane had said Mother closed the shop, and I couldn’t bear to look at it.

  Shane relieved my guilt by pointing to the cafe across the street, where Delilah’s Deli used to sit.

  “There’s my shop,” he said. I could hear the pride in his voice. “...And my home. I have an apartment directly above it, in the attic.”

  Dip Stix Cafe sat quiet and unassuming, with only a hand-painted sign in front to let anyone know it existed at all.

  I laughed, unable to help myself. “I’ve got to ask. Why did you name it Dip Stix?”

  His eyes glowed mischievously in the dark. “That, my dear, is a secret. You will just have to come by and see for yourself.”

  I smiled. His enthusiasm was endearing, if a little dorky.

  I squinted my eyes to get a better look. The building was the same, but the paint looked fresh and there were new, striped awnings over the windows and door. A welcome sight in rainy Oregon.

  “Business good?” I asked, genuinely interested.

  Shane’s eyes took on a faraway look as he drove forward, leaving Main Street. “Could be better.” He shrugged. “But I have the feeling my luck is about to change.” He gave me a sideways look. “Next stop, Harvest Home.”

  He turned left onto a long, winding road.

  “It will be a kick to have the gang together again,” he said, bobbing his head. “I hope you do decide to stay. At least for awhile.”

  The road took a sharp right turn, and Shane followed it, turning smoothly. He must have driven this a few times. At the end of the road sat Harvest Home, the crown jewel of our town. It was supposedly built by Juliana Benbridge’s sister, Corelia, in the early 1900’s and still retained most of its original charms.

  “My lady,” he said, gesturing out the window as we pulled into the full view of the house.

  Even in the dark, I could tell it was just as magnificent as I remembered. Painted an ocean blue that never seemed to fade, trimmed with white shingles and shudders, complete with a brick chimney and wraparound porch, it was a storybook house. It looked as pristine and out of place in Dark Root as I felt. Which made me love it all the more.

  “Thanks,” I said, wondering if he could sense the anxiety building inside of me.

  I leaned forward, trying to peer through the windshield. It was late and everyone inside was probably sleeping. There were two cars in the driveway, a black Explorer and a maroon sedan. I wasn’t sure which one was Merry’s.

  “Maybe I should come back in the morning,” I said, though I had no idea where I would spend the night. Dark Root didn’t have any motels.

  “You should call someone,” Shane said.

  It was funny how easily I could forget about the benefits of technology after living in near seclusion for the last few years.

  I was about to call Merry, when the front door opened and a figure emerged. Short, curvy, and bouncy. Merry.

  She ran to me, giggling, pale hair flapping behind her like a curtain in the breeze. The flowers that lined the path perked up and the limbs of the trees bowed as she made her way down the cobblestone path. I thought about running to her, embracing her and spinning her around.

  But I didn’t. Instead, I stood at the car and waited for her to come to me.

  “Maggie! Oh, Maggie, I missed you. I was so worried. We went to the bus station but you didn’t come out when you were supposed to. Didn’t you get my messages?”

  I turned on my phone. Four new messages flashed across the screen.

  “Sorry,” I said, with a light shrug. “I like to be fashionably late.”

  “You are our mother’s daughter,” Merry said, grinning.

  She took my hands, swinging them like she used to, when we played clapping games as children. Her hands were warm and I could feel that familiar tingle creep through my fingers, up my limbs, and course through my entire body. She was feeding me energy and probably taking in some of my exhaustion, as well.

  I pulled my hands away before I poisoned her.

  “This is Shane. He gave me a ride.” I gave him a look that he hopefully caught. I didn’t want anyone to know about the incident at the bar.

  Shane extended a hand and Merry shook it gently. I watched with interest as he was jolted with her spark. I could almost see him glow.

  “Pleasure’s mine,” he said, placing his other hand over the top of hers.

  I resisted the urge to jump in. I had learned to stop saving my sister from vampires years ago. She didn’t need me then. She certainly didn’t need me now.

  “We’ve met, Shane,” she said, squeezing his hands. “When we were kids. You played with Eve.”

  “The geeky boy,” I added.

  Merry shot me a disapproving look and I flushed. Here I was, in her pr
esence a mere three minutes, and already I was incurring things I would need to repent for.

  “I remember you, too, Merry.” Shane put his hands in his front pocket, then he turned to me. “You gonna be okay?”

  He was looking for permission to go, so I let him off the hook.

  “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay, then. I’m off, ladies.” He tipped an imaginary hat. “Dip Stix opens at nine in the morning, if you want to come by. I make a mean biscuits and gravy. Bring the whole family, of course.” He turned, sauntering off to his vehicle.

  “Cute.” Merry said, as we watched him drive away. Her pale pink nightgown fluttered around her, though there was not a hint of wind. “Is he yours?”

  I laughed. “Nope. Not even a little. I’ve sworn off men. All they do is break your heart and eat your junk food.”

  Merry looped her arm through mine and we practically skipped towards the house.

  I had told Shane that there was no magic in Dark Root, but I was wrong. As long as Merry was here, there was magic. In my sister’s presence, I was a kid again and I could believe in anything. My shield was falling, and by the time we got to the door, I was smiling so broadly my face hurt. I hadn’t smiled like that in years.

  “We going to wake Miss Rosa?” I asked, cautiously peeping in.

  Miss Rosa, one of Mother’s oldest friends and the owner of Harvest Home, had let us play here when we were children, but didn’t like noise after ‘certain hours.’ Though I was glad to be here, I did wonder why Merry had chosen to stay here, instead of our own house or one of the motels in a neighboring town.

  Most likely, it was as nostalgic for her as it was for me.

  “Oh, Maggie, I thought you knew.” Merry paused in the doorframe as the light from the stairwell cast a halo over her delicate face. “Miss Rosa is in a nursing home. The doctors don’t give her long to live. Aunt Dora is looking after the place until they find a buyer. This might be the last chance we have to see Harvest Home before it’s sold to a stranger.”

  Harvest Home sold? To a stranger?

  The thought of Harvest Home being owned by someone other than Miss Rosa made me sick. Merry sensed my dismay and brightened.

  “The good news is,” she said, squeezing my hand. “We get to stay here for a few weeks, while we get Mom’s place situated. One last trip down memory lane.”

  I nodded, not sharing in her enthusiasm.

  Things were changing, and I didn’t like it. I frowned, stepping into the house and closing the door behind me. Once inside, I looked around. It wasn’t as dark as I had anticipated. Night-lights, lamps, and even an old candelabra helped to illuminate the main floor.

  That was a relief. By day, Harvest Home was lovely.

  By night, it was almost spooky.

  The living room was huge, but not as large as I remembered. Maybe because my standards of large had changed since Woodhaven...or because childhood memories had a way of expanding places and people into giants in your mind.

  But it was still pretty darn big.

  To the right of the entrance was a set of ornate, red-velvet sofas that faced one another, accented by end tables covered in doilies and fake flowers in glass vases. A sleek, wooden, coffee table with lion’s feet had been placed stoically between the sofas, speckled with glass coasters and a stack of Ladies’ Home Journals. Built-in shelves covered the walls, stuffed with old books and the strange knick-knacks we had ogled as children, but were never allowed to touch. Miss Rosa claimed that most were antiques, some older than the house itself.

  To the left, in a partially walled-off side room, was an elegant dining room table surrounded by thirteen high-backed chairs.

  Three empty candelabras sat on the table and I remembered how they had once housed tall candles of various colors: reds, whites, violets, and blues. Merry and I had taken a few purple candles once and tried to conduct a fake séance.

  Miss Rosa quickly reported our doings to our mother and we were forbidden from going to Harvest Home for an entire month.

  “There are things out there,” our mother chastised us. “...That you children do not understand.”

  Merry tapped my shoulder and pointed to a grand piano in the corner of the dining area.

  I had been allowed to accompany Uncle Joe on the piano during holidays and special events, and though I knew I wasn’t as good as he was, he always made a big deal about my talent. I felt a pang in my heart as I realized I would never play alongside him again.

  “You still play?” Merry asked.

  I shook my head. I had planned on playing at her wedding, but then she eloped.

  There didn't seem to be much point after that.

  The one new item in the room was a large, flat-screen TV. Two over-sized chairs were aimed in its direction, proof that Aunt Dora really did occupy this space now.

  I could smell something delicious coming from the kitchen and my stomach growled in response.

  Merry laughed, throwing her head back. “I saved you something from dinner. Come see.”

  She motioned for me to follow her into the kitchen, and I sat myself down at the small, round table. Merry removed a plate wrapped in foil from the oven. She pulled back the wrap to reveal two drumsticks covered in crumbs and fried in oil.

  I was practically salivating. I hadn’t had Aunt Dora’s fried chicken since I was a kid. I picked up a leg, raised it in her honor, and took a big bite.

  “With cooking like this, I can’t believe our Aunt never married,” I said.

  Merry leaned over the table, propped up on elbows, and watched me finish every last bite. When I was done she gave me a warm smile.

  “Good girl,” she said, handing me a napkin.

  “Want to talk now?” I asked, pushing the empty plate away. I was still in the dark about what had happened to our mother, and though I wasn’t relishing this conversation, I knew it had to come.

  “Not now,” she said, lowering her eyes. “Let’s rest up first and we can have a family conversation tomorrow. It’s better that way.” She came to me, practically pulling my limp body from the chair, and pushed me up the stairs.

  “But I don’t wanna go to bed, mommy,” I teased, and she laughed. When we were kids, Eve and I called her mommy because she was always fussing after us. When we got a little older we dubbed her Mother Merry, a nickname she seemed to like.

  Harvest Home had four themed bedrooms and I couldn’t wait to see which one we were sleeping in.

  “This is your room,” she said, pointing towards a door that I remembered as the flora and fauna collection. An overly fluffy room in shades of powder pink and lilac purple. Not my favorite. I would have preferred the Midnight Oasis theme, but as long as I was there with Merry, I didn’t care. I quietly opened the door and she gave me a quick hug.

  “You’re not sleeping here?” I asked, and she shook her head. I peered into the room and could see the silhouette of a sleeping body in the King-sized bed. “Eve got here before me?”

  I should have known.

  “Yes, several hours ago, in fact.”

  “What about her ‘friend’? He’s not sleeping in there, too?”

  “His name is Paul, and I think he really is just a friend,” Merry smiled. “...Much to Eve’s chagrin. He seems like a nice guy, though. Drove her all the way here from New York. He’s sleeping in the attic until we get a room cleaned up for him.”

  “The attic? That place gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

  “I was worried, too. But he just cleared out a space, blew up an air mattress, and went to bed. Acted like sleeping in an attic full of giant porcelain dolls was the most natural thing in the world. If Eve can hook this one, she should keep him. She might never find another guy who can put up with these sorts of eccentricities...”

  “No kidding,” I said.

  That went for any of us, I supposed.

  Merry brushed a strand of hair off of my shoulders. “We’ll catch up tomorrow. I still have that surprise for you.”
/>
  I smiled to reassure her. I would have relished snuggling under the covers with her all night, sharing secrets and catching up. Instead I was stuck with Eve.

  I said goodnight to Merry and crept inside the bedroom.

  Eve stirred under the blanket, but her steady breathing told me she was still asleep. I envied her. She could sleep through Armageddon if she needed to.

  I quietly kicked off my shoes and wriggled out of my skirt, pulling off all of my long-sleeved shirts before crawling into bed. I should have brushed my teeth first, I thought, but I was too tired to find my toothbrush. A yucky mouth in the morning was a small price to play for a good night’s sleep.

  I slid under the blanket, mentally marked the invisible line that separated my side of the bed from hers, fluffed my pillow, and lay my head down for the night. I heard Eve take a deep breath beside me and I held still so I wouldn’t wake her.

  But it was too late.

  “Sissy,” she said, yawning. “You’re late.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “No problem. It gave me and Merry a chance to hang out.”

  She gave me a kiss on the shoulder and draped an arm across my waist. Her smell was familiar, an earthy scent.

  I just laid there, still and unmoving, waiting for her to fall back to sleep.

  At last, her breathing deepened.

  I inched my way out from under her arm and onto the edge of the bed. Sleep hit me like a punch in the face and I succumbed to it, knowing I would need all my energy for the things still to come.

  Eight: Maggie May

  Harvest Home, Dark Root, Oregon

  June, 1994

  Maggie sat frozen in the upstairs hallway, her head turning robotically from one side to the other, trying to decide on her next move. She could hear footsteps plodding up the wooden staircase behind her and she cocked her head to determine if it was one set or two.

  Her pursuer’s breathing was excited and labored, and like her, looking for a place to rest.

  Maggie spotted Merry standing in the hallway and she ran for her sister. Maggie took her hand, and the two girls moved through the corridor together, passing doors with various words chiseled on plaques. Some rooms Maggie was familiar with, while others were forbidden.