Hauntings in the Garden, Volume One

by Wild Rose Press Authors

  Suddenly, I found myself lifted in the air. Preston’s hand ripped from mine. I screamed but quickly put a lid on it. This is what it wanted. It would feed off our fear and use it against us. How I knew this I had no idea but it was true. It had fed off my uncertainty and fear to mold itself into an almost corporeal shape. Without warning, I flew across the room where I rammed into the wall, landing on the floor with a dull thud.

  Lights and sounds dimmed. I felt Preston at my side and saw his lips moving but couldn’t make out his words. I turned my foggy attention to Father Pat when I saw him move out of the corner of my eye. He removed something from his coat, a long oddly-shaped crystal. Within seconds a bright green light shot from the end, perhaps two or three feet long. The green light gave his peaceful expression an eerie glow, though I’m not sure if it was the light I found eerie or the fact that his countenance of peace remained. I knew he internally fought the creature as I had.

  Chanting at the top of his lungs, Father Pat squared off with the monster. The creature issued a screech and backed up a few feet. The showdown began, Father Pat pressing his advantage and falling back to avoid strikes by the beast. He shouted in Latin during the duel, swinging the light toward the creature with each move. After many minutes passed, Father Pat found the opening he needed, and the light sliced through the creature’s neck. Light met black, good against evil. With a window-shattering bellow, the beast disappeared. The black-tar substance vanished, leaving a room full of bright sunshine, flooding in from outside. A soft sweet-smelling breeze gently blew through the broken windows.

  Preston helped me to my feet. “Are you hurt?”

  I shook my head. “No, I don’t think so.”

  Father Pat turned to us, then crumpled to the floor. We rushed to his side. I took his hand in mine and looked into his eyes. “Father Pat, are you okay? Do you need an ambulance?”

  “Do not fret, my dear. Just let me rest,” he said as his lids closed.

  Frantic, I looked at Preston.

  “Help me get him to a bedroom,” he said as he picked up Father Pat’s shoulders. I took his feet and we carried him down the stairs to the master bedroom. We laid him on the bed.

  “Thank you, my lambs,” the father said quietly and drifted to sleep.

  I looked at Preston. He wrapped his arms around me and gave me a fierce hug. “It’s over, Leslie.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief and buried my head in Preston’s chest. Finally, I could move on with my new life, and I had someone to share it with. I looked up into Preston’s bright blue eyes and surrendered to the knee-weakening kiss he placed on my lips.

  ****

  Enraged, Kamisis flew through the open air. No space to hide, no fear to feed him, no souls to consume. Instinct drove him to find an abode. The priest and that headstrong girl might have rooted him out of his longtime home, but he would find another suitable place. A particular dwelling with a sinister feel caught his attention. He took up residence on the top floor, immediately feeding off the malevolence of its owner. Kamisis grinned. Cyrus Marvel’s home would be the perfect place to rebuild his strength and continue his quest to acquire his once-corporeal body. For only then could he seek revenge on not only those that ousted him from his home, but those that caused his fall from heaven in the first place.

  Witch Familiar

  by

  Dayana Knight

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Witch Familiar

  COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Sharon L. Connors

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by RJ Morris

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Black Rose Edition, 2014

  Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-565-4

  Halloween Anthology 2014

  Published in the United States of America

  The monster hovered inches above his mother’s sleeping form. Hunter tried to scream, but no sound came. He tried to run, but his feet stuck as if glued to the floor. The hideous apparition turned its face to him, eyes glaring red, its wrinkled mouth forming a wide “o” as it turned back to his mother, lips crawled back revealing rows of hideously sharp teeth. Hunter tried to shift. If he could, maybe he could break loose from whatever held him. What good would it do even if he could shift? He was nothing but a helpless puppy.

  He watched her body wrench as the creature sucked her spirit from her slightly open lips. A glimmering silver-white essence poured from his mother into the mouth of the creature levitating above. Her skin grayed, and her body gave one final twitch and dropped to eternal stillness. The thing drifted past Hunter, its fiery eyes locked on him. Fear slithered through him even as whatever held him in place loosened, allowing Hunter to run down the little hallway toward the room he shared with his brother. His mind screaming, no! no! no!

  He reached the doorway and once again was locked in place as he watched the creature repeat the process and take his twin brother as well. Tears poured down his cheeks. His father was away, and it was up to him to protect them. He should have taken care of his mother and brother. How could he have let this happen?

  Hunter trembled as the thing turned toward him. Evil emanated sending a wave of cold tremors along his spine as it righted itself and hovered inches from the floor. Then it slid forward. The boy grimaced with the effort to move his feet, but he could not. Fear nauseated Hunter and shook his body. He watched as the horrid mouth yawned open, the monster now close enough to smell its foul breath.

  Hunter squeezed his eyes shut, pushing his arms out in defense, which passed right through the specter. “No! Stay away from me!”

  It moved closer, stopping within inches of the quivering boy. “You will live to suffer,” it rasped. “I just want to taste…”

  Hunter Colhen bolted upright, his head swiveling to take in the room. Fuck! Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his mouth felt grainy. He settled his feet on the wooden floor and stood. Moving out of the bedroom, he strode into the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of whiskey and a glass, then dropped into a chair at the trestle table and poured himself a drink. He swirled the liquid once, then downed it in a single gulp. He shook his head like a dog and snorted as the whiskey burned its way to his stomach.

  It had been a very long time since that nightmare had visited him. A nightmare he would much rather never visit again as living it had been enough. But the dream was also an omen. The sikkqui was back and active. For every time he dreamed about that night, the blasted creature reappeared to taunt him—and kill again.

  ****

  Breanna McShae carefully poured a thin line of salt to complete her circle casting with what she considered some success. This was her first attempt at a proper ritual on her new property. Here she would have no traffic or life sounds other than nature’s song, one of the positives of living in this remote mountain town. She had only to do the blessing and finally place her request to the Lady and Lord.

  As she gathered her thoughts and placed her offerings about the altar, she startled at what sounded suspiciously like the sneeze of a dog. Breanna rounded in the direction of the noise. It had come from deeper in the forest. With her circle drawn she held no fear, though she wondered what a dog would be doing out here alone. Disruption dismissed, she turned back to the task at hand.

  Arms raised overhead, Breanna began. “I call upon the Elements for I need your aid this eve,” she called as she
walked counter-clockwise from the north, stopping to light each of the four directional candles. “Welcome, Lady and Lord to this circle. I stand between worlds with love and power all around. I welcome you with purpose and a request.”

  Setting down the ceremonial dagger, Breanna picked up the chalice and poured some wine into it, then held it up in offering. “I give this wine in offering, Lady and Lord.” She poured a small amount in the offering bowl, then took a small sip, placing the chalice on the altar. She rang a crystal bell, and then clapped in succession three times. A light breeze picked up, tickling her hair around her face. Energy danced about the circle, prickling her skin with goose bumps. The flames of the candles danced.

  “I ask of you a small but important request, dear Lady and Lord. I am in need of a familiar and call upon your grace to guide me. I thank you for your patience with me, your servant, and am blessed to be in your presence. So with a hopeful heart I bear my request, so mote it be. Blessings, Lady and Lord. I humbly await your direction.”

  Ringing the bell once more, Breanna clapped three times, then standing with feet spread and arms raised skyward, she chanted. “I acknowledge my needs and appreciation of that which sustains me! May I always remember the blessings of the Lady and Lord.”

  Breanna completed her offering of thanks and proceeded to close the circle, remembering to disperse the elemental energies back into the earth by bending forward, palms planted flat on the ground. The prickly sensation of power slowly ebbed back from whence it had come. “Earth, my body. Water, my blood. Air, my breath. And Fire, my spirit. I thank you, the elements, for your aid.”

  On a quiet sigh, Breanna opened the circle with a nudge of her toe and packed up her wares. “That seemed to go well,” she said with a small smile, then glanced around the clearing and at the cottage-styled home in the distance.

  She reflected quietly on her gratefulness to have been able to leave the ho-hum nine-to-five life of a medical assistant. Breanna thanked her lucky stars yet felt great sadness and loss. She planned on doing her recently passed grandmother honor by continuing her charities and aiding any volunteer services she could.

  Right now she was enjoying her sabbatical from everyday life and not missing the hustle and bustle of suburban life at all while she settled into her new home. She would hold the memory of her grandmother always tucked close in her heart and mind. And Breanna knew Gram would want her to live life, not hide herself away in loss and grief.

  ****

  The gray wolf crawled beneath the undergrowth to peer into the small clearing. A soft whispered chant had drawn the wolf’s curiosity as he lumbered through the forest. Tall pines created a natural circle, and a flattened rock stood perfectly centered and northward in the moonlit circle. A few candles flickered on the makeshift altar. The wolf noted other wares such as a chalice, a plate bearing fruit and herbs and an offering bowl set about the rock surface on a white silk cloth. A petite cloaked female walked a slow circle widdershins or counter-clockwise around the rock centerpiece, sprinkling salt as she moved. Soft words drifted on the light wind as she stopped, raised her arms skyward, chanted, then lit each of the four elemental candles she passed.

  Shivering as an electrical impulse shot through its body, the wolf felt compelled to approach the witch. The pull intensified with each word the woman chanted. He belly crawled several inches forward. The sensation of the draw teased that he and the witch were connected somehow. No, that wasn’t right—

  Incense tickled the wolf’s sensitive nose. He silently backed out of the undergrowth moving farther into the trees. Eh chew! The sneeze exploded from the gray, disturbing the stillness of the dark forest. Shaking his massive head to clear his sinuses of the sweet scent of incense, he hoped he’d moved far enough away from the witch as not to disturb her circle casting.

  He sensed rather than saw her beauty. As she turned within her circle, he admired her petite stature, sun-kissed tendrils lifting in the breeze above a heart-shaped face with full pink lips. It translated to a beauty he’d love to further investigate. As he watched her graceful movements, a stirring tickled the pit of his stomach, much like the butterfly sensation a pleasant memory brings on in one’s belly. She drew a response from him he couldn’t quite put into words. Something no woman had ever done. But he didn’t have time to consider the odd feelings. He needed to track farther north before autumn turned to winter. Needed to keep hunting before the snow covered the scent.

  ****

  Breanna swept the cobwebs and debris off the quaint wraparound porch of her newly-purchased cottage house. The old porch swing needed a coat of paint and a new cushion but would make a wonderful place to meditate and enjoy fair weather communes with nature. Her pride and joy cottage included several acres of mountain forest land. The grand sell to her was the small clearing just on the other side of the tree line at the back of the house—a perfect setting to practice her magick. She’d never have been able to purchase something like this if it hadn’t been for her grandmother’s fine investment skills. Her dream come true, however, sadness bled into her excitement. She’d lost her grandmother last year. They’d been close, and she missed her dearly. Wished with all her heart Gram could see her happiness and experience her growing power in the craft. A craft Gram, herself, had painstakingly taught her.

  Breanna had inherited a large sum of money, investments and some properties the matriarch green witch of the McVei family had acquired over the years. After discussing some ideas with her lawyer, Breanna decided to sell off all but a few of her grandmother’s income properties and had found this place purely by accident. Actually, she had somehow been drawn to it. Strange but that was exactly how she’d gotten here.

  Batting at some more cobwebs near the front door, she smiled. She’d been hiking through the forest seeking herbs to stock her spell coffers when she happened into the little clearing. Her skin tingled and her powers seemed to spike as she approached the flat rock at the center. A ley line…running right below the natural altar and across the clearing. Hmm…She’d drawn on the line’s power and followed it east and found the cottage. It’s perfect, she thought, and it looks empty.

  She ventured to the front of the property and spied the For Sale sign. And well…the rest was, as they say, history.

  The sudden flutter of wings drew Breanna from her thoughts. Trailing her gaze to the origin of the disruption, she peered into the beady black stare of a raven—a rather large raven. She shielded her eyes for a better look. The bird cocked its head and stared back at her. A slither of discomfort slid along Breanna’s spine. The bird seemed to look her straight in the eyes, seemed to look into her soul. Her discomfort blossomed into curiosity. She wiped her dusty hands down the front of her old faded jeans and brushed at the webs clinging to the front of her black knit top. Was this her intended familiar? Was this the animal sent to her per her request?

  The raven suddenly took to the sky, circled once and flew away. Breanna resumed sweeping. Hmm…if the bird is my intended animal familiar it will return.

  ****

  The sikkqui stood in the shadows of the forest’s edge. It smiled an ugly grin. “Such a pure soul and a witch—a powerful little witch, at that. Sssooon,” it hissed. “Soon I will eat your essence.”

  The creature shimmered in and out of view and disappeared.

  ****

  Anger flowed like an electrical current through Hunter. The ax bit violently into the oak. Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Each hit vibrated through his body and into the ground below him. Sweat ran into his eyes, burning and blinding him. He thrust a sleeved arm across them, slamming the ax with the free arm into the stump. The anger festered from years of searching for the sikkqui, responsible for sucking the life out of his twin brother and their mother. He and his father had been hunting the creature since that fateful day twenty-five years ago.

  Every time they got close, the thing would disappear, sometimes for years, only to resurface and taunt them again. Now it was back. His father since
gone—he’d died in a recent pack war. One more reason Hunter enjoyed a solitary existence. He had neither time nor patience for the politics of the pack. He preferred to take care of himself, depend on himself.

  Heavy storm clouds darkened the late afternoon sky. The first fat drops of rain fell cool on his hot skin jarring him back to the present. He stacked and covered the fresh cut wood with a plastic tarp, pulled the ax out of the stump, then moved toward the cabin. He reached the porch just as the skies opened. Lightning crackled behind him, reflecting off the window glass, and wind whipped through the tall pines, bending the tops almost ninety degrees. He threw the door open and stepped in as a blast of thunder vibrated the atmosphere. As he turned to shut the door against the strong gusts, he caught a figure in his periphery. He turned toward what appeared to be a hag in a long, worn, black-hooded cape. The woman looked ancient—crone-like. Fangs rested against her bottom lip or seemed to. Details faded almost the instant he turned his attention to her or it. The next moment the apparition blinked in and out of focus, then disappeared.

  Shit! What the fuck?

  Before he could think much about the apparition, the flap of wings distracted him. He glanced into the tree line to see a large raven light off a heavy branch and circle north across the stormy sky. The size of the bird caught his attention. It seemed much larger than any raven he’d ever seen.

  Hmm…a shifter? Too far away to see the eyes, which was a good indicator, especially to another shifter. He shrugged and closed the door.

  ****

  After a quick shower, Hunter pulled on a pair of jeans and slipped a long-sleeved knit shirt over his damp head. The sun burned orange and purple in the late afternoon sky. Though late in the day, Hunter still needed to go into town and get some supplies and groceries as well as stop at Nadyia’s Apothecary to pick up some wolf’s bane. He’d used the last of it a couple of weeks ago when he’d tangled with a bear during one of his midnight runs. Hunter smiled at the thought of people using the herb to protect themselves from werewolves when in reality it aided weres to heal wounds. Funny how stories passed down for centuries tell their own truths and somehow become fact.