Somebody Tell Aunt Tillie She's Dead (Toad Witch Series, Book One)

by Christiana Miller

  I looked up, expecting the sudden noise to have frightened her away, but she was still there, giving me the hairy eyeball. As much as ghosts can, at least. Not what I was expecting, at all.

  "I see not much housecleaning has been going on since my passing," she sniffed, offended by the state of her cottage.

  "I just got here." I protested. "This place is gorgeous, by the way. You took great care of it."

  She seemed slightly mollified at that. "Of course, dear. It's my home."

  "Was. It was your home." She gave me a narrow-eyed look that should have shut me up, if I had any sense. But I was so tired, my mouth just kept babbling on without me. "I mean, I'm okay with sharing, but it's my home now. You died and left it to me."

  If looks could singe, my hair would have burst into flames. But what the heck. Best to make the living situation clear up front, right? Rather than get into a fight about who had the right to live where?

  I couldn't help staring at Aunt Tillie's face. It seemed so alive. Last time I had seen it, it had been twisted into a mask of horror and shock. And she still had both eyes, unlike her corpse.

  "Things are not always what they seem," she said, her voice ice-cold.

  I swallowed hard. I hated cryptic messages. Although they seem to be the ubiquitous in the witchy world. You have what you hold. Eyes to see, ears to hear. If you're meant to know, you will. That kind of stuff always drove me crazy. At least Aunt Tillie didn't seem to be confused about her current state of non-being. Which made me wonder why she was still hanging around.

  "Aren't you supposed to have crossed over?" I asked. "Not that I don't appreciate you being here, but don't you have some kind of time limit?"

  "I've been waiting for you." She explained, as if that answered everything.

  "Okay... Well... I'm here now." I said, not sure of what I should say next. I mean, would she be insulted if I wished her happy trails and held open the door? How do you encourage a spirit to move on?

  "You were never meant to be here. You need to leave. It's the only way to save yourself," she said, interrupting my train of thought.

  "I can't." I protested. "I don't have anyplace else left to go."

  Tillie glared at me, annoyed. "Oh, for heaven's sake, girl. You're supposed to be able to look into the future. Can't you see what's waiting for you if you stay? What kind of half-assed witch are you? Your mother, bless her soul, gave you up to ensure this place would never find you. "

  "So I keep hearing. And yet... Here I am."

  "All the more reason you need to leave."

  I shook my head. I was so tired of having this debate -- albeit it had mostly been with myself. But after all the soul searching and second-guessing I had been doing, it kind of irked me to have to rehash it all with my dead aunt.

  "If my mother really wanted to help me, maybe she should have stuck around and raised me, trained me. So I'd know what the hell I was doing, instead of having to play my whole life by ear. Besides, what if I was meant to be here, all along? What if it's my fate?"

  "Of course it's your fate, you idiot girl. That's why you have to fight against it. The entire point of being a witch, is so you have a fighting chance to overcome your fate." She glared at me and continued. "For being such a lousy witch, you're much too stubborn for your own good."

  "And you should appreciate that." I snapped at her. "If I wasn't, do you think I'd be sitting here, talking to a ghost? Most people freak about things like this."

  "I suppose you're right." Tillie rocked back and forth, considering what I had said. "Heaven help you, if you're the one the Devil's been waiting for." She seemed to have some kind of dialogue going on in her head, because then she went on: "Hmph. I can see the mark on you, clear as day. Just like your mother, with twice the pig-headedness." She leaned towards me. "You have the gifts but you're too undisciplined to use them properly. Which makes you useless. Worse than useless. Dangerous. To yourself and everyone around you."

  "Hey! You can't go making assumptions. You don't know anything about me."

  "I don't need to. Just look what you set in motion. If it wasn't for you jumping up and down, waving flags and alerting the Otherworld of your existence, do you think I'd be dead?"

  "That's not fair," I said in a small voice, swallowing hard.

  "You just had to shine a light on where you were. Once they found you, I was an obstacle to be gotten rid of. If you don't want the Devil to take you as his due, you need to leave. Before it's too late."

  "But I can't just go. That's... impractical." I said. But my heart wasn't in it. What if she was right and I had just been making a series of huge mistakes? But what options did I have, really? "Besides, if the Devil already knows who I am and where I am, won't he find me, no matter where I go?"

  She started to fade. "Don't force me to do what your mother didn't have the stomach for."

  I scowled at her now-translucent form. Before I could say anything, the moon came out of its cloud cover and Aunt Tillie vanished.

  "Aunt Tillie, wait! Get back here! Did you just threaten me?" I looked around the room, but she was well and truly gone. "Damn ghosts. Do you get classes in how to be cryptic along with your after-death dose of ectoplasm?!"

  But there was no answer. The room was almost sepulchral in its silence. I snuggled into the afghan and thought about what Aunt Tillie had said. Was I being stupid, ignoring a warning from the other side? Was leaving really even an option? Or was it already too late? I had a feeling, whatever was about to happen, I was already committed to the ride.

  I closed my eyes and tried to see into the future, to see what I was letting myself in for, if I stayed. But it was like someone had stuck baffles around my head. All I could hear was my own breathing, all I could see was darkness. I was so used to relying on my 'sight' whenever I needed it, I felt lost with it on the fritz. I had no idea how normal humans lived their lives without a sixth sense and I didn't want to find out. It must be an awfully lonely life, being confined to the here and now. So I kept my eyes closed and said a quick prayer up to the Gods that my inner sight would be restored by morning.

  At some point, I must have fallen asleep. When the wind grabbed onto an empty trashcan and sent it clattering against a tree, the noise shocked me awake. I opened my eyes and looked around, disoriented. I thought I had been in the living room, wrapped in an afghan, but now I wasn't. I was still sitting in the kitchen, freezing, my arms wrapped around my body, my tea ice cold.

  What the hell? Had the entire conversation with Aunt Tillie had been in dreamtime? It had felt so real. I was sure it had been a spirit visit. I mean, all the details were there, including the drastic temperature drop. Although, as I looked around, I noticed that all the windows were open and it was pretty effin' cold outside.

  I had probably fallen asleep and Aunt Tillie used my dream to send me a message. It was easier for spirits to do that, than it was to generate physical manifestations. And it explained why Aunt Tillie was able to generate such a solid, three-dimensional physical presence so soon after her death.

  I quickly walked around, shivering, and closed all the windows. I wonder what she meant by the Devil was waiting for me?

  "If you want to give me a decent warning, scare me off proper, a few more details would help," I announced to the cottage in general. "I'm not a novice at this, y'know. You can't just rattle my chain with vague threats and get results."

  But the cottage was quiet. I sighed and looked up at the clock. I should call Gus. Ghost or dream, he would still be psyched to hear about Aunt Tillie. I looked in my purse for my cell phone, but then I remembered -- it was back in the SUV, charging. And it was pretty damn dark outside. Hell with it. He was on a date anyway. I'd call him tomorrow.

  After I locked the house up tight for the night, I figured out an escape route in case I needed a quick getaway. Not that I'm paranoid or anything, but it's good to keep your options open. Especially when you're spending the night in a haunted cottage. I also checked the landline, in
case I needed to call an ambulance or the cops, but it hadn't been hooked up yet. Crap.

  I have to say, as much as I loved the house and the property, this whole "living alone in the woods" thing didn't quite live up to the PR. On TV, you see women all the time, moving to the middle of nowhere, starting their lives over, finding a hunky neighbor to be their new love interest. All I had was a freeloading toad, a pissed-off ghost, and a possibly homicidal cottage.

  A chilling thought butted up against my consciousness, unbidden. I could die here tonight and no one would know.

  Then I wondered if wild animals would break in to snack on my body. Gus would be pissed. Especially with all the gross post-mortem plans he'd been fantasizing about. I sighed. I really needed to find someone to be in my life, whose focus was based entirely on me staying alive. For as long and as happily as possible.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  As the wind picked up, I double-checked that the window shutters were all fastened. Maybe I should get the cell phone out of the car. What if there was an emergency in the middle of the night? What if a freak tornado leveled the place?

  And then something thumped against the side of the house. Loudly.

  And thumped again.

  Probably a broken tree branch. At least, that's what I told myself. If I was wrong, I didn't want to know about it. Besides, if a twister hit, I knew where the door to the creepy basement was. I'd just have to man up and use it.

  There was another thud and the house shook.

  Yeesh. Did I really want to go out there? What if there were bears? That would suck, if I went out to get the cell phone and got eaten by a bear. Screw it. I'd get the phone in the morning. Right now was hiding under the covers time. But, just in case, I decided to sleep with my keys under my pillow. That way, I could sprint out to the SUV and take-off in a hurry, if I had to.

  I ran upstairs to the bedroom, fighting off a yawn. It had been a long day. But before I went to bed, I climbed onto the window seat, opened the shutter and looked out.

  The night sky was incredibly clear. Hundreds of stars were visible, bright points of light on a giant, celestial web. It was astonishing. I'd never seen anything like it in Los Angeles. Between the lights and the smog, we get about ten stars total. Unless you counted Harrison Ford or Richard Gere. And they didn't even live in L.A.

  I could totally imagine sitting here on quiet evenings, watching the sun set over the lake, the sky transitioning from multi-colored hues into this dark, bejeweled splendor. The only thing that would make it better would be if I could move the place -- property and everything -- back to Los Angeles. But, until then, I decided I damn well wasn't giving it up without a fight.

  As I watched, a storm cloud moved in and blocked out the stars. There was a low rumble and lightning lit up the underside of the cloud. After a few flashes, a lightning bolt struck somewhere over the lake, shaking the cottage.

  I slammed the shutter closed and fastened it. I thought about warding the space, but I was just too tired to do it properly.

  So I offered up a quick prayer to Gods. "By your grace, keep me safe in this place. So mote it be."

  I tossed my pillows on the bed and curled up on top of the bed comforter for a few minutes, my travel blanket draped over me. I just wanted to lay there and think for a minute. But the last thought I had, before falling asleep, was that this was a dead women's bed. It gave me the shivers. But somewhere between being creeped out and actually getting up and moving into the guest room, I lost consciousness for the night.

  The next morning, a terrible itching woke me up. My skin had swollen to the bursting point and there were lumps all over my body. I jumped off the bed and looked in the dresser mirror.

  I looked like some alien freak. My skin was red and inflamed, and I was head to foot covered in bumps. Between the itching and the pain, it was driving me mad.

  I quickly dressed, jumped in the SUV and made a beeline to the local doctor's office. By the time I got there, I was so swollen, I could barely move. I wondered how much my tissues could possibly swell before bursting through my skin.

  "I feel like Violet on Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, when she turns into a giant blueberry. Do you have a juicing room you can take me to, before I explode?"

  The Doc, a kindly old man who looked like he was blind without his glasses, tut-tutted over my condition. "Nope. No Oompa-Loompas, either." He shook his head and scratched the side of his nose. "Looks like you have a nasty allergy."

  "To what?! Devils Point? Or my Aunt's cottage?"

  "Spiders. An egg-sac must have hatched in your bed. You're covered in spider bites."

  "Just one egg?" I asked, looking at my now-alien skin.

  "The smaller the spider, the more of 'em in the sac." He said, prepping a syringe.

  Spiders. Great. As a witch, spiders are supposed to be my friends. But as a human being, I hated it when arachnids invaded my space. Outside was fine. Inside was off-limits. Although, being turned into a human spidey-snack was making me rethink the outdoor policy.

  I silently cursed as the liquid fire from the doctor's syringe penetrated my flesh. But, after about twenty minutes, the swelling had gone down and the bumps were just red discolorations. Thank goodness for modern medicine.

  After the doctor's office, I had lunch at the local diner and checked into Auntie Mae's B&B, so I could get a decent night's sleep and prepare myself to tackle the cottage. Grundleshanks would be fine on his own for a couple of days. I had set him up with a breakfast feast of crickets before I left the cottage and he had plenty of mud and water.

  Auntie Mae was a transplanted Irish woman who fussed over all of her guests and cooked wonderful, filling meals. She was generally wonderful.

  Until the next morning. I had come down too late for breakfast, but Auntie Mae was kind enough to go back into the kitchen and make me a piping hot meal of eggs, bacon, hash browns and pancakes. We had a pleasant chat as I ate, until she found out I was the new owner of Tillie's house.

  Auntie Mae stopped talking as her plump fingers worked a dust rag anxiously and she cleaned an already spotless cabinet in the dining room. Finally, she blurted out: "I don't like to say bad about anything or anyone. But the Devil House is what me mum used to call it. Evil place. Evil. Didn't hold no truck with nobody. Tillie, God rest her, was a good, God-fearing woman. She spent most of her life in church, trying to set things right. And what thanks did she get? People say it was an accident, but I say that house killed her, it did."

  I swallowed hard and sipped my coffee.

  Auntie Mae waved the dust rag at me. "You get out, Missy, while you still can. I don't want to see no harm come to someone so young and pretty."

  After promising her that I would be extra careful around the cottage, I checked out and went shopping. Hardware store, grocery store and drug store. By the time I was done, I felt armed, rested and ready to tackle whatever other buggy surprises the cottage was hiding. But when I got home, the surprise that was waiting for me, knocked me on my ass.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The living room looked like a battle zone. Chairs had been knocked over, the couch was on its back, lamps were on the floor.

  Scrawled across the wall were the words "Leave, Now!" In black marker. Indelible black marker. Ugly, indelible black marker on my nice, beautiful wall. The only thing left in peace was the end table with Grundleshanks's tank.

  I was so upset, I was shaking. Part of it was fear, but part of it was just anger. Was it Aunt Tillie? Or did some teenage pranksters sneak in while I was out? With the reputation this cottage had for retaliation, I found it hard to believe that it was local kids.

  What if it was Aunt Tillie? What if she had figured out how to get in touch with her inner poltergeist? It was bad enough I'd let Mrs. Lasio drive me out of a home I loved, was I going to let a tantrum-throwing ghost drive me out of another one?

  Damn ghosts. They think they can demand you to jump to their every whim. Just because they're dead. Like
that should infer some special privilege.

  I shook my fist at the sky. "There is no way I'm giving up this place to a bad-tempered, cryptic, know-it-all ghost. You're dead. I'm alive. I think it's time that you move on to your new home and leave this one to me!"

  Across the room, a fat, black Magic Marker rolled across the end table and bounced on the floor.

  I stomped into the kitchen and paced around, inwardly cussing at the lack of Jack Daniels. If there was ever a time I could have used a shot, it was now. Then I walked back into the living room and opened my spine and my third eye so that I could 'see' around the entire room, maybe catch an energy signature, see if any entities were still hanging out on the ethereal plane.

  (It sounds weird, I know, but the whole 'opening the spine' thing isn't literal. It's just a visualization, a method of tuning in to the edges of reality, or to alternative realities, to see the spirit world. You don't literally slice yourself open).

  My skin got all prickly, reacting to the energy. Definitely strong, but whoever it had been was gone.

  It had to be Aunt Tillie. But why would Aunt Tillie desecrate her house, when she was so capable of just nagging me to death in my dreams?

  Unless she wanted something concrete and scary to back up her threat, to show that she had learned to manipulate dimensional objects. And if that was the case, Aunt Tillie was the freakin' Einstein of ghosts.

  The thing about ghosts, at least, in my limited experience with them, is that they don't automatically know everything and drop all their prejudices and peccadilloes once they die. Death is a process, like life. The way newborns have to learn how to manipulate their bodies and their physical environment, the newly dead also have to learn what they can and can't do. That's why it's infinitely easier for them to appear in dreams, than it is for them to vandalize your wall.