Aries: Swinging into Spring

by Sèphera Girón

  A huge finger of rock along the beach protruded towards the ocean beyond the shores of the cove. Boats that were too large for shallow water of the cove often anchored to the faraway pier at the tip of The Finger. There was a small lighthouse by the pier, run by an ill-tempered older lady for several decades. Dorothy knew it was haunted and she knew why the lighthouse keeper was ill-tempered. Several small groups of people stood along The Finger and on the distant pier, also staring at the rising sun, welcoming it with waving branches and joyful singing.

  Dorothy wandered along the crowd, skirting the edge of the boardwalk as the sun continued to climb. She glanced over towards the big old Gothic house near the festivities and saw Lucy on her rooftop balcony in purple robes. She too held an offering to the new morning, the sun’s rays reflecting from her bedroom windows in bright splinters of color.

  On the grounds by the side of the house near the huge wrought iron fence that kept Lucy from the rest of the world stood several members of their coven. Maggie, Ellie, Madeline, Adele, and Toni raised their hands to the new day. Dorothy had already spent part of the Beltane ceremony with them around the bonfire earlier, celebrating throughout the night. She didn’t need to go all the way across the park to see them again for this last part of the celebration. Especially when she had to think about getting to work.

  Dorothy walked across the boardwalk and gingerly stepped down onto the beach. The sand was damp and clung to her dainty black granny boots. When her foot sank into the sand on her third step, she cursed.

  “Dammit. Why did I think this was a good idea in my new boots?” The wind picked up again, lifting her hat. She clamped her hand back down on it, still staring in dismay at her sinking feet.

  She stepped back up to the boardwalk, stomping her feet so that the sand would fall away. It clung to the heels and eyelets of her once shiny boots. She took off her large, floppy straw hat and wedged it under her arm, looking warily up at the sun before setting to work.

  “I better not get a burn.” She scowled as she fished through her bag until she found an old crumpled napkin. Bending over with a grunt, she held onto the railing of the boardwalk with one hand while wiping away the sand from her boots with the other, still keeping the hat firmly tucked. She looked around as people hurried past her, anxious to see the orange red ball of sun that melted the fog and continued to rise over the swelling waves of the incoming tide.

  Rushing as if the only view of the sun was from a particular spot on the beach.

  Dorothy wiped away at the sand some more, brushing lightly so that she wouldn’t scratch the new leather. The boots had been a little pre-birthday treat to herself. They cost more than a month’s worth of groceries but she loved them already. However, she didn’t want them to get destroyed by wet sand just yet. Why had she thought she wouldn’t sink?

  She looked over at the sand and narrowed her eyes. She pushed a small clump of damp sand with her mind.

  Nothing happened.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, her hand still on her boot. She opened her eyes again stared at the sand, pushing it with her mind. The little pile of sand shifted.

  Her hand was nudged by something wet. The snuffling black snout of a large dog pushed at her palm. As the giant tongue lapped her fingers, she pulled away quickly with a yelp.

  “You startled me...” she said to the dog, her heart beating quickly. She looked up as a tall, middle-aged man with shoulder-length tousled dark hair and penetrating brown eyes pulled the long-haired German Shepard away from her.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

  The man pulled the leash firmly, then relaxed it. The dog came to his side and sat, tongue flopped out, panting. The dog and the man both looked at her. Dorothy noted the man’s body language was easy and self-assured yet the black and green tendrils of aura rising from his shoulders spoke otherwise.

  “Do I know you?” Dorothy asked and before he had a chance to reply, a sensation fluttered in her stomach. She smiled. “Of course. Adam. I remember you from The Market.”

  Adam flushed slightly and reached down to pet the dog.

  “Brian remembered you as well. He was saying hello.” Adam stood up and looked at Dorothy cleaning her boots. His aura shifted and slid away.

  “Do you need some help there? Your hands seem pretty full.”

  Before she could protest, he had relieved her of her hat and had produced a much cleaner coffee shop napkin from his own coat pocket.

  “Let me deal with this,” he said as he crouched down and brushed the sand from her heels.

  “You really don’t have to...” Dorothy said with one hand on the rail.

  “Lift up,” Adam instructed and Dorothy lifted her foot so he could fully clean the heel. “Now the other.”

  “I...” Dorothy fumbled.

  Adam looked up at her and smiled.

  “It’s no big deal. You think I won’t be doing the same for Brian when we get home,” he chuckled. Dorothy stared at him.

  “I guess,” she said as she looked at the dog who was pretty full of sand himself. “He looks like he’ll need a bath.”

  “Likely. These spring days are the worst when you have a pet. The constant maintenance. But he’s worth it, right Bri?” The dog barked and continued to sit and watch. His tongue still hung out and he still panted and his big, brown dog eyes continued to watch her. Dorothy stared at Brian’s long sharp teeth and the rolling drool that fell down his long, slimy tongue. She could smell his musky doggy odor from where she was.

  She looked at Adam, or rather, the top of Adam’s head. He had lots of curly shaggy hair and used some kind of cocoanut rinse. His hands were large, firm, and warm; perhaps a bit rough, a bit damp. She had held them during the readings she had done for him at The Market. She rarely remembered her readings, there were too many clients and too many thoughts to hold on to and she didn’t remember his either. Only in nostalgic recall did she sense sad, dark, and disturbing forces.

  “I guess that’s it,” Adam said, standing up and wiping his own hands with yet another napkin he produced from his pocket. He opened his arm and handed back the hat.

  “Merry Beltane, Miss Dorothy,” he said as he helped her adjust it.

  “Merry Beltane to you too...” Dorothy said, tweaking her hat once more as she watched him leave.

  Did he purposely bump into me? She shuddered. Wonder if he’ll come in for another reading.

  Dorothy looked over towards Lucy’s house and the coven. They continued to watch the sunrise. She doubted they would have noticed Adam through the throngs of people. Adam was already gone from her sight, wherever he was headed with Brian.

  The sun was very high and more people were moving around, rushing and wandering, walking along the boardwalk, running through the sand. She held on to her hat as another gust of wind blew.

  She walked along the boardwalk and tripped when her heel caught in one of the wooden slats. She grabbed her hat and the railing, nearly falling over to the side and back into the sand.

  “Give me a break,” she muttered as a playful child jostled her. She realized she was still clutching the filthy napkin that she had been using before Adam happened along. She walked over to the nearest trashcan and tossed it in.

  “Blessed be,” she said. “Let’s begin spring fresh and clean.”

  She turned back to the beach and eyed the sand. She crossed the boardwalk and put her foot above the sand. She stared at the sand, imagining it hard beneath her shoe. She put down her foot. It stayed firm, slightly above the ground. Dorothy focussed hard as she placed her other foot down. It too hovered slightly above the sand. She resisted the urge to cheer to herself, and used her focus to get to the stretch of The Finger that was mostly rock. Slowly she walked, never breaking her focus on the ground that remained firm with each step that she took.

  At last, she was on the strong surface of the raised rock of The Finger. She found her place near several other people who also took solac
e in the reliability of solid ground.

  The sun was fiery red mid-way up the skyline as it reflected against the pulsing water. There was only a few echoing puffs of rolling fog remaining that teased and danced in the gentle wind. Dorothy stared at the rays, breathing in deeply in time to the rhythmic drumming, the sun warming her face.

  “I hope this year brings me luck with love and money,” Dorothy whispered in a quiet singsong voice. The chanting song was louder around her. She smiled as the energy of the crowd grew stronger, the drumming louder, the sun rising higher still.

  Dorothy raised her hands in the air as did many of those around her. She let the sun beat against her face, the wind lifting her hair and sending a chilly breeze through her clothes. She sang out with the Beltane song in chorus with the others. Beyond Lucy’s house, young adults were skipping around a huge Maypole, long pastel ribbons fluttered from hands that wove in and around each other as they skipped in the ancient dance. Dorothy watched the young people giggling as boys and girls weaved in and out, closer together, stealing kisses, and flirting.

  I need a companion. Soon.

  The singing changed into another song and Dorothy lowered her arms. The drums beat faster, the Morris dancer bells jingled faster, the Maypole dancers skipped faster. Dorothy shook her head and took out her cell phone from her cloak pocket and clicked on the clock.

  Time to get moving.

  She sang one last round of the Beltane song, and then floated her way back along the sand of the beach until she reached the boardwalk. As she walked away from the celebrations, she spotted more Maypole dancers skipping around more makeshift poles that had been quickly erected along the beach. A new influx of early morning risers wandered through the park and beaches, walking their dogs, jogging, smiling at both tourists and pagans alike as they began their day. Clouds of incense rose from smudge sticks and mini-cauldrons and candles. Dorothy looked over at Lucy’s house one last time and saw that the coven had left, perhaps circling through the crowds, or on their way to work themselves. Or luckier still, on their way home to bed!

  * * *

  Dorothy walked along the cobblestones, her boots clacking, her purse buckles jingling, her hand holding her hat against short gusts of wind, her long heavy coat keeping the last chill from the night at bay. The fog was lifting even from the narrow alleyways and Hermana was unfolding for the day. She turned down a side street, which made her journey a little longer but she wanted to enjoy what she could of the delicious warmer yet still nippy weather. Spring was in the air, the smell both sweaty and musty from the ocean and the earth. Her body hummed from the celebration, boosting her with energy.

  I could walk all day. If only I didn’t have to go to work.

  Dorothy slowed her step, noticing how some of the stores had changed hands and a couple were empty. Halfway down the street, she saw that the funeral home had changed its sign. Again.

  A Hearse of a Different Color

  As she neared the building, she saw that the facade had been painted; black with deep scarlet trim and touches of gold. A big brass ornate knocker gleamed in the morning sun. The fog swirled and curled around the doorframe as she drew near. The fog morphed into spectral humanoid figures with spindly arms and legs; long fingers snatching at nothing, long chins and open mouths crying out. Their swirling in anguish was in contrast to the sheer joy resonating through her body. She grew dizzy and her hand loosened on her hat.

  As she stood staring up at the knocker, the door opened and the whoosh tugged at her hat. She clamped it down to her head and the spectral vision vanished. A tall, dark-haired pale man opened the door. He was crisply dressed in a suit, a top hat in his hand, freshly shaved flesh glistening at his neck, the scent of Old Spice aftershave tickled her nose. He stepped out to the street and waved his hat in front of Dorothy with a little bow.

  “Happy Beltane, miss,” he smiled. His eyes were dark brown; his long straight black hair fell to his shoulders in a straight edged gleaming smooth bob. He placed his hat upon his head.

  “Happy Beltane,” Dorothy said. “Were you at the celebration?”

  “Why yes. It was beautiful. So inspiring. I think I’m going to like it here.” He smiled as he made a point of loudly breathing in the morning air.

  “I was going to ask if you’re new in town,” Dorothy said.

  “I bought this place about a month ago. The owner seemed quick to be rid of it. I’m not sure why,” he said as he stared into Dorothy’s eyes. Dorothy smiled. She knew the legends of the funeral home. Dead didn’t often stay dead inside those walls. Funeral directors had bought and sold that home dozens of times over the past century.

  “It happens,” Dorothy said. “Lucky for you, I guess, that he wanted a quick sale.”

  “Doubly lucky. He was so quick to be rid of it that he accepted my first lowball offer.” The man smiled again and looked up at the turret. “I wonder, though, if there’s something I need to know about this place.” Dorothy stared up at the turret as well. They both looked up at the darkened windows, watching the fireball sun rising still higher in the reflections.

  “Where are you from?” Dorothy asked, turning her attention back to the funeral director.

  “New York, Manhattan... the big city. This will be quite a different change of pace, that’s for sure.”

  “Well, Mr. Big City, houses are strange here in Hermana. Most of them are haunted, of course. Some more than others.”

  “I don’t believe in that stuff... really. I mean, I’ve never seen or heard anything to make me believe though I’m not dismissing it.”

  “Everyone’s experience is different. Hopefully you’ll have a good one.” Dorothy said, looking up at the turret. The man glanced back up it again.

  “I guess, I should introduce myself,” he said, extending his hand. Dorothy took it. It was firm but cool. She shook it while studying his face. She enjoyed the sharp angles of his jawline, that freshly shaved smooth skin...

  “I’m Aloysius Underhill,” he said.

  “Pleased to meet you, Aloysius. I’m Dorothy.”

  “A pleasure, Dorothy,” he said as he kissed her hand. A tiny jolt of electricity passed from her hand to his lips. He jerked back, his eyes wide with fear.

  “What was that?”

  “Carpet shock?” Dorothy laughed. “It happens all the time.”

  “Right... It’s just that, here, sometimes...” he looked up at the turret and dropped Dorothy’s hand. He avoided her gaze. “I really must get back...”

  “Of course, I have to get to work myself. I don’t really have time to chat.” Dorothy turned; her hand on her hat.

  “Nice to meet you,” Dorothy said as she walked away without looking back to see if he was watching her or even said good-bye.

  Nevertheless, she sensed something from the turret looking down on her.

  * * *

  By the time Dorothy had cooked up some veggie soup and cut up some cheese cubes, she was exhausted. The day at the store had dragged. She sometimes wished that she could quit the cashier gig but she needed the healthcare insurance plan that crystal ball reading didn’t provide. Dorothy organized her soup bowl, her cheese cubes, several small pieces of fresh French bread, and a spoon on the TV tray and flopped onto the couch. She clicked on the TV to her favourite show, Scary Haunted Tales. It was an anthology show with a new storyline every season. The last episode of the season was playing that night and she couldn’t wait to see who the killer was and if there really was a ghost and if the policeman was really the stripper who was the heroine’s brother’s best friend who killed the club owner who was murdering the other girls. She also wanted to see if her favorite serial killer would get killed, sentenced, or escape and more importantly, would he be shirtless if not naked at some point?

  She didn’t mind objectifying handsome young TV stars. They made the shows more fun. Hot guys. Hot girls. Lots of nakedness and blood. No one took a role on a show like Scary Haunted Tales and expected they were making high art
. Nope. It was about the gore and eye candy and style. That show had all of it!

  Sometimes, just sitting in front of the TV watching her favorite actor, Oscar Dominion hypnotise a few people with his charismatic good looks and some well delivered quirky lines while he conned people out of their souls was all Dorothy really needed.

  Although, it would be really cool to meet Oscar Dominion the actor, even just once. She imagined she’d have to fly to LA or wherever they filmed the show and break into a sound stage to do that. Then what? What would she actually do when she saw him face to face? Make him her sex slave?

  Dorothy laughed at her own fangirl foolishness and fell into the storyline playing on the big screen while she ate her soup and bread. She was very pleased that Oscar Dominion’s character died naked at the hands of a sexy vengeful ghost that night.

  Merry Beltane, indeed!

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