The Forgotten Spell (Legends of Green Isle Book 1)

by Constance Wallace

  “I guess.” Matt helped Miranda to her feet. “Does the whole town farm or work at the plant?”

  “Most of them. All that’s left now though are old people, women and children. Since the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor last year, all the young men enlisted and not much help is here for the bigger pastures, but we manage. Natty Gay, one of Momma’s cousins, just lost her son. He was only nineteen. She said he got shot down somewhere in Europe parachuting out of a plane. Her husband died three years ago and now she doesn’t have anyone else. It’s been really hard for her. I couldn’t imagine dying at nineteen. That’s only four years away. You just get started and then boom, it’s over.”

  Matt remembered his mother’s brother. He was young, too. How sad their family had been upon hearing the news of his death.

  “You’re not sayin’ much. Penny for your thoughts?” Miranda laughed. “I know, Momma says I talk too much. She said once that I could talk a toad blue. I’ve never seen a blue toad though, so I’m sure nobody has talked that much.”

  “No. No, you’re fine. I like listening to you. You tell great stories. I was just thinking about my mother’s brother. He was killed in Pearl Harbor.”

  “That’s a shame. I’m sorry. I think there’s been enough dying in this world. It needs to stop.”

  “Well, it won’t. Not until the war ends.”

  The two turned the corner onto Main Street. Matt noticed the center of town had only five or six buildings on each side, the buildings the only remnants of the town’s beginnings. The Soda Shop was just opening as they passed the entrance, the soda jerk sweeping away at the windows and doorstep with quick deliberate motions. Tipping his hat, he smiled broadly at the two before disappearing behind the large glass door.

  Once they reached the end of the street, Matt saw a bronze statue of a man on a mound of grass with a black iron fence surrounding its base. Similar to the man in the painting, the statue was poised, the arm reaching skyward, pointing at some unknown speck above. He followed Miranda over to the fence and peered through the railing to the stained face, the features erased by years of pigeon droppings.

  “See. There he is, Mr. Peter Stewart himself.” Miranda rested her chin on the back of her hand, seemingly mesmerized by the sculpture. “Not many people liked his grandfather, ya know. The old folks say it was his son who did him in and all. Peter ended up disappearing too, and then the town was filled with wild stories, folks sayin’ that a witch took him. The same one that took Charles Stewart.”

  “Why didn’t people like Charles Stewart? Was he such a terrible person?”

  Miranda sat down on the concrete ledge under the fence and motioned for Matt to sit beside her. “A long time ago, the Manor was much different than what it is now. The Stewarts hosted these great big parties and such. People loved to visit, as it goes. Charles built a beautiful hedge maze for all his guests to play in. He even brought a white marble crypt back from Scotland to put in its center. It was rumored to be his burial place when he died.”

  Matt remembered the gleam of white he saw the day they arrived. “I’ve seen the crypt,” he exclaimed. “It’s covered by ivy, but you can still make it out.”

  “The strange thing about all this was one day he just bricked the maze in. No more parties or balls, nothin’. He shut up the garden and padlocked the gate, and no one was ever allowed in again. His personality changed, too. He became evil and all. At least that’s how the stories go. He supposedly murdered one of his servants in a fit of rage and beat his children. Then he put up the outside wall, closin’ in the land around the Manor. Nobody in town saw much of him after that, until one day he just disappeared altogether.” Pausing dramatically, she concluded in hushed tones. “Anyway, that’s been the Manor mystery for over a hundred and fifty years, and now his ghost roams the property, looking for children to snatch; at least that’s what the old-timers gossip about and all, when they sit in front of the barber shop.”

  Matt’s eyes grew large as the memory of the picture flooded his thoughts. “Do you believe he was murdered?”

  “Everyone believes it’s true. His son didn’t show himself around town after his father disappeared, which is why people speculated he killed him and all.”

  “Do you think ghosts can haunt a painting?”

  Miranda wrinkled up her face. “What? How can a ghost haunt a painting?”

  “I was just wondering. I noticed a creepy picture hanging over the fireplace the day we got here.” Matt wondered if he should tell her about seeing the eyes in the picture move.

  “What happened? Did the picture fly off the wall or somethin’?”

  “No. It...it...it was just creepy, that’s all.” Matt stammered, lowering his head. For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to tell her about the old Scotsman’s bizarre movements within the portrait. He didn’t want to seem crazy.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised ifn it’s haunted. That house is spooky. C'mon, let’s go get tea and biscuits from Momma. I know she’ll want to meet you.”

  Matt hurried after his friend. In no time, they were back at her house. Her mother was sitting on the front porch when they arrived, enjoying the morning air. Smiling as the two climbed the steps, she introduced herself as Martha Gay and motioned for them to sit down on the porch swing in front of her.

  “So, has your family ever visited these parts before?” she asked Matt.

  “No, Ma’am, I’ve lived in Chicago all of my life,” he replied, helping himself to a cookie.

  “Oh I see...a northern boy. That city life is all hustle and bustle, isn’t it? We’re pretty quiet and sleepy here in our little South Carolina town, and certainly don’t get much snow around these parts either, ya know.” She passed Matt a tall glass of iced tea.

  “Momma was never much for traveling,” Miranda interjected quickly. “I don’t think she even knows what snow is.”

  “Miranda Lynn Gay, don’t tease me like that. It snowed here a few times when you were a baby.” Mrs. Gay sat back in her rocker, laughing lightly.

  The three sat in silence for a Moment.

  “Tell me, how has your family settled into the Manor? Is Mrs. Stacey still working there?” Mrs. Gay asked quietly.

  “Yes, Ma’am, she is. And I guess we’re getting settled in all right.” He glanced at Miranda.

  “No strange experiences?” she quizzed with an arch of her left eyebrow.

  Matt blinked and looked away. He hated lying to her. “No Ma’am, just a few spiders under the beds.”

  “I see.” She regarded him coolly.

  “We really haven’t opened much of the house up.” He attempted a weak explanation and hoped the subject would change soon.

  “Has your father attempted to open the gate to the garden maze yet?” she inquired, her voice becoming low. “You know, the previous manager’s children disappeared in it and haven’t been seen since.”

  “No, Ma’am, he’s afraid it’s dangerous. Should I say somethin’ to him about it?”

  “I’m just curious about it, that’s all. I had hoped that eventually he would want to investigate it. There’s something not right about that bricked up garden. The Garden Society was going to petition him to tear it down.”

  “Momma. Stop. Matt’s our guest. I don’t think we need to go scarin’ him his first visit here and all.”

  Mrs. Gay pursed her lips. She complied with her daughter’s request and sipped her tea quietly.

  Miranda pushed the swing backwards, changing the subject. “What grade are you going into this year?”

  “Eleventh.” Matt breathed with relief. He didn’t want to answer any more questions about the house or garden. It made him uncomfortable.

  Before long, the intense questioning of Mrs. Gay was forgotten and the two were laughing, unaware of time. Matt had forgotten about Toby. Several hours passed before his mind remembered the words of his mother. He jumped to his feet quite unexpectedly, surprising Miranda. In a small bow to Mrs. Gay, he excused himself politely.
“Thank you for the tea and cookies, but I’ve got to get back and check on my little brother.”

  Miranda got up and insisted on escorting Matt to the Manor. “I’ll walk you there...just to the gate.” She turned to her mother. “Is it all right, Momma?”

  “Hurry back,” her mother instructed. “Ya know how your father and I feel about you going too near to that house.”

  The children bolted from the porch and headed down the sidewalk. Their pace remained brisk as Matt rushed to get back. Pausing at the gate, he turned to say goodbye.

  “So ya wanna meet up again tomorrow?” Miranda asked quickly.

  “Yes, please,” he replied, pushing on the rusted metal. He raised his hand in a small wave. “I would like that very much.”

  “Okay. See ya then.” Miranda turned and disappeared back down the road.

  Matt walked quickly to the stables. He was anxious to find Toby. He knew how his mother would react to the fact that he had forgotten about his little brother. Calling out Toby’s name, he looked around the barn and peered into the stalls. Several of the horses whinnied at his intrusion, shifting nervously, but he didn’t see any sign of Toby or Chester, Toby’s favorite horse. Matt assumed Clarence took him for a ride and was thankful he didn’t have to deal with him or his mother’s scolding.

  Since it wasn’t quite lunchtime, exploring the grounds seemed like a good idea. His scare from the previous day had faded somewhat, and the maze seemed like the perfect place to start. He headed back to the driveway and looked for the path to the garden. Weathered trees shadowed the trail leading to the padlocked gate, causing the day to seem darker than before. Stepping cautiously, he soon found himself staring at the decaying wood of the gate.

  Matt listened for a Moment. Would he hear the ragged moan he heard yesterday, or the small sound of laughter? Nothing came though, and after a Moment, he grew braver. He reached for the latch and pressed his thumb against the release, testing it to see if by some chance it miraculously unlocked. It didn’t move. He grimaced at the grating sound the metal made. What would he have done had it opened?

  He stepped off the path and carefully maneuvered around the outside of the old wall. Brush snatched at his clothing and he fought against years of overgrowth trying to see where the wall would end. His fingers touched the brick as he pushed forward through the vegetation, stepping through the cascade of vines. Ivy had grown thick, opening small crevices within the wall and leaving cracked mortar on the ground. The bits and pieces crunched beneath his feet, eerily marking his progress in the quietness surrounding the area.

  When he turned a corner, Matt noticed a break in the bricking. It had partially crumbled away, leaving an opening about the size of a cantaloupe. Matt knelt to the grass and peered through the small hole. He fell back in surprise when he saw a rather large brown eye staring back at him.

  “I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t frighten you,” a deep voice said. “I’ve been following your footsteps. I need to talk to you.”

  Matt lay where he had fallen and said nothing. Was it a monster with one large eye? Could this be the thing that had made all the howling noises yesterday? His mind raced at the possibilities. He struggled to rise from the ground, but his leg became entangled in a vine.

  “Hello, are you still there?” the voice demanded when he didn’t respond.

  “Yes, I’m here,” Matt replied slowly. “I was caught by some thorns.” Bravely he peered into the garden once more. Blinking in disbelief, he jerked away. Standing in front of him was Chester the horse. He realized it must have been Clarence the gardener speaking to him, and he suddenly felt very foolish. “Is that you, Clarence? Is Toby with you?” Matt asked, embarrassed.

  “They aren’t here. It’s just me,” the voice responded. “Chester.”

  “Horses don’t talk. Who’s back there?”

  “I’m not Clarence and I don’t have time for your stupidity. Something terrible has happened to Toby. I came to warn you.”

  “What are you talking about?” he asked, unwilling to believe the horse was talking to him. “What happened to Toby?”

  Chester stepped closer, stuck his nose into the hole and snorted. “He’s been taken by evil, if you must know. And I’m afraid for the young lad.”

  Matt’s thoughts went back to the eyes in the painting. They were pure evil. “Who took him?” he demanded, suddenly afraid for his brother.

  “It came this morning right after you left. A black banshee. It caught poor Toby unaware as he played with his cars on the front steps. I heard his muffled screams, and when I went to investigate, I saw it returning to the garden, and Toby was gone.”

  “What’s a banshee?” Matt asked quickly. “And why would it take my brother?”

  “It’s a dark one, a dead spirit from the other side of the portal, a witch of sorts. It does its master’s bidding.”

  “Whose bidding? What are you talking about? What portal? How did you get in there, anyway?” Matt asked abruptly, realizing the gate was locked and there wasn’t a way in for the horse.

  “There’s a secret way only the guardians of the portal know.”

  “Okay, but you still didn’t answer the first question. Why does this banshee want Toby? And where did it take him?”

  The horse remained silent for a Moment. “He was taken for his strong life force. The Dark One needs children to fuel his spell.”

  “This is really crazy. You’re not making any sense,” Matt said, growing frustrated.

  “You’ll find out more tomorrow when the guardians come to guide us to the other side.”

  Matt couldn’t bare it any longer. “You stupid horse, I want to know where Toby’s been taken. Where is he?” he almost screamed. “And I don’t want to hear some crazy story about a spell or a banshee, or some other kind of made up thing. If you know where my brother is, you better tell me or you’re gonna be sorry.”

  “Delila and DaGon will help us cross over and search for your brother on the other side. But you’ll need help.” The horse seemed too calm for Matt. “We must stop the Dark One, before he takes any more children.”

  “You’re not making any sense. Who’s this Dark One? Why does he want my brother?” Matt, enraged at this point, started pulling the brick away from the wall. “Why do I need to wait on this DaGon and Delila? Where’s Toby? You’ve gotta tell me.” Pounding his fist against the crumbling wall, tears of anger welled in his eyes as he shouted at the horse. “This is ridiculous. What does this have to do with Toby? I need to find him. Where is he?”

  Chester didn’t reply. Seemingly oblivious to Matt’s panic, he turned away. Plodding slowly back into the thicket of holly, he disappeared around a hedge into the maze.

  “Wait! Come back. Where are you going?” Matt’s screams poured hoarsely from his throat. Cracking at the emotion filling his body, his voice broke. “Come back. I need to find my brother.”

  From a distance, Chester shouted to him. “Tomorrow at sunrise, come to the gate and bring your friends.” The horse’s steps faded as he moved farther into the overgrown garden.

  Matt, distraught at what the horse had told him, sat down in the tall grass and leaned against the wall. He laid his head on his knees, his heart aching. What if that stupid horse was right and Toby had indeed disappeared? Kidnapped? Wasn’t that the right word? This would be entirely his fault. His mother instructed him to take care of his little brother and he promised her he would always look after him. Because of his selfishness though, his wanting to be alone with Miranda, he failed her, and now Toby was missing. His parents, especially his father, would never forgive him.

  Anguish overwhelmed him as he sat in the middle of the ivy. Swiping a hot tear from his cheek, Matt gritted his teeth against the emotion, forcing it away. Maybe Chester was wrong. Maybe Toby was at the house, safe. Should he simply take the stupid horse’s word? A talking horse, no less? The story that Chester told of a black banshee abducting his brother was far-fetched. Matt didn’t believe in magic creatur
es. There weren’t such things, as far as he was concerned. And yet, ten seconds ago he had had a short, intense conversation with one.

  Rising quickly, he sprinted his way through the bushes and up the driveway. In a few bounds, he reached the Manor. He saw Toby’s toys on the front steps, splayed across the stones, a black feather stuck beneath one. Matt yelled his brother’s name, his calls echoing against the stone of the house. He scanned the stretch of driveway, waiting for a response. When no reply came, he quickly pushed against the large oak door and entered the foyer.

  “Mom? Mom, where are you?” he cried urgently.

  His mother came from the direction of the kitchen, followed by Mrs. Stacey. Wiping her hands on her apron, she met him in front of the portrait. The air turned colder, causing him to shudder.

  “Matt, what’s wrong?”

  “Is Toby with you?” he panted out frantically.

  “No, dear, isn’t he with you?” Panic filled her eyes, as Matt responded with a shake of his head. He couldn’t answer. Guilt made his stomach churn. All he could do was look at his mother in silence. “Oh, my,” she exclaimed, her voice low and quiet. “Oh my goodness. Mrs. Stacey, help me look for Toby.”

  The two women rushed outside, both calling the young boy’s name. Matt stood stiffly at the door, watching as they crisscrossed the drive. His knees wavered as he reluctantly acknowledged the truth of the horse’s words. He wondered if he should tell his mother about his conversation with Chester. Would she even believe him? Would she accept the fact a black banshee kidnapped her youngest child for the completion of a spell? No, she wouldn’t. She would think he was making the whole thing up to cover the fact that he forgotten about his brother. Matt went to the stairs and lowered himself to the bottom step, his heart heavy. His only redemption would be to find Toby himself and bring him home. He remembered the words of the horse and wondered if Miranda and the others would believe him when he pleaded for their assistance. They were the only ones who he could ask.