Cursed: Paranormal Women's Fiction (Mid-Life Haunts Book 1)

by Nhys Glover

  “No, I guess not. At least give me a little credit for being here. As your mom said, not even her sister or younger daughter bothered to be here. I did. Because I loved Melody, Casey and your mom. And you too, spitfire. Have you chosen a name for your baby yet? Do you know when Clay gets back?”

  He got points for keeping his granddaughter’s details straight. That showed some level of concern for this first family he’d abandoned.

  Hilary backed down marginally, now she had me safely out of harm's way. “No and no. Come on, we better go inside. Did you come because you thought you might get something in the will?”

  This was too much, even for Hilary. I jerked my head in her direction and glared at her. She lost a little more of her bluster.

  “I apologize for my daughter. I thought I taught her better manners than that,” I said stiffly, separating myself from my daughter so I now had no physical support from family members.

  Somehow, that made it easier to cope. It was kindness that made me vulnerable.

  “No need to apologize. She’s just being the protector. And no, I don’t expect to be mentioned in the will. I assume it will be a fairly cut and dry matter. The women of Channing Manor always passed the property and what money there was for its maintenance, to the eldest daughter. Depending on what her company is worth these days, I expect she might have divided that between her daughters. But as Casey is well taken care of by her husband…”

  “I was well taken care of too,” I couldn’t help saying, even though I never wanted to be seen as a dependent woman.

  What was it about competitions that brought out the worst in us? The idea that my younger sister could be seen to have made a better life for herself than I had, even as a kept woman, rankled.

  However, I had to admit Casey was as far from a trophy wife as it was possible to get. Unlike me, she had a degree from Cornell, a couple of years in the Peace Corp under her belt, and had managed a year’s political experience before she met and married her ambassador husband. Even then, she made it her job to assist him with his duties. No, I had to admit my sister won the Better Life award. Even her three kids were picture perfect.

  Dad rolled his eyes and grimaced. He looked a lot like Robert Redford in that moment.

  “That philandering dick never took care of you, Cleo. Your mom knew it and I knew it. Casey’s husband is a different kettle of fish. He’s as duty-bound and conservative as she is. Money will never be an issue for either one of them.”

  I wasn’t about to stand around the parking lot of a crematorium discussing my soon-to-be-ex with my long-absent father.

  “Whatever,” I declared impatiently. “I have a funeral to get to, if you don’t mind.”

  I staggered forward, conscious of just how weak I suddenly felt. I’d been clinging onto the last of my strength for some time, but finding myself wrapped in my dad’s arms had stolen that strength from me. Now I could barely put one foot in front of another, to get me to the big wooden doors that led into the building.

  Hilary was again at my side, gripping my arm, as if sensing my near collapse. My dad came up on the other side and took my elbow. For a moment longer I fought for self-respect. Then, like a dam giving way, my knees buckled. Only the strength of the people on either side of me kept me upright.

  “Sorry, sorry,” I mumbled in mortification.

  “No need to be sorry, Cleo. This is an awful shock for you,” Dad said gently.

  The doors ahead of us opened, allowing cool air to waft out at us. It was May, and hot for this time of year. Although not nearly as hot as it was further south in Texas. Still, the coolness was a balm to my overheated, possibly menopausal, body.

  “Mrs. Durell? Cleo? It is good to see you again after all this time. I’m just sorry it had to be at such a terrible time as this,” a tall, skeletal man said, his hound dog jowls wobbling as he spoke.

  Put a top hat on his head, and Ralph Maddigan would have been the quintessential funeral director. In fact, I wouldn't have been surprised if he’d got the job, all those years ago, simply because he looked the part. Now, in his early sixties and as bald as a badger, the mortician looked as if he was clinging to the outside of a coffin by his fingernails.

  “Mr. Maddigan. Thank you for taking on the arrangements for my mother’s funeral. This is my father, Doug Waters, and my daughter Hilary O’Hara. When do you expect the rest of the mourners to arrive?”

  The aging man looked a little uncomfortable. “I put a notice in the paper. I would expect any who wish to join you for this sad ceremony to arrive shortly. As it is a closed casket, there was no viewing.”

  I looked around the empty parking lot. An ancient hearse sat off to the side, but except for dad’s rental and my Prius, which I’d driven up from Austin, there were no other vehicles in the lot.

  That was until an Uber sped towards us and slid to a stop no more than a few feet from where we stood. It sent up a stream of gravel and dust in its wake that had me blinking furiously. The sudden sting was only partly due to the grit lodging itself under my eyelids.

  Out of the passenger side door stepped the tall slim form of my younger child. Michael had made it!

  The immediate relief of his presence was enough to return my strength to me. I hadn’t expected him to get here in time. Or at all. I had assumed he’d find some excuse or other to avoid the unpleasantness of a funeral for a grandmother he had never really known. That he’d crossed half the country to be here lifted my heart.

  After opening the back door, he hauled out a duffel bag and jacket, called his thanks to the driver, and slammed both front and back doors with more energy than was strictly necessary.

  “I made it in time, right? It’s not over or anything, is it?” Michael asked hurriedly, striding over to us.

  “You’re in good time. Good to see you, buddy. Been a while,” Dad said to my son as if they’d only recently parted company.

  “Pop. I didn’t know you’d be here. If I’d known, I mightn’t have made such a mad dash to be here on time. I thought I’d be the only one representing testosterone for the occasion.”

  I sighed. “I’m touched.”

  Michael stared at me as if wondering what he’d said that was so wrong.

  “You wouldn’t have wanted to be here for oh, I don’t know, to support your mother? The woman who gave you life and did a brilliant job raising you for the last eighteen years?” Hilary sniped in annoyance.

  Michael shrugged. “It’s not like I expected her to be broken up about it. Didn’t the old bitch ostracize her when she was younger than I am now?”

  “Stop talking about me as if I’m not here. And don't call my mother, your grandmother, an old bitch. You know as well as I do why I was sent away. I…” Tears began to well up yet again. “I… am sorry my mother is dead. She was a good mother. She raised me all on her own when my dad took off.”

  “Sadie was still there,” Dad argued.

  Sadie was my grandmother, Mom’s mother. She had died when I was twelve. I often wondered why she hadn’t been the one to tell me about the prophecy. Maybe she’d thought Mom had done so. Who knew?

  “Can we not play the blame game on the steps of the funeral home?” I snapped impatiently, turning back to Mr. Maddigan. “Is there anything I need to do before the funeral gets under way?”

  The old man breathed a sigh of relief that the embarrassing airing of dirty linen had been brought to a close. “No, no, my dear. Just move into the chapel and wait for the rest… well, until the music changes and I enter from the front.

  “The coffin is already in place. Flowers have been draped across it in the colors your mother asked for.

  “At that time I will direct you to take your seats and give a brief oration. As your mother was not a religious woman, no minister will be present to officiate. I will call anyone forward who wishes to speak. Who will give the eulogy?”

  For the first time I felt totally adrift, unsure what I was supposed to say. I had known there would b
e a eulogy. But I’d forgotten to ask anyone to do the task. I certainly didn’t want to do it. I doubted my fragile hold on my emotions would last that long.

  Just before Hilary spoke up, Dad did. “If it won’t seem inappropriate, I’d like to do it.”

  We all stared at him in shock. It was inappropriate, wasn’t it? He hadn’t been in Mom’s life for thirty-five years. He had another wife, for God’s sake! Yet I didn’t doubt his genuine concern and desire to help me where he could. Someone had to do it, and as neither of my kids knew enough to take on the task, it may as well fall to him.

  “That’s fine. Thanks Dad. I appreciate it. It doesn’t have to be anything… long. Just something heartfelt, if that’s possible. Something to celebrate her life.”

  Dad nodded, lowering his head so I couldn’t see his eyes. “I’ll do my best.”

  Just as we were about to trail into the chapel, a large sedan drove into the lot and four people stepped out into the morning sunshine. I knew them instantly. Mary Davis had been Mom’s best friend since school. With her was her husband Hank and their two grown children Hayley and Phil. Hayley had once been a good friend to me, and her little brother Phil had had a crush on me almost as big as the one I had for Jake Killian. I had to hope that I hadn’t broken his heart as thoroughly as Jake had broken mine.

  It was a relief to see this family I’d known so well. The years fell away, just as they had when I entered my bedroom yesterday. I remembered the times Hayley and I made tents out of sheets, and giggled and whispered long after we’d been told to turn out the flashlight and go to sleep. Those sleep-overs rarely included much sleeping.

  Hayley hadn’t gone with us that fateful night. Maybe if she had I would have had company in the car on the drive home. My other friend, Paula, hadn’t wanted to leave the party when I did. I’d been glad of that, at the time. Glad that Jake and I would be alone on the short drive home.

  “Cleo, darling! I am so sorry for your loss!” Mary cried, opening her arms to me as soon as she got close enough.

  Mary was a lot like her daughter, short and solidly built, with plain but kind features. Hank was a good head taller than her but had carried a beer belly for as long as I’d known him. His son had inherited that physical characteristic, as well as the receding hairline. Phil looked the way I expected Jake to look, middle-aged and over the hill. Hayley didn’t show her age nearly as much as her younger brother did. Remembering the teenage boy I’d last seen, looking so old, brought home just how much time had passed and how old I actually was.

  Yet the kindness in Phil’s eyes when he looked at me made me feel guilty for my unkind thoughts. He didn’t deserve to be criticized for what time and genetics had done to him. What was on the inside was what mattered. Hadn’t I learned that lesson the hard way a quarter century ago?

  I let Mary engulf me in her warm arms, the miasma of magnolias surrounding her almost too much to handle. But I breathed through my mouth and clung on for a few more seconds than strictly necessary before slowly releasing my mom’s best friend.

  “It’s good to see you all again. It doesn’t feel like … like twenty-five years,” I stammered out, looking from one to the other of the kind arrivals.

  “No, it doesn’t,” Hayley agreed, rushing in for her own hug that wasn’t nearly as overpowering as her mother’s. “You haven’t changed at all. No, you look even more beautiful than you did at sixteen. You’ve grown into your features.”

  “Not Britney anymore?” I said with a weak smile.

  “Nope. You’ve aged far better than she has,” my old friend declared staunchly. “I bet seeing the house was a shock. People are really worried about it, you know…”

  “Hayley, not now. We’re here to celebrate Mel’s life, not her failures,” Mary admonished.

  That pulled me up sharply. Her failures? Did people believe she was somehow responsible for what had happened out at Channing Manor?

  “I’m sorry,” Mary rushed on. “That was a poor word to use. Let’s just get this done, shall we? I’d love it if you and your family came back to our place after… I have food and plenty of coffee.”

  Mary looked from me to my kids and then to my dad, whose presence seemed to surprise her. Just as it had me.

  “Doug. It’s good to see you after all this time. You finally doing right by her, then?”

  Was everyone determined to use the opportunity to stick the claws in? Couldn’t any of us put aside our bitterness and just be here for Mom?

  Suddenly I just wanted it over. It wasn’t as if she was in that box. When I went back home I knew I’d find her waiting there, determined to remain as long as it took me to solve the problem.

  I headed through the door and allowed the others to follow in my wake. Another car arrived in the parking lot but I was in no mood to wait to see who it might be. The time was getting away from us, and it didn’t look like we were going to be overrun with mourners.

  As if hearing my thoughts, Mary said, “Don’t expect too many people to attend. Most of the town blames Melody for the failing economy. It doesn’t matter how many reports are released stating there aren’t any toxins or chemical waste on your land, locals know something bad happened out there, and whatever it is, is spreading. The tourist industry is all but dead. People are leaving town in droves. If the kids didn’t have jobs at the county office and we weren’t ready to retire, we’d have left, too. The junior school is closing.”

  Mary swore under her breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t plan on mentioning any of this until later… I just wanted you to understand why there may not be a lot of us here today. I expected more of her family to be here, though. You don’t blame her, do you?”

  “No… Nothing like that. Lucy has a sick grandchild she has to look after and my sister is in Europe with her husband. They have important work for the government. It wasn’t a suitable time to just drop everything and come back…”

  Mary looked at me carefully, reading between the lines.

  “They’d be here if they could, I’m sure. Casey loved Mom. And even through Lucy and Mom hadn’t been close for years, there was no animosity between them. Not really. Just… you know, drifting apart. Once Gran died they just drifted apart.”

  “I always found it fascinating that the second daughter of the family was never as into magic as the eldest. I guess it was because only the eldest inherited Channing.”

  My mouth fell open in surprise. Mary was talking openly about magic? Surely Mom hadn’t shared what we were with her friend? As difficult as it had sometimes been, I’d never shared my secret with Hayley or Paula. It felt a bit hypocritical to know that the woman who had warned me to guard my gift had so blatantly done the opposite.

  The next half hour passed slowly. The only other mourners to arrive were two men Mary whispered were government scientists Mom had come to know quite well while they were investigating her land.

  Neither came forward to meet the family, which I was relieved about. I didn’t want to talk about Channing with anyone right now. And if the property was the only thing that linked them to Mom, they were bound to want to talk about it.

  Maybe they’d come to meet the woman who would inherit the place. They’d want to continue with their studies, I knew. I wasn't so sure I wanted them tromping all over the place. But I didn’t know if I had the right to refuse them entry, given it was an environmental concern.

  And I wanted answers. Even if I was pretty sure no scientific explanation would ever be found for the state of my home, I couldn’t refuse any help offered, just in case.

  4

  As soon as we exited the mortuary we were greeted by the sight of an angry mob waiting for us. Many carried placards proclaiming my mother to have been in league with the devil. Others claimed that we should all burn in the fires of hell.

  I turned wide-eyes on Mary, who had come up beside me and placed a comforting arm around my shoulder. I was pleased to see Dad had put an arm around Hilary’s shoulder, while Michael was moving
to stand slightly in front of me, setting his shoulders in readiness for a battle.

  “They know?” I asked my mom’s friend, my voice rusty from too many shed tears.

  “Everyone has always known a little. The rumor mill has filled in the rest with fanciful details. These look like the Fire and Brimstone set led by Pastor Herbert. He came to town about ten years ago and used Channing to set up a church so he could spew his hateful Old Testament rubbish to a receptive audience of worried locals looking for answers.”

  “Don’t tell me people believe that rubbish!” Hilary declared, trying to pull away from her grandfather so she could charge into the fray.

  Clay certainly chose the right wife. She was as much a warrior as he was. But in her current pregnant state I was frightened for her. I didn’t know what these angry idiots might do if they were inflamed further.

  Hank stepped forward instead, holding his hands up to silence the rumble of voices. Of all the people I would have expected to step forward, Hank was the last. A milder, more amiable man you could never find. And his job as county clerk had only encouraged his pen-pushing persona.

  Now, though, Hank looked ready to take on all the crazies single-handedly.

  “Please, this is no time for a demonstration. A woman is dead and her family has the right to mourn her in peace!” he said loudly as the voices quietened to hear him.

  “You consorting with the Devil, too, Hank?” a male voice called out from the back of the sixty-strong mob.

  “No one is consorting with the Devil!” Hank yelled, his voice growing louder as the muttering started up again.

  “All you have to do is look at that infernal house to tell who inhabits it!” cried a woman.

  “We couldn’t even burn it down!” came another voice, this time a male from the far side of the group.

  Burn it down? The evidence of a fire in the forest had been the work of these people?

  A short, skinny man in his mid-fifties stepped forward. He wore black, which was only broken by a strip of white on his collar. His skin was pasty and covered in sweat. Small beady eyes burned with a fanatical fire.