Witches of Palmetto Point Series Boxset Books 1 - 3: Haunting Charlie, Wayward Spirits and Devil's Snare

by Wendy Wang

  “All right. I've got to get to work, but that gives me some place to look.” Charlie turned into the parking lot of her call center.

  “Let me know what you find.”

  “I will.” Charlie had her eye out for a parking space.

  “Oh, and if he keeps harassing you, just let me know because I have no problem opening a complaint against him with his superiors,” Lisa said.

  Charlie chuckled but felt grateful for her cousin’s protectiveness. “Yeah — I know you don’t.”

  Chapter 10

  Daniela wandered around the aisles of the small convenience store, sometimes running her fingers over the merchandise. She stopped a moment to admire the little rhinestones glued to her fake blue and gold nails. She liked the way they glinted, even in this light. Her aunt had given her hell over them and screamed at her for wasting her lunch money on such trivial things. But they were so pretty, and she never ate lunch, anyway. So why shouldn't she spend the money on something she really wanted?

  On her third pass around the store she noticed him watching her. He just stood in the corner holding the handle of the push mop, his eyes following her every move. He was older, and he wasn't bad looking, except for the way he gazed at her, as if he might be picturing her naked, creeped her out. If he didn't stop she would say something to the other attendant sitting behind the counter flipping through some magazine.

  A nervous knot tightened in her belly when he started to follow her from aisle to aisle. Maybe she should just go home. Forget about the stupid argument with her aunt. It just made her so mad that her aunt didn't understand that the world was different today. She may have only been fifteen years old and the last of her friends to lose her virginity but that was only technical. She'd done almost everything else.

  She glanced at the clock over the beer coolers. Its red digital numbers glowed 11:39. Her boyfriend was late. He was supposed to meet her at 11:30. She pulled out her phone, whipped off a quick text and waited for him to reply. She stopped in front of the candy bars, glancing toward the attendant behind the counter. He clearly wasn't paying any attention to her. Looking left toward the other one, with the dry mop, she found him standing at the end of the candy aisle leering at her, nodding to himself, as if he was listening to someone. His thick lips twisted into a smirk and his eyes met hers. He started pushing the mop again.

  “Take it,” he whispered as he passed her. A gust of cold air blew across the back of her neck and shoulders sending a chill down her spine. She looked up at the ceiling. Maybe she was standing under an AC vent. The hair on her arms stood at attention when she noticed the only vents were in the four corners of the store. Slowly she brought her gaze back to the candy trying to ignore him. It wouldn't take much to just slip a couple of Snickers bars into her purse. Still, in her head she could hear her aunt's voice scolding her — stealing is a sin. Do you really want to go to hell over a couple of candy bars? Daniela sighed and took a step back from the candy. She didn't want to wait inside anymore under creepy guy's gaze. She turned and headed out the door to wait for her boyfriend.

  Charlie could feel his lust for the girl almost as clearly as if the feelings were her own. He kept pushing the wide, dirty dust mop past her. The girl’s cloying perfume coated the back of his throat with each pass. Such a pretty, young girl didn’t need to smell like a two-bit hooker. Didn't she know that? He pictured himself cupping her small firm breasts.

  His thoughts made Charlie’s stomach churn and if this weren't a dream, she might have vomited. When he followed her outside Charlie couldn't seem to pass through the glass door. She wrapped her hands around the metal handle and rattled it back and forth but the door wouldn’t budge. Locked in. She cursed under her breath, watching helplessly as he sidled up next to her, attempting to make conversation with her.

  “Come on,” Charlie said under her breath. “Come back inside where it's safe.”

  “She won't you know?” a voice said. Charlie shifted her gaze from the girl to the man standing beside her. All the saliva in her mouth turned to dust when she met his black eyes.

  “You,” she said, recognizing him immediately from the vision she’d had in the library.

  “You,” he smirked and something about it made her so angry she wanted to slap him.

  “You’re Aldus Talmadge,” she said.

  “You have me at a disadvantage.” Charm oozed from his voice and his dark gaze focused fully on her face. “You know my name but I don't know yours. You came to my house, but we weren’t properly introduced. I must remember to scold my niece for being remiss in her duties as hostess.”

  Charlie’s jaw tightened. “Your niece,” she started, “didn’t introduce us, because you’re dead. The real question is why are you still hanging around?”

  His lips stretched first into a grin, then continued, becoming a grotesque leer that made Charlie’s skin crawl.

  He stepped closer. “I am hanging around as you say, because my work isn’t done yet. See?”

  His gaze shifted toward the glass door and Charlie instinctively followed his lead. The walkway where the girl had stood only moments before was empty. Red taillights glowed in the distance, and the white truck turned right, speeding off, tires squealing.

  “They belong to me now.”

  A burst of fury exploded in her chest and she struck out, aiming for his face. He caught her by the wrist and the sound of his laugh chilled her to her soul. But how could that be? He’s a ghost, her mind cried. He was more solid than any ghost she had ever seen — but of course this was a dream. He wasn't real. None of this was real.

  “Get your hands off me,” she said, shaking out of his grip.

  “You are a spirited thing, aren't you? And so pretty.” He lifted his hand to brush it across her cheek and she recoiled.

  Never in her life had she felt the need to spit on someone. It was unlady-like and hateful, her grandmother — God rest her soul — would have not only been disgusted, she would have been disappointed. Something Charlie had spent most of her youth avoiding. But this man. This ghost. This ghost-man infuriated her beyond any fury she had known before and she couldn’t stop herself from hocking as much saliva as she could muster toward his pale, refined face.

  The sound of his laughter shocked her, and she stepped back, watching as he pulled a fine, silk handkerchief from a pocket. He wiped away the glistening spittle coating his cheek.

  “Oh, I can't wait to break you,” he said.

  “Break me?” Charlie’s mouth twisted into a grimace and her stomach wrenched with revulsion. “You will never get the chance.”

  “We shall see about that,” he grinned and took a step back. With each step, he faded until finally he disappeared near the soda cooler.

  Charlie glanced at the attendant behind the counter. He didn’t look up. Her eyes scanned the space above the counter, spotting the cameras positioned mounted near the ceiling — two in each corner and one right above the checkout.

  Stepping outside the building, the cool evening air washed over her. It was just a gas station on a darkened road with no real landmarks to guide her. The only thing that stood out to her was the turtle and hare logo in the center sign above each gas pump. She stepped off the curb to get a better look at the sign. Maybe if she could remember it when she woke up, she could find the place. Maybe none of this had happened yet. Maybe there was still time to stop it.

  Something tightened around her throat when her foot touched the pavement of the parking lot, and her hands flew toward her neck. A thick coil of sisal rope scraped against her fingertips. She scratched at it, drawing blood.

  His voice snaked through her head, silky and deadly. We shall see.

  She struggled to breathe, and the noose tightened. Her vision darkened around the edges. She couldn't pass out, not here, not before she could tell someone. Not yet —

  Charlie sat up straight in bed coughing and gasping for air. She half expected to see him standing at the end of her bed, his dark coal e
yes burning with hatred and lust, but the room was empty. She let out a deep sigh and buried her face in her hands. She had told him he could not break her, but sitting here in the darkness, trying to shake the feel of the rope around her neck, she wasn’t so sure.

  She picked up her phone and scroll through her contacts. Texting Scott was out. She'd already used her quota of calls with him this week and with an Evan weekend coming up, she couldn’t chance Scott thinking twice about him spending time with her. If Scott believed for one moment that she was unstable, he would move heaven and earth to keep her son from her. No, she couldn’t have that; she only saw Evan every other weekend and two Wednesday’s a month. Since soccer started her time with her son had seriously been cut.

  Thumbing past Daphne’s and Jen’s numbers, she landed on Lisa's contact info. Lisa was the most pragmatic. She would be able to punch holes through this dream. She pressed the text option and quickly typed her message.

  He was in my dream. Please call me.

  Less than fifteen seconds later the phone rang in her hand.

  “Tell me. What happened?” Lisa said, voice full of gravel.

  “I'm sorry I shouldn't have—”

  “Of course, you should have. Now, tell me what happened?”

  Charlie recounted the dream down to the last painful detail. When she was done, there was only silence on the line. Had Lisa fallen back asleep? She couldn't blame her if she had. It was two-thirty am.

  Finally, Lisa softly said, “I need you to do something for me.”

  “Of course, what?”

  “Do you have a box of salt?”

  “Salt? Yes, of course.” Charlie knew where Lisa was going with her suggestion.

  “Good. I need you to go into your kitchen and get it. Then I want you to put a ring of salt all the way around your bed.”

  “Do you think for one minute that's really going to stop him?”

  “Yes I do. And if you think long and hard enough, you do too. You need to protect yourself. It's the simplest, easiest line of defense until we can talk to Jen.”

  “What about the girl? She was real. I know it.”

  “Maybe she was, maybe she wasn’t. Right now, there’s not much you can do about it.”

  “What if he is somehow influencing this man to take girls? We have to stop him.”

  “I agree and we will, but for now, for my peace of mind, please go get the salt.”

  “Lisa — it was just a dream. He can't really hurt me physically.”

  “You woke up because you couldn't breathe, right? In my book that’s hurting you.”

  “Damn him,” Charlie said under her breath. “I feel like he’s winning already.”

  “He can only win if he kills you. So go get the damn salt and put it around your bed.” Lisa was used to giving orders and having them followed.

  “You know, Daphne's right about you. You are very bossy.”

  “Yes I am. Especially when it comes to protecting the people I love. Now don't make me get up in the middle the night and come over there. Because you know I will.”

  “Yes. I do know.” Charlie smiled, glad that she wasn’t alone in the world. “Thanks for listening to me and believing me.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Lisa said matter-of-factly. “You gonna be all right?”

  “Yeah. I think so.” Charlie pushed the covers off and threw her legs over the side of the bed. She walked through the darkened apartment with the phone in her hand. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Charlie ended the call and laid the phone on the kitchen counter. The moon shone in through the kitchen windows casting a white glow across the vinyl flooring. She opened the cabinet and grabbed the box of iodized salt from the first shelf. Her heart thudded its way up her throat. His black eyes stared out at her, reflected in the glass of the cabinet door. Her whole body went cold as he rushed toward her, moving through her, dropping the temperature around her enough that her breath puffed out in a cloud. His dark shadow appeared, not quite solid. Her hands shook as she flipped open the top of the salt and poured a handful into her palm. She flung it out toward the shadow. “Get out of my house! You are not welcome here. Get out. Get out! Get out!”

  The shadow screeched and dissipated. As she poured a line of salt in front of her back door, she could have sworn she heard him chanting her name in a whisper.

  Chapter 11

  Sugar adjusted her beach towel over her bent arm and slipped on her flip-flops. She closed the door to her little apartment behind her and locked it, dropping the key on its long string into her beach bag. There were no beaches at Summerfield retirement community, but there was a pool and she loved to swim.

  “Well good morning Sugar,” Dick Bailey said coming up behind her. “You look like you're headed to the pool. It's not a water aerobics day is it?”

  Sugar turned and flashed Dick a smile. “No Dick. I swim laps three days a week. It's good exercise. I've got to do something to keep my girlish figure in shape.”

  Dick smiled wide, his perfectly white, perfectly false teeth were just a tad too large and made him a little horsey looking, but he had nice eyes — they were still a clear blue despite his seventy-nine years.

  “And it is a beautiful shape indeed,” he said using a velvet voice. He had been on the radio years ago. A DJ. She loved to listen to his stories at dinner.

  “Why thank you,” she said coyly. “What about you Dick, what are you going to do for exercise today?”

  “I was gonna head over to the exercise room and maybe bowl a little.” There was no bowling alley at Summerfield — just a sixty-inch television and that video game that allowed you to interact with what was going on the screen. A lot of folks liked to bowl or play tennis or even shoot arrows. It made it much easier using a controller than having to actually pick up a bowling ball, but it got the heart rate up and there was always a crowd which made it fun.

  “Well you have a good time. I'll see you at lunch.”

  “You certainly will,” Dick said giving her a wink and heading in the opposite direction, toward the exercise room. A few minutes later after claiming one of the chairs around the outdoor pool, she slathered on some sunscreen and dove into the clear aqua-colored water. She fell into her rhythm easily, counting the laps in her head. She swam vigorously using a freestyle stroke.

  Head down head to the side — breathe.

  Her thoughts went to the conversation she’d had with her daughter the night before. Susan wanted her to talk to these women who were supposed to get rid of the ghosts in her brother’s house.

  “No one can do that, except maybe a preacher, Susan,” she’d said. Why did this always come back around to haunt her?

  You know why - she’d heard her sister’s distant voice say. She had made some excuse about having to go because one of her shows was about to come on and she couldn’t miss it. She hated putting Susan off, but Sugar just did not have the wherewithal to deal with the subject and NCIS was coming on, so it wasn’t really a lie. She just loved that Mark Harmon. So handsome.

  Cold fingers dragged over the skin of her legs and she kicked harder. She must have hit an icy patch. She would have to remember to tell one of the girls in the exercise center. The pool was supposed to be heated during the off-season. Late April brought very warm days but the water wouldn’t have been sufficiently warmed without the solar heater.

  Ignoring the cold, she kept going until she hit the end of the pool and turned, heading toward the other end. Cold fingers wrapped around one of her ankles, chilling her to the bone. It dragged her under for a moment and her arms flailed. She kicked with her free foot. The air in her lungs grew stale and if she didn’t get to the surface soon, they would begin to burn.

  Whatever was holding her down, let her go, and she broke through the surface of the water, gasping in air and water, coughing until her chest ached. She turned 360 degrees, scanning the water below her. What had grabbed her? The sun sparkled off the top of the clear water, making wavy yellow-white
lines on the blue pool bottom. There was nothing there. She was alone in the pool. It was too early for the lifeguard and she was really the only one who liked to swim this early in the year. Maybe she’d just imagined it.

  Of course you did. You silly, stupid old woman. You just spooked yourself with thoughts of the old house. She laughed, and it echoed across the water. She started her lap again — there were still five more to do. Within two laps, the rhythm put her at ease.

  Head down, head to the side — breathe.

  The sound of splashing water from her feet and arms working in harmony gave her a sense of satisfaction. She was lucky. She still had her health. So many here didn't. As long as she could stand up on her own she was going to do whatever it took to keep this old body working. Nearing the last lap, she looked forward to getting out of the pool and sitting in the sun. Her muscles always felt so good after. Tired. Worked. Useful. If there was anything she wanted it was to be useful.

  Then why aren’t you helping me? Her sister’s distant voice asked.

  Sugar kicked off from the poolside ignoring the voice. It'd been a long time since she'd heard it and she had done everything in her power to avoid it — including staying away from her parent’s home. It had broken her mama's heart and maybe it meant she was hard-hearted — but really, she just couldn't face Honey again.

  Icy fingers dragged across her back, down her leg, sending a chill through her again and she stopped mid-stroke. Her heart beat hard in her throat and she twisted around in the pool.

  “Stop it Honey,” she said in a harsh whisper. “You go on now. Leave me alone.”

  Hands wrapped around both ankles this time yanking her to the bottom of the five-foot-deep pool. They held her underneath, and she struggled, kicking as best she could at her invisible captor. Air bubbles rose around her and the burning in her lungs came fast, like a brush fire out of control. Grayness invaded the edges of her vision. An icy finger brushed across her cheek forcing her to look up. Honey Talmadge floated in front of her eyes. Her dirt-streaked face and stringy hair looked exactly as it had that night nearly seventy years ago. The night she died.