Witch Hollow and the Wrong Spell (Book 1)

by I.D. Blind

2. Eric

  A month ago, Eric O’Brian arrived in Hollow. He didn’t want to leave his hometown, but he also didn’t want to stay there. Eric hated school and skipped classes. This happened last semester, when he skipped April and half of May. When his father found out about it, a big argument broke out. Eric promised to finish with the truancy, but soon began to skip his classes again. Another call from school, and Eric realized that this time he was in big trouble.

  “If he doesn’t want to settle down, I will send him to live with my relatives in a town far away,” Eric's father said. “Let him see that life is not just playing the guitar or going surfing. Let him toil and moil, maybe it will lead him to his senses.”

  Eric's parents sent a letter to Hollow, and a month later received a reply from Albert O’Brian, the second cousin of Eric's father, who was ready to give shelter to his good-for-nothing nephew.

  “What's the matter with you?” Eric’s mother asked for the umpteenth time, helping him pack his belongings. “What do you lack? We gave you anything you wished. This is how you show your gratitude. And now you’re leaving for a town which is not even on the map.”

  “Maybe it's for the better,” was muttered with indifference.

  “Do you think it’s going to be easy there?” Jane O’Brian snorted. “You never lacked anything, and now you’ll be living in a place where almost everything is done with physical work.” She slammed the suitcase. “David says you’ll benefit from it, but as for me, I don’t know what to say.”

  “Neither do I,” Eric said quietly.

  Jane seemed confused.

  “Mom, I don’t know what to say to you, but I don’t like my life. I'm sick and tired of it.”

  “Well, if your parents have managed to tire you during these sixteen years—”

  “Mom! Why do you never listen to me? That’s not what I said.” He grabbed his guitar and put it in the case.

  “Will you call me when you arrive?”

  “Sure, I will.”

  Jane hugged her son. “Behave well, dress warmly, don’t get into fights, and listen to your uncle and aunt.”

  “Mom, that's enough.” He broke out of her embrace. “I have to go, or I’ll be late, and dad will boil like a kettle.”

  “Don’t talk like that about your father.”

  Eric hung the guitar on his shoulder, grabbed the suitcase and walked to the door. While he was getting into a taxi, his mother managed to warn him about flu, sore throat, pneumonia, and all kinds of viruses that could be picked up in distant countries.

  After flying for twenty-two hours on two planes, then traveling four hours by train, Eric was sitting at the bus stop and waiting for bus 85. Judging by the map, he was still several hours’ journey from Hollow. He was tired, eyes were sleepy, but if he fell asleep he’d miss his bus.

  The bus finally appeared: a small blue vehicle, almost empty inside. Eric sat on one of the front seats. To drive away the sleepiness he looked out the window. His eyes were weary. He had been unable to sleep on the plane, the train was noisy and had lacked fresh air, and now falling asleep was forbidden, as the note clearly stated: “The third stop, near the large oak tree.”

  The bus was moving slowly, as if it had caterpillar legs instead of wheels. And the longer it drove, the more beautiful the place looked. Little by little, flourishing meadows replaced the streets. The road became green with verdure; tall trees, steep hills, and vein-like rivers appeared on the horizon. If only Eric didn't feel so sleepy.

  The bus came upon the second stop. Now he could barely distinguish the colors. There was a lot of green—the big dense forest, and a lot of blue—the clear cloudless sky.

  Finally, the third stop. Almost dozing, Eric shuffled to the exit. There was the big oak tree, with a bench under it that looked like a wooden arbor.

  Now what? he thought, sitting on the beautifully trimmed bench. He knew he ought to get the note with the address and read the number of the house. He’d get it eventually, but for now he’d take a short nap. He was overcome with an irresistible drowsiness, and it was so good there, so nice and pleasant, and he wanted so much to sleep.

  One of the witches of Hollow was passing across the road when she spotted the stranger, and coming closer, looked him over from head to feet. The young man was sleeping peacefully, his head resting on his hand. Electra looked at his black vest, blue jeans, and white sneakers. With the same interest, she looked at his suitcase and the case with a guitar, then returned her eyes to his face. The stranger was young, with dark hair and smooth, fine features. He must have started dreaming of something bad, as his Adam's apple rose and fell, giving away his anxiety. His eyelids moved, and it seemed he was about to open his eyes, but the stranger kept sleeping.

  Electra looked around. There was no one nearby. She glanced back at the sleeping fellow, and almost touched his shoulder, but changing her mind, pulled her hand back. Moving away from the bench, she went towards the lane, looking back a few times. The young man continued sleeping, and soon she lost the sight of him.

  Eric had a strange dream. He was riding in the bus, though not through the greenery and fields, but across the vault of heaven. Glittering constellations shone in the sky: Cassiopeia, Ophiucus, and Altar passed before his eyes, and finally Orion, the stellar idol with a sparkling belt, came into his sight. Eric stared at it for some time, until a strange sound came from somewhere nearby. It resembled a croaking, which soon became louder, and could now be heard from somewhere close. The volume increased so much that made him wince. Eric threw his eyes open. For a second he still heard the loud croaking, which then turned into a cell phone's ringtone.

  A quiet evening had fallen over Hollow while he had been sleeping on the bench. Rubbing his eyes, he answered the call.

  “Sweetheart, have you got there already?”

  “Mom?”

  “Eric, your voice sounds strange. Has anything happened?”

  “No, Mom, everything is fine.” He rubbed his eyes again and looked around. “I’m tired, but yes, I’m in Hollow, and I’ll be at the O'Brians’ in ten minutes.”

  Eric didn’t know where his relatives’ house was or how much farther he had to go to reach it. He’d make use of the note eventually, but right now he wasn’t worried: it would be hard to get lost in such a small town.

  “Do you like the town? Is it warm? Did you eat on the road?”

  “Mom, everything is fine. I have to go.”

  “Sweetheart, do you remember what I told you? Be careful.”

  “Mom, I remember everything. Don’t worry. I have to go.”

  “Shall I pass anything to Father?”

  “My best wishes. We’ll talk later, I must go.”

  “Take care, sweetheart.”

  Eric turned off the phone and took the note with the address from his pocket. “... from the large oak tree to the right, until the end of the alley, then to the left, next to the bramble bushes, to the beginning of the stone path, the sixth house on the right, with a red roof.”

  These people have never heard of numbers on the houses, Eric thought as he headed right, towards the alley.

  The path stretched away like a strip; brick houses stood in the distance. The sun was setting, and having no wish to spend the night under the open sky, Eric hurried to find the house with the red roof. As written on the note, it was the sixth house on the right, a two-story building with a courtyard and an apple orchard. Eric put the suitcase on the ground and looked around. After living in a bustling city full of exhaust gas and the disgruntled cries of its residents, he was surprised to see a place where not a single car had passed, nor was a single cry heard. Instead of the usual dust, the air smelled of pine needles, and the infrequent rapping of a woodpecker and the barks of squirrels were the only sounds that broke the reigning calmness.

  “Looking for someone?”

  Eric turned around. By the house next door, leaning on the wooden fence, a girl was looking at him. Finally, a living soul. Eric was beginning to
doubt that Hollow was habitable.

  “Looking for someone?” she repeated.

  Eric took the guitar from his shoulder, put it on the ground next to the suitcase and walked to the fence. “Yes, I’m looking for the O'Brians.”

  “You have succeeded in your quest,” the girl laughed. “You’re standing in front of their house.”

  Eric smiled. “I'm Eric.”

  “Dinah.”

  How beautiful, he thought, looking into her dark blue eyes. All the beauty of the place, the clean air, and the serene sky faded when Eric saw Dinah McCormack. A beautiful creation for the sake of whom it was worth coming to Hollow, suffering nausea, dust, and the train's evil-smelling passengers. Under the shade of her long black lashes, the blueness of her eyes was bewitching. This place is going to be interesting, Eric thought.

  Somewhere near Dinah's house a knock was heard. It stopped for a second and started again.

  “That’s my brother chopping wood.”

  “I see.”

  “Dickens!” Dinah called. “Dick, come here.”

  From around the corner a young man with an axe in his hand appeared.

  “This is Eric, he came to the O'Brians.”

  The fellow’s face remained impassive. He looked at Eric, then at his sister, and went back to the woodpile. A moment later the sound of the axe cutting wood started again.

  “He's not very polite,” Dinah said. “Why did I even call him?”

  “It's alright. So, do you live here?”

  She nodded. “And judging by your luggage, you’re going to live in Hollow, too.”

  “I guess so.”

  Dinah opened the gate of the fence and came out. “Come with me.” She went to the O'Brians' house and Eric hurried after her.

  “Mrs. O'Brian!” Dinah knocked at the door several times.

  Inside, the lock clicked, the door opened, and a golden-haired woman appeared on the threshold.

  “Mrs. O'Brian, this is Eric, he is looking for you.”

  Mrs. O’Brian looked at Eric, and a moment later exclaimed, “Eric, my dear boy! But how… hurry up, come in. Albert, Eric has arrived!”

  “Where is he? Riona, bring him here,” a male voice sounded from somewhere inside the house.

  Eric and Dinah entered the house, and Mrs. O'Brian led them to her husband. Albert O'Brian, a portly man in his forties, with a short black beard, rose from his armchair and hurried to his nephew.

  “What in thunder! My son, I'm sorry, I forgot everything, as always.” He gave Eric a hug, then looked at the calendar. “I’d even circled the date, and still forgot to meet you.”

  “Ah, Albert, you always forget everything, but how could I forget?” Riona hugged Eric. “My dear, I hope it wasn’t too hard for you to find our house.”

  “Don’t worry. I had a good walk.”

  Eric went back outside and picked up his luggage. “So, we’re neighbors,” he told Dinah.

  “Seems like that. Hope to see you tomorrow, in the afternoon.”

  Parting with her, Eric looked at his watch. It was 9:50 P.M. He was already missing the blue-eyed beauty, and there were still many long hours to go until tomorrow afternoon.

  During supper, the O'Brians—Albert, Riona, and their two children, fifteen-year-old Eleanora and six-year-old Henry—hailed Eric with questions about his parents and the life in the big city.

  “You will like this place,” Riona said, putting an apple pie on the table. “Maybe there aren’t many fun things to do here, not like in the big cities, but it’s very beautiful in Hollow.” She turned to her husband. “Albert, the boy looks tired. Show him his room upstairs.”

  Eric was led upstairs into a small room with a bed by the window, a bedside table with a lamp on it, and a wooden built-in closet. A few toys were left lying in the corners, and pictures, painted by a child’s hand, were hanging on the walls. Eric put his suitcase and the guitar on the floor and lay down to at last have a long-awaited rest.