Witching Hour (Witching Hour Series Book 1)

by A. I. Nasser

  “Start talking,” she said as she drove, her knuckles white with the tight grasp on the steering wheel as she kept her eyes glued on the road.

  “He’s playing us,” Kyle said. “I don’t know how he’s doing it, but he’s definitely screwing with our heads.”

  “That’s a friggin’ understatement,” Aley said. “The guy gave me the chills, and I’m from New York. We don’t scare that easy.”

  “He read us somehow,” Kyle said. “It’s a parlor trick. Throw in a few common intuitions and you’re bound to strike a chord.”

  “He did more than that,” Aley said. “What was all that about visions and nightmares?”

  Kyle didn’t reply, and Aley had to peel her eyes away from the road just to make sure he had heard her. He had stopped shaking and seemed to be a lot more composed, and even she could feel her head clearing. As she turned onto North Main Street, the daunting feeling that had hung over her like a shroud was gone, and she found that she could breathe a lot easier now.

  “Visions, Kyle,” Aley said. “Stay with me.”

  Kyle hesitated, ran a hand through his hair, and used the handle bar above the passenger seat to adjust himself. “I’ve been having nightmares lately,” he finally said. “About my wife and son.”

  “Nightmares?”

  “Nothing serious,” he replied, with enough of a stall to assure her that they definitely were serious. “I see my wife and son, memories usually, and the fire.” He looked at her and quickly added, “That’s something anyone could have guessed. If you know anything about me, and Fegan definitely does, it’s not farfetched to assume I’d have nightmares of the past. Like I said, parlor tricks.”

  “And the demon?”

  “What?”

  “The demon,” Aley repeated in frustration. “He said something about a demon taunting you. Hunting you and all the prophecy bullshit.”

  “We all have our demons,” Kyle replied, his voice dropping.

  “He said demon, singular,” Aley shot back, stealing a quick glance at him. His face was ashen, and he seemed incredibly uncomfortable, avoiding eye contact.

  “I don’t know what any of that meant,” Kyle finally replied.

  Aley slammed her fists against the steering wheel, pushed down hard on the brakes and brought the car to a screeching halt by the curb. The car behind her let out a wailing honk as it passed them, the muffled sounds of the driver’s angry shouting lost in the heat of her fury.

  “Okay, listen,” she said through gritted teeth. “For the past few hours, I’ve done everything I can to help you out. I almost got arrested, offered to drive you home, and even joined you on this little excursion that’s been nothing less than a quick visit to hell, which by the way, still has me feeling like someone’s tap dancing in my head and screaming in glee at my misery. I’m not going to pretend to know how you feel, or insult you by claiming to understand what you’re going through. I’m going well out of my way to be a friend during this crap of a day, and from what I can see, it’s not like anyone else is lining up to do the same. All I ask is you don’t bullshit me and don’t you dare insult my intelligence. Stick to that rule and we might just be fine until I can make sure you’re not going to die in the gutter somewhere. Okay?”

  She took in a deep breath and let it out in one long exhale, her eyes fixated on his as the heat in her cheeks grew. Her hands were shaking, and her heart pounded in her chest like a piston.

  Whatever you do, don’t cry. Please don’t cry.

  Their eyes remained locked for what felt like forever before Kyle finally broke the stare and nodded. “Fine,” he said. “You win.”

  “Thank you,” she replied, turning back to face the road and grabbing onto the comfort of the steering wheel. She didn’t feel too great, but at least she had gotten through to him.

  “For the record, I didn’t ask you to come with me,” he said.

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass,” she replied.

  He’s Kyle Ashfeld. What the hell are you doing?

  But right now, he wasn’t her literary hero, the idol she had always looked up to when she thought of the great authors that had influenced her. Gone was the image she had drawn for herself of the suave, has-it-all-together horror writer who not only radiated confidence, but could slay dragons with his words. Now, all that remained of Kyle Ashfeld was the man sitting in the passenger seat, fighting his demons and apparently losing miserably.

  “Let’s start with the visions,” she said.

  Kyle nodded, took a deep breath, and told her everything.

  By the time he was done, she wished she had kept her mouth shut.

  ***

  Kyle paused at the threshold of the apartment door.

  The darkness was discomforting, even more so now that he was in a strange place. For the briefest of moments, his eyes caught shifting shadows where he knew none were, and the smell of rotting flesh filled his senses. He looked to Aley for comfort and waited until she had switched on the lights before he allowed himself a sigh of relief, his anxiety quickly fluttering away.

  The apartment was small, but felt homey nonetheless. There was a comfortable harmony to it; the way the living room and dining table mixed together with the open kitchen. The corners were decorated with small antique tables and potted indoor plants, the dim lights casting a warm glow over the small space, almost as if welcoming its guests with open arms.

  A stark contrast to how his apartment felt these days.

  “Don’t worry,” Aley said, closing the door behind them and locking it. “Nothing’s going to bite.”

  Kyle gave her a weak smile.

  Coming here had been her idea. She had repeatedly offered to take him home, and he had turned each one down, assuring her that he would be fine sleeping in his car outside Kingsley’s where he believed he’d be safe. Aley had been quick to call the idea stupid, and eventually made it clear that he had no choice as to whether or not he would spend the night at her place.

  And that suited him just fine. After everything that had happened, going home was the last thing he wanted to do. He didn’t think he had it in him to face the ghosts of his dead wife and son tonight, and whatever else had taken over his bedroom. He could still see the monster from his nightmares staring at him from beyond the threshold of the room, screeching at him, promising to find him no matter what. It still made him shiver, and right now, the one thing he needed more than sleep was the company.

  He couldn’t be sure that he would be safe here, and a part of him was scared that just being in Aley’s apartment would inadvertently bring her into harm’s way. What if he had his nightmares here, where there was no bedroom to confine them? What would happen to him, or to Aley for that matter? The questions rushed through his head and swirled about, forming a mush of confusion that quickly manifested into a throbbing headache he knew would keep him awake for hours.

  Better awake than in hell.

  Kyle shook his head to clear his mind of the doubt that had taken over him, the small voice that was constantly making him second-guess himself. He ran his hand across his face and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push back sleep for just a little bit more.

  “Coffee?” Aley asked, watching him carefully.

  She pities you.

  He could see it in her eyes. The gentle concern mixed with a hint of fear, all woven together in a mask of bravado that she apparently thought would make her look more composed than he knew she really was. He would have been impressed with how much she was putting up with if not for the fact that he was too exhausted to dish out compliments.

  “I could use a mug or two,” Kyle replied.

  Aley nodded and made her way into the open kitchen, flicking the switch on the coffee maker while she rummaged through the cupboards for two mugs. He watched her for only a moment before finding his way to the couch, his legs leading him without much help from his brain, and flopped down. The cushions seemed to roll out around him and hug him, a reminder that if he would just
close his eyes, if he could bring himself to let go, they would protect him from everything.

  Kyle rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing the tiredness back. He needed to stay awake for as long as he could. Maybe falling asleep from the exhaustion would send him straight past the nightmares and into a deep, dreamless slumber.

  You’re not that lucky.

  “Here, drink this,” Aley said, handing him a mug and curling onto the seat beside him.

  Kyle took a whiff of the dark liquid and cringed. “This is strong.”

  “It’s the only way I know how to drink it,” she smiled.

  Kyle took a sip, felt the bitter taste of the coffee roll down his throat, and shuddered. He hated drinking coffee black, but right now, it felt exactly like what he needed.

  “Maureen set you up real nice,” he said, taking another sip and trying not to show his discomfort.

  “I was lucky,” Aley nodded. “She’s a real sweetheart. Treats me as if I were her daughter.”

  “She has that going for her,” Kyle smiled, feeling the coffee work its magic. “She’s always looked out for us.”

  “She told me you were in her book club back in the day.”

  Kyle chuckled, remembering how he had sat quietly in the back and had to be constantly pushed to share his stories with everyone else. Even then he had had a taste for the macabre, and trying to keep that hidden was his way of fitting in. Most of the time, reading one of his works out loud resulted in confused and horrified stares from everyone else. It always made him wonder what Maureen had seen in him, although he did have her to thank for his career, in a way. She had been that initial push that made him believe he could make a living out of what his mind conjured.

  “She pushed me hard enough to make me want to do this forever,” Kyle reminisced. He could still see the smile on Maureen’s face whenever he was done reading his stories aloud.

  “She said you were a prodigy,” Aley remarked.

  “Maureen has a habit of putting me up on a pedestal,” Kyle smiled.

  “Not too far from the truth, if you ask me.”

  Kyle looked at her, and returned her smile. “A lot of my success has to do with luck.”

  “You keep telling yourself that, Kyle Ashfeld.”

  “It’s true,” he said, feeling his body relax into the couch and his mind begin to form coherent thoughts for the first time today. “You basically write the best you can, hope that what you’re doing works, and the rest is all luck. You get lucky that the right people read your books at the right time, that a publisher picks up your manuscript because he or she is not swamped with work and decided to toss it aside after reading the first line. A talented agent who knows the right people.” He looked at her for a moment before gazing at the wall in front of him. “All you can really control is the writing. Nothing more. My father liked to say that the best you can do is enough to get you halfway there. The rest is out of your hands.”

  “Smart guy,” Aley said. “A little cynical, though.”

  “All doctors are, I guess,” Kyle mused, taking another sip of his coffee.

  “Must have been hard living up to those expectations.”

  Kyle frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know,” Aley shrugged. “Usually fathers want their sons to follow in their footsteps, don’t they? Probably wanted you to take over the practice or something.”

  Kyle shook his head. “Nah, he wasn’t like that,” he said. “Besides, I was an only child, and they kind of spoiled me. My parents couldn’t conceive.”

  “So you were a medical miracle as well?”

  Kyle chuckled and raised an eyebrow at her. “Sure, if you want to call it that,” he said.

  “What else would you call it?” she asked, smiling as she cradled her mug close to her chest. “Maureen said that you kind of just appeared one day. That your mother never showed any signs of pregnancy.”

  Kyle’s smile widened. “Yeah, I heard that story,” he said, a soft chuckle escaping him before he masked it with another sip of coffee. He put the mug down on the coffee table, stretched and laid back, closing his eyes as he rubbed his temples. He heard Aley shift in her seat, and he opened his eyes just as she took his mug and made for the kitchen.

  “You get the couch, Mr. Ashfeld,” she said, her imitation of Fegan so terrible, it made him laugh. “I’ll get you a blanket and spare pillow. You gonna be okay here?”

  “I think so,” Kyle said. “Don’t worry about me. I really appreciate this, Aley, thank you.”

  She smiled and made for her room when she suddenly stopped and looked at him, frowning. “You said you heard that story.”

  Kyle was taking off his shoes, his mind clearer now because of the coffee, but his body begging for a reprieve from the toll the day had taken on him. “Excuse me?”

  “When I told you what Maureen had said,” Aley explained. “You said you heard that story.”

  Kyle nodded. “Yeah, so?”

  “Why story?”

  Kyle smiled and nodded. “Right, yeah,” he chuckled. “My parents never told anyone. They kind of just rode the wave.”

  “Meaning?”

  Kyle looked at her, a little confused as to how she hadn’t put two and two together. “Isn’t it a little obvious?”

  Aley shrugged and shook her head.

  “I was adopted.”

  ***

  Maureen was getting ready to settle in when the doorbell rang.

  At first, she decided to ignore it. She was exhausted, a long day at the shop, and she had gotten a bit used to Aley helping out. That, coupled with the news of the two fires and the death of Tracey Garfield, and she was more than ready to get the day over with and start fresh in the morning.

  She had barely kept herself awake long enough to make sure Aley got home safe. The girl had had the good sense to call Maureen when she didn’t show up for work, and filled her in on all the details. Maureen agreed full-heartedly when Aley told her she’d stay with Kyle and make sure he was okay. Seeing Kyle’s car pull up in her driveway, and the two of them make their way to the guest apartment, had given Maureen a great sense of relief, allowing her to finally relax, knowing they were both fine.

  A part of her had wanted to invite them in, but the exhaustion had already found its way to her bones, and pushing sleep any further would have meant waking up too tired to open up shop the next day. And she was in no position to do that these days. She was barely making it through as it was.

  When the doorbell rang again, Maureen groaned and reluctantly sat up in bed, checking the time. The clock on her nightstand read a few minutes after midnight, and she shook her head in frustration, her muscles aching and her joints cracking as she pushed to her feet. She made her way across the second floor landing, and slowly edged down the stairs, using the banister for support. She stifled a yawn, and cursed under her breath when the bell chimed a third time.

  “Alright, alright,” she called out. “I’m coming already.”

  Maureen opened the door, and the idea of sleep immediately vanished.

  “Helen?”

  Helen Lint looked like she had been dragged to hell and back. Her hair was disheveled, her shirt ripped in places and stained with dark brown patches, and her feet looked like she had been trudging through mud, dirty with nails chipped and blood caked to her skin. The sight alone was enough to give Maureen a start, but it was the look in the woman’s eyes that scared her the most.

  Helen had obviously been crying, her cheeks painted in dirt streaks and her eyes watery. She looked like she had seen a ghost, or something worse, and she stared at Maureen with the look of a child that was begging to be told that everything would be alright. She had her arms wrapped around her and was shaking like a leaf.

  “Oh my God, Helen, what happened to you?” Maureen gasped, grabbing the woman and pulling her into her arms.

  Helen broke down in tears, burying her face in Maureen’s chest as her shoulders rose and f
ell with her sobs. A pungent aroma rose up from her, mixed with a strong smell of smoke. Her hair was matted with what Maureen could only guess was ash. She quickly led Helen inside, closing the door behind them.

  Maureen flipped on the lights and rushed Helen into the kitchen, sitting her down at the table and rushing to get a towel she could soak and use to clean the woman up. Helen had begun to really let the waterworks flow, and with every sob, Maureen felt her heart ache a little. She had known Helen ever since she was a child, had babysat her on numerous occasions. She had even been there during her son’s baptism.

  Her son.

  Maureen froze for a second, then quickly shook off her worries and bent down in front of Helen.

  “Move your hands, sweetie, let me fix this.”

  Helen dropped her hands, slowly, and Maureen began to gently dab at her face, cleaning up as much of the dirt and what she hoped was not blood on the woman’s face. Helen was trying to compose herself, sniffing as she fought the sobs, but her eyes would water in seconds and tears would stream down her face.

  “What happened to you?” Maureen asked. “Everyone’s been looking for you.”

  “The house,” Helen’s voice shook and cracked. “It … the fire … everything … Steven and–” Helen shook violently and Maureen had to grab onto her to stop her from falling off the chair.

  “Oh my God, Brian!” Helen screamed.

  Maureen felt tears sting her own eyes as she held Helen to her. She had heard about the fire at the Lint house from Sheriff Gadge. Apparently, everyone was looking for Helen, especially since the office building where she worked had also mysteriously gone up in flames. Call me immediately if you see her, Gadge had told her, and Maureen had promised she would. But right now, Helen didn’t need the police asking her questions. The woman had just lost her husband and son, and there was no way in hell anyone could understand what she was going through.

  “I know, honey,” Maureen cradled Helen and rocked her side to side. “I know. Let it all out.”