by Freya Darcy
“And what about you two?” I ask. “I mean when you’re not getting in first to welcome the newbie, what do you do?”
The two look at each other and smile as though they’d been waiting for this exact question.
Payton says, “We own and run our own ghost and cryptid investigation experience.”
“It’s called The Woods are Dark.” Derick lowers his voice to sound more mysterious.
“Oh my god.” My head hits the table and I’m laughing so hard, I can’t even draw breath. “What the hell is happening?” I sit up and look from Payton to Derick. “Do you have any idea what these past few hours have been like? I arrive in the middle of the storm from hell, this house has a mind of its own and some serious attitude issues, I had the most fracked up dreams last night, and now, when I let who I think are two sane people into my house, they turn out to be as crazy as I apparently am!”
I’m breathing hard and my two new friends are looking at me like they might just get up and walk out, leaving this insane person alone with her madness.
Payton suddenly grins. “You did see some action last night.”
Derick pulls out a pad and pen from his pocket. “Did you see an actual apparition or just moving objects?”
Can we just go back to the talking spider?
I tell them what I know from last night. It doesn’t seem like much to me when I say it out loud. A couple of doors slamming, a couple opening, a missing towel. But Derick scribbles down every detail, and Payton nods like all of this is incredibly interesting and important.
“For the record,” I say in an attempt to bring the conversation back to sane town. “This is an old house and probably draughty.”
“You mentioned some odd dreams?” Derick asks.
“Yeah ... No. Let’s get to know each other a little better before we start entering Freudian dream translation territory.”
“Ah,” Derick says. “You had that dream where you’re in the bath and your mother__ “
“T-M-I Derick!” Payton interrupts him with a shove. “She’s going to think we’re nuts.”
“Too late.” I say and add a laugh, so I don’t sound so rude. I feel bad throwing them out when I’ve just inhaled their coffee and donuts but... “I kind of have a lot to do today. Maybe we could hang out sometime during the week?”
At the door Derick pulls an impressive looking business card out of his pocket and hands it to me.
The Woods are Dark
Paranormal Consultations and Tours
We want to believe...
“Call us any time if anything happens.” He gives me a meaningful look that I’m sure he thinks I understand.
“Or, you know,” Payton adds with a shrug. “If you just want to hang out.”
I smile. “Thanks for the coffee and the visit. I really needed to touch base with some actual people so, this was nice.”
The two wave and make their way to the dark green van waiting in the drive. All these two need is a book nerd, a stoner, and a talking dog.
I close the door, still smiling and shaking my head. Time to get back to sanity.
And as is the way my life is going, Jaz lowers herself from the ceiling, upside-down, hanging by a long thread of webbing. She whistles through her mandibles and shakes her spider head, her two front legs settling on what I guess are her hips. “I thought they’d never leave.”
Chapter Four
ALRIGHT, SO I RAN AWAY. But you know what? I’m a grown woman, so I don’t have to call it running away. We, grown woman, call it running errands. I need food and personal toiletries and to familiarize myself with the town square, so I know what I can access locally and what I’ll need to order in.
No, it is not a lame excuse to get out of dealing with my new spider familiar.
Okay, maybe it is. But can you blame me? I had no idea that this was a real thing. I mean, I watched The Craft as a teenager and I thought Charmed was sort of fun and who doesn’t want to date the Winchester brothers? But this is different.
I frown when I remember overhearing my mother, after a few too many drinks, telling Barry about her crazy sisters-in-law who thought they were ... what was the word she used? Wiccan? They’d both sneered and snickered as Mum regaled Barry with stories of the twins dancing together under the moon.
How had I forgotten that? Though I don’t remember seeing any of the things my mother had talked about, I’d somehow forgotten just how nasty she had sounded when she spoke of them.
Judith and Harriet had been quite a bit older than my dad, and they were a little odd. But after dad had his accident, Mum and I lost everything. They’d taken us in without question, and more than that, they’d made us feel welcome.
I pull my old Mazda out of the drive and start winding down the hillside road, away from the house and the cliffs. Knowing Aunt Judith and Harriet were witches, real witches, feels like a puzzle piece slotting into place. They were always kind of strange, the way they dressed and talked. But imagining them worshiping the moon and making spells and potions just feels right and makes me feel sort of giddy.
Would I be able to do that? Would I be able to use magic? And if I could, what would I do?
Could I turn Barry into a toad? Could I wish warts on that bully who was mean to me in third grade?
Could I be any pettier?
I’m still chuckling at myself when my engine starts making a clicking sound, makes an even scarier sound, then stops with an exhale of grey smoke.
I do everything I know to do. I slap the wheel, I try to reason with the engine, I even try honking the horn. Nothing.
I know how to change a tire, change the oil, and perform a bunch of other minor fixes, but the actual engine may as well be an alien species from the planet Mars.
“Damn, damn, damn! Why now?” I ask the inanimate and very unresponsive car. “Couldn’t you wait till we got into town? At least there would be a mechanic there.”
I pull out my phone and just sit there holding it. Would my road side assistance come out this far? And how long would that take? I guess the advert shows a guy stuck in the middle of the desert so...
Bringing up the contact I let it dial then sit listening to the silence.
No bars.
No bars? I had perfect reception up at the house. But now I’m on a deserted road surrounded by thick dark woods and actually in need of assistance – nothing. I look around but all I can see is impossibly tall trees and thick scrub and grass. It’s just a wall of pine trees, ghost gums, and these massive thick branchy-leafy monstrosities.
Silence.
Even the birds have gone quiet. How long have I been driving? Not that long, so it wouldn’t take more than maybe half an hour to hike back up the hill. I could call someone from there.
I look out my windows again. The road is narrower than I remember and there doesn’t seem to be any kind of path. I would practically have to walk in the woods that look so dark and deep.
ROOOAAAR!
The sound shakes the car and somebody, possibly me, makes an embarrassing squeaking sound.
Five bikes round the corner, riders in black leather, matching helmets, and snarling dog teeth covering the bottom halves of their faces.
The one at the front points and I groan inwardly. I guess I was wrong. Looks like this is where I’m getting murdered instead.
The five bikes slow and surround my traitor of a car. The one, who was in front, pulls up next to my window. I can see the reflection of my wide eyes in his black mirrored sunglasses. It’s like I’m staring into the eyes of a predator gaining ground, showing bloodthirsty snarling teeth.
Something shifts behind the snarling bandana, covering his mouth and he signals to the others. Then with a crescendo of laughing howls then men rev their engines and four of the five roar down the hill and around the corner.
The sound of their motorbikes is almost gone by the time the leader pulls down the bandana covering his mouth and speaks.
“Car trouble?” His voic
e is deep but quiet and his mouth is nicely shaped though almost buried in a forest of black stubble.
“You tell me, Genius!” I snap. “I’m not parked here for the view.”
His laugh is more of a bark and seems as unexpected to him as it is to me. In the next moment he pulls his helmet and sunglasses away to reveal close clipped hair and smiling hazel eyes.
“Did we scare you, honey? Didn’t mean to,” he says and leans down to look me in the eye. “We were just minding our own business when we saw your car just sitting here.”
“Oh please,” I scoff. “You came roaring around that corner like you owned the road. You boys think you’re so damn tough because you’re in a gang? What if I’d been a child crossing the road? Or an old lady?”
His eyes narrow at me. “Lady, we don’t think we’re so damn tough because we’re in a gang. We think we’re so damn tough, because we are indeed damn tough. And take it from me, only one kind of kid or old lady would be crossing this part of the road, and believe me, you don’t want to be stopping for either.”
Huh?
“Come on,” he says, motioning for me to hurry up. “Pop ya top so I can take a look.”
“Excuse me!?”
He points to the hood and grins.
Feeling my face getting hot, I do as instructed.
What is up with everyone acting like I’m the one acting weird? I’m perfectly sane. It’s the world that’s gone mad.
He swings off his bike and at that exact moment my phone starts singing.
IT’S RAINING MEN! HALLELUJAH!
The biker cocks an eyebrow at me and one side of his mouth ticks. “You wanna get that?”
“It’s not what you think,” I say, glaring at the way his shoulders have started shaking as he moves around the front of my car and dips to inspect the motor.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I say to Frankie who immediately starts cackling.
“You didn’t change it yet?”
“No I didn’t change it yet. You have no idea what I’ve been through this morning. There were no bars on this phone a moment ago, but of course at the worst possible time...”
Frankie gasps. “Oh my god, you’re not alone?”
“No. I broke down and now there’s some biker dude looking under my hood.”
“Tell me that’s a euphemism.”
“Funny,” I snip. “I’m hanging up now.”
“No wait! Is he rough, tough, strong, and mean?”
“Goodbye.” I end the call.
The man tips his head to meet my eyes through the windscreen. “Try it now.”
I turn the key and to my relief the car growls to life. I actually laugh. “You did it!”
Banging closed the hood he grins at me, showing a flash of white teeth. “Don’t sound so surprised. Weren’t you just calling me a genius?”
I flush again. “Yeah, sorry. I get defensive when I’m— nervous.”
“Noticed that.” He rests one large, leather-clad arm across my window and smiles in at me, making me feel like a fish in a bowl being watched by a hungry cat. “The name’s Connor, by the way.”
“Connor?” I ask feeling dumb.
“Yeah, you know if you want to call me something other than biker dude.”
That earns a smile. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually so...” I roll my eyes. “I’m Kismet Silverstone. Kizz.”
His brows lift in surprise. “You’re the Silverstone girl? Heard about you.”
“How? I literally arrived last night. Did they have a town meeting about me?”
He shrugs. “Not much news in Radcliffe Wood.”
Just then the rumble of another motor sounds and we both look to see an expensive sporty red convertible rounding the corner. It slows as it passes, and two immaculate blondes appraise me and my old car. The driver smiles seductively at Connor and blows him a kiss, which he catches. The car speeds up again and disappears around the bend.
“Friends of yours?” I ask and cringe at how defensive my voice sounds.
Connor winks at me before pulling out a card. “I got her running but you’re going to need to bring her in to the shop soon if you want to keep her running. This first service was on the house though.”
I take the card and he thumps the roof twice before swinging back onto his bike, pulling on his helmet, glasses, and bandana, and with a final salute, riding away.
Dingo Boys Car Repair
We’ll fix ya...
I roll my eyes and groan. I’m right, everyone in this town is completely insane!
I MANAGE TO DRIVE INTO the square without incident and even find the local grocery store and Rich Brews coffee shop. As well as a chemist and what looks like a small doctor’s office, I spot a small art supply store, a gift shop, and a huge camping gear outlet. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. We are in the middle of the woods here. It shouldn’t be surprising that the main past time and possibly biggest tourist attraction would be camping and hiking.
A movement across the road gets my attention and I’m surprised to see a familiar face. Derick is crossing the road with quick jerky strides, looking around as though he expects to get jumped or run over any second. I raise my hand to wave, but he disappears into the woods that line the other side of the road. I can’t help smiling, the guy probably lives in a treehouse in there somewhere.
On impulse I venture into the art supply store and feel a giddy almost naughty thrill looking at all the different kinds of paint, canvas, and books. It reminds me of art class in high school. There were always so many rules about dressing and speaking and thinking, but in the art classroom I was allowed to do what I wanted, create whatever I wanted. I remember feeling so free and my teacher seemed to think I was talented.
With my paintbrush I could create anything, and I did. All the things I missed, I brought back to living colour on canvas or paper or whatever I could find. My old room, the woods, the cliffs, my dreams, Dad.
I painted Dad a lot. We didn’t keep many photos, it was like Mum wanted to forget he ever existed after she remarried. So, I painted him, and after I’d recreated his photo so many times, I found I could paint him anywhere, so I started painting him the way I imagined he would look if he were still with us.
I acknowledge that it became a bit of an obsession for me, but certain substances started hitting the fan when I recreated all our new “family photos” with Barry, only I cut him out and put my dad in his place. The night he found my secret stash of paintings was one for the books.
He was so angry I thought he might finally crack and start beating me. But he didn’t, what he did do was strip my room of all drawing and painting paraphernalia. The next day my mother went to the school and had me swapped out of Art and into Home Economics.
But worse than all of that. When I came home from school the next day, all photos of dad were gone, even the one I’d kept in my bedside draw, the one I said goodnight to every night before going to sleep.
“Can I help you?” A tall, striking woman with long silky black hair and tinkling bell earrings steps into the aisle.
Smiling I nod. “Yes.”
Slowly, she looks me up and down. She doesn’t look unfriendly, but nor does she smile. “Are you new in town or just passing through?”
“New in town, though I’m not sure how long I’m going to stay. I don’t know much of anything at the moment.”
Her eyes widen then narrow and she tips her head to the side as though studying a strange new species. “You’re the Silverstone girl,” she says then, “I was sorry to hear about your aunt. Hadn’t seen her much the past few years but we were friends once.”
I have no idea what to say to that. “She sort of shut herself away after Aunt Harriet died.”
“Mmmm.” She hums in agreement and lifts one long fingered hand up and I think she might cup my face, but she pulls away at the last moment with a grim smile. “Much tragedy has come to you and yours.”
“No worse than anyone else. Everyone loses p
eople.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she says and there’s something else in her expression now. Did I pass some kinds of test or fail one? “You never did tell me what you wanted.”
“Art stuff.” The words come out and I want to stuff them back in. I sound like such a noob. “I’ve decided to take some time off and I’d like to get back into painting. It’s been a while though.”
“Ahh, very smart,” she replies with an approving smile. “One must always be busy, even at times of rest.”
She pulls a basket from seemingly nowhere and hands it too me, then leads me down one aisle and up another, picking sketchbooks, pencils, charcoal, oil paints, water colours, and tossing them into the basket. Finally, she picks up two thick canvases and weighed them in her hands, looking from one to the other, then looking at me she smiled.
“You should take both.”
I don’t know why I’m surprised. An art store in a small village like this probably barely breaks even.
“Alrighty, what’s the damage?” I say, pulling out my purse at the counter.
She stares at me again for a long time. “How about a trade?”
“You mean for like my soul? Because, I want to paint but not that badly.”
That earns me a chuckle. “No, not your soul, at least not today.”
I’m seventy-six percent sure she’s joking.
“As you can imagine, business is never bustling, but I have quite a few regulars as well as a few tourists during the on seasons. But it’s just me here and it would be nice to occasionally take a day off.” She runs an eye over the basket and contents then looks back at me. “Let’s say you volunteer in the shop a couple of days a week for the next three months and we’ll call it even.”
“Three months!”
Unmoved by my outburst, she continues. “Then, perhaps we will discuss a salary.”
“This is crazy,” I say because it is. “You don’t even know me. What if I’m some kind of psycho killer or mad kleptomaniac.”