“I’m going to be at Oak Grove Cemetery tonight,” she went on. “Isn’t that where your aunt will be buried?”
“Yeah, but she isn’t there now,” I said, with a twinge of alarm. “The burial isn’t until Tuesday.” It had never occurred to me to do the ritual outdoors, much less in a cemetery. I had planned to summon Josephine at my altar. Mila’s suggestion was making me nervous.
“I think you’ve already established she’s not with her body,” she said, without a trace of sarcasm. “Calling her to the cemetery might be beneficial for two reasons. First, the energy there is conducive for making contact with ghosts. It’s a transitional place where lots of crossing over happen. Second, by showing her where her body will be laid to rest, you might make it easier for her when it’s time for her to let go and move on.”
“Okay, but I think they lock the gates at dusk. Wouldn’t it be trespassing to sneak in?” Not that I’d let that stop me before, but I was trying to be good now.
“Oh, we’ll have permission. I know the caretaker. He lets me in after dark a couple times a year. He knows I’m always quiet and respectful.”
I was running out of arguments. “I don’t want to take you away from your own celebrations.”
“You won’t be. I’ve been celebrating with Circle all week. Tonight, I’ll honor my own ancestors early in the evening. After that, I’m all yours.”
I was so touched by her offer, I couldn’t refuse. But there was still one problem. I wasn’t public about my Wiccan religion.
“Mila, I’m pretty sure the police are watching that cemetery, at least the old section. There’s been drug activity in one of the mausoleums. Granted, it usually happens after midnight and in the early morning hours, but still.”
“We’ll be in the new section, but we can certainly let the police know we’ll be there. That’s not a bad idea.”
I imagined Detective Rhinehardt’s reaction if he learned I was a witch. It might not faze him, but, then again, it might lower his opinion of me. I hated thinking that way, but it was true.
“What is it, dear?” asked Mila.
“I don’t want to be recognized,” I said, in a small voice.
“Oh, that’s not a problem,” she said lightly. “Leave everything to me.”
* * *
And that’s how I found myself, several hours later, dressed like a medieval monk. The long black robe with large, rounded hood was heavier and more masculine than I was used to. It was a little awkward.
On the other hand, I couldn’t deny the excited flutter in my solar plexus chakra. It was quite a rush to stand under the moonlight in the middle of a graveyard on Samhain night. I had never done anything quite like this. But I was a witch, dammit, and this was a very witchy thing to do.
It was all the better to be surrounded by other, similarly clad figures—strong, fierce women. With my permission, Mila had asked Catrina Miller, Max Eisenberry, and Fredeline Paul to join us. Fredeline wore her own colorful caftan and head scarf, and made it clear that she was there to worship the Loa rather than any Pagan gods. But she also wanted to honor Josephine and didn’t mind hanging out with a handful of American Witches for an evening, especially since Max offered to give her a ride.
We had met at the cemetery gate at sundown. Mila had already been inside at her own family’s plot and had seen the headstone I’d purchased for Josephine. She showed us the way, and we gathered in a cluster to admire the stone. It was an upright granite marker with an engraving of an angel next to Josephine’s name.
“That’s a nice touch,” said Mila, tracing the angel. “I’ll bet your mom will like this.”
“Yeah. My grandma will, too.”
We all chatted for a few minutes, and Max showed us a picture of her toddler in her pumpkin costume. She’d had a busy day, with a Halloween parade, family cookout, and trick-or-treating. She was so tuckered out, she’d fallen asleep watching cartoon specials with her papa.
With that sweet image in mind, we all had smiles on our faces as we formed a half-circle facing Josephine’s headstone.
I recalled what Mila had said about liminal times and places being conducive for contacting spirits. At Samhain, which literally means “summer’s end,” we were transitioning from the light, warm half of the year, to the dark, cold half. And the cemetery itself felt very transitional tonight, with the half-bare trees and sharp chill in the gentle breeze. Even the moon was transitional. As a waning gibbous, it was less than a full moon but more than a half moon. Just a curvy body in between.
I wasn’t sure what to expect tonight, but I was grateful for the support. It seemed appropriate that we were a group of five, like the five classical elements and the five points on a pentagram.
I asked Mila if she would open the ritual. As high priestess of her coven, she was a natural leader who instilled confidence and trust.
“I would be honored,” she said. For Fredeline’s benefit, she explained that she would first cast a protective circle to contain our magical energy and keep negative energies at bay. Though this was familiar territory for me, I couldn’t help envisioning dark spirits swirling in the sky like deathly ghouls in a gothic horror novel.
I shook myself. This was supposed to be a solemn, sacred ritual, not a “haunted barn” experience. I tuned in to Mila, who was chanting a blessing as she walked in a wide circle around the headstone, scattering yellow and red leaves as she went. Then she called the quarters, beginning in the east and working her way around the four directions:
Spirits of Air, lovely sylphs, we call on you to grace us with your presence.
Spirits of Fire, mystical salamanders, we call on you to grace us with your presence.
Spirits of Water, charming undines, we call on you to grace us with your presence.
Spirits of Earth, sturdy gnomes, we call on you to grace us with your presence.
She stood beside the headstone, lit a pillar candle, and held it high. “This flame represents the light of life that continues burning even after death, like the spark in our souls. It is hope; it is love. It is a beacon calling forth all those who have lost their way.”
She placed the candle on a plate in front of the headstone and picked up a bundle of sage, lavender, and other herbs. “Now, we will each leave an offering for Josephine O’Malley, Keli’s aunt, her mother’s sister, friend and benefactor to Fredeline Paul, and steward of the earth. May she join us here in this safe space, knowing that we honor her. We welcome her in love and peace.”
She placed the herbs on the ground near the candle and motioned for me to follow. I picked up the small potted chrysanthemum I’d brought and placed it next to the herbs. Fredeline came next with a handful of sunflower seeds. Catrina sprinkled water, and Max contributed pumpkin seeds.
After we made our offerings, we resumed our places in the half-circle. Mila closed her eyes, her lips moving soundlessly. I watched the flame of the candle dance in the wind. A moment later, I glanced at Mila, and she opened her eyes and smiled. I nodded in return, not sure what to do next. She stepped forward.
“Let us now join hands as we invite Josephine into our circle.” She took my left hand, and Fredeline grasped my right. Mila continued in a strong, authoritative voice:
Josephine O’Malley, spirit, soul, spark of Divine,
Come now, to this place, give us a sign.
Josephine O’Malley, restless one, spirit in the air,
Come now, join us, in this space we share.
Across from me, Max’s curls fluttered outside her hood. Tree branches swayed overhead. Mila continued:
Come now, Josephine, enter our sphere.
Make yourself known, right now, right here.
Mila’s voice drifted into silence. In the gap, I picked up the call.
Aunt Josephine, if you’re here,
Join us now. Please come near.
Fredeline spoke up then, chanting something in Haitian Creole. The only word I understood was Josephine. Next, Catrina raised her voice i
n supplication:
Spirit of the night, hear our plea!
Retreat from the shadow, set yourself free.
Show yourself here, please speak now.
Cross the veil. Please speak now.
Max echoed Catrina’s last words. “Speak now!”
Then we all joined in, chanting the words like a mantra. “Speak now, speak now, speak now!”
As one, we halted, listening. The wind had died down. The air felt prickly on my face. The darkness seemed to thicken as clouds rolled in, blotting out the moonlight.
I couldn’t say how long we stood there, hovering on the edge of expectancy. It might have been seconds or minutes. However long it was, I knew right away when a new presence had entered our midst. All at once, I had a strange urge to count the hooded figures around me, as if another might have joined our ranks. The others felt it, too. Catrina gasped. Fredeline began swaying and babbling in Haitian Creole. Max hummed a low, melodic drone. Only Mila and I remained quiet and watchful.
Out of nowhere, a gust of wind snuffed out the candle. At the same moment, an icy finger of cold penetrated my robe. I shivered, and my eyes fell closed.
In a flash, I was transported to a dark forest. At first, I felt as if I were watching a silent film. Everything was in black-and-white, with a silvery sheen. The absence of sound was cottony and complete—until, suddenly, a noise burst through like feedback in a microphone. Then, amplified breathing.
Someone was running, crashing through the underbrush. I felt her fear and desperation, the pain in her ankle, the thudding of her heart.
The sharp pop of a gunshot rang out, freezing her in time. She fell. And when she hit the ground, a swarm of bats erupted from the trees, screeching into the night.
For a moment, the bats blocked my view. When they dispersed, the scene was an old film reel of black-and-white trees once more—with one exception. One tree stood out from the rest. It was outlined in gold and appeared to be hollow. A fiery glow lit it from within.
The next thing I knew, there were hands on my shoulders and back. I opened my eyes and found myself looking into the serene face of Mila Douglas.
“She’s back,” said Max, from somewhere nearby.
“That was awesome,” whispered Catrina.
Mila handed me a bottle of water. “Have a sip.”
I obeyed, then looked around to get my bearings. The moonlight had returned, casting a dim, bluish light on the tombstones in its path. My hood had fallen back. I pulled it up, feeling self-conscious.
“Let’s give her some space,” said Mila. She took my hand. “Would you like to sit down?”
I shook my head. “I’m okay. Did you close the circle?”
“Not yet. You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Yes.”
We took our places in the circle for a final blessing. Mila thanked all the spirits who had joined us and told them they could leave now. Then she thanked the deities, the Lady of the Moon and the Lord of the Sun, and dismissed the quarters, one by one. Once finished, she clapped her hands together softly, as if sealing our return to the physical plane.
“Would anyone like to come to my house for a late-night snack?” she asked, as she collected the candle and tidied the area around the headstone.
“I should get home,” I said. I was feeling a bit spacey and detached, like someone who had just woken from a deep sleep. I doubted I’d be very good company.
“Don’t you want to talk about what you saw?” asked Catrina. “I thought you were possessed there for a minute.”
I smiled, sorry to disappoint her. “Maybe another time. I think I’m still processing.”
Mila squeezed my hands, and the other women hugged me and said good-bye. We removed our robes, piled into our cars, and went our separate ways.
As I pulled away from the cemetery, I flicked the radio on to anchor myself to the material world. It didn’t work. I kept finding myself back in the eerie forest of my vision. Before I knew what was happening, I had passed the turn for my street and was heading to River Road, which led out of town.
“What am I doing?” I muttered. But I didn’t turn back. Something compelled me to keep going. I drove all the way out to Briar Creek Cabins. There was something I needed to see.
I left my car on the side of the road near the lane leading to the cabins and continued on foot. This time, the owner’s cabin was lit up, and another guest cabin, besides Levi’s, had a car parked in front. Avoiding detection, I slipped into the trees and circled behind the cabins to pick up the trail Josephine had traversed only a week and a day earlier.
Without the ritual robe, my only barrier to the cold was a long, thin cardigan sweater, but I hardly noticed. I hurried onward, wearing the darkness like a blanket. Leaves crunched under my boots. Mysterious rustles sounded close at hand, but I wasn’t afraid. I felt close to Aunt Josephine. She was leading me, I realized. Or, more accurately, she was pulling me.
I came to a point where the trail curved. Instead of following it, I went straight, abandoning the path. I had no idea if I was anywhere near where Josephine had been shot. The darkness was impenetrable. I would never see the cairn, even if I tripped over it—which was a distinct possibility since I couldn’t see a thing. I walked with my arms held out in front of me like an animated mummy. Branches slapped my arms, and twigs caught in my hair. Still, I forged onward.
Eventually, I slowed to a stop. Shards of moonlight cut through the canopy above, revealing a strange tangle of shapes all around me. For a split second, I came to my senses and almost panicked.
I’m lost in the forest!
Before I could start hyperventilating, I became aware of a squeaking sound and more rustling. Something flew toward me. A bat! I remembered the bats in my vision and tried to keep this one in sight. After some mad fluttering, it disappeared into a wide, gnarly tree, possibly an oak. The tree wasn’t glowing, but it was reminiscent of the golden tree in my vision.
I pulled my cell phone from the pocket of my sweater. Even though there was no signal, the light still worked. I held it near the tree, looked up and down—and spied a hollow. Standing on my tiptoes, I tried to look inside. I saw nothing but blackness.
Feeling a bit like Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday, I shut my eyes and stuck my hand in the hole—the Mouth of Truth. As I did, I whispered a fervent prayer: “Please don’t let there be any biting, stinging, or squishy creatures in here.”
My fingers touched something cold and hard. I reached in farther, scraping my wrist on the bark, and finally grasped an odd-shaped object. It felt like plastic and metal. After a couple of false starts, I managed to extract it from the tree.
Now that I held it in both hands and could feel its shape and heft, I knew what it was. As the realization sank in, I began to tremble. I had the answer. In my hands was the answer to my question. What had happened to Josephine? She had seen her killer. She took a picture of her killer.
And this was her missing camera.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
By some miracle, I found the trail and managed to stumble out of the forest without losing my mind. Strange sounds had echoed in the darkness, and I kept trying to explain them away. Probably just an owl. Or a fox. Or an insect. At one point, I swore I heard footsteps behind me and convinced myself it must have been a deer. Still, I walked faster and faster until I was practically running when I finally emerged from the woods.
I clutched the camera to my heart. The lens was smashed and the body was cracked, but the film compartment was closed. And it appeared the film was still inside. I had to get it to Detective Rhinehardt right away. He would know what to do.
The sharp snap of a twig wrenched me from my thoughts. I was so focused on watching my step and protecting the camera, I failed to notice how close I’d wandered to the cabins. I looked toward the sound and felt my blood run cold. A man was there, facing my direction. In one swift movement, he emerged from the shadows, drew an object from his waistband, and pointed it right at m
e in his outstretched hand.
“Stop!” he shouted.
“Don’t shoot!” My voice was a high-pitched yelp.
“Keli?” The weapon disappeared and Levi stepped forward. “What are you doing back there?”
My knees gave out. He rushed forward and caught me before I hit the ground. Feeling as if I could dissolve into a puddle of frayed nerves, I held onto his neck with one arm and let him help me to the front of the cabin. But when we reached the door, I pulled away.
“Come inside and sit down,” he said, as he tried to guide me through the doorway. “I’ll get you some water. Or coffee. Whatever you want.”
“N-no, thanks. I’m okay. Just—just startled, that’s all.”
He looked at me with mingled concern and disbelief. “What are you doing here?” he repeated. “Can I call someone for you?”
Speaking fast, I tried to give him a coherent answer. “I was just heading to my car. I was thinking about my aunt tonight and wanted to go for a walk on her trail. I got a little turned around, but I found my way out.” I mustered up a smile and tried to smooth my hair. My fingers caught on a leafy twig, which I pulled out and tossed on the ground. “Well, thanks again. Happy Halloween!” With that, I abruptly took off, hobbling down the lane.
“Wait!” Levi called.
“Have a good night!” I responded.
When I reached my car, I placed the camera on the passenger seat next to me and peeled out. I didn’t care how late it was—or how much I resembled a girl who’d been raised by wolves. I was going straight to the police.
* * *
The closer I got to town, the safer and calmer I felt. What a night! And what an incredible feeling to have been guided and protected in that forest. I didn’t know if it was angels, fairies, or ghosts, but I sensed it was more than the spirit of Aunt Josephine who helped me find my way.
Samhain Secrets Page 19