Julia's Journey (A Coming Home Again Novel Book 2)

by Lowe, T. I.

  The map is very vague with minimal markings and directions that lead us to what’s marked as the Witches Cauldron. I tap the map marker of our site. “At least we know what type of animal the skull used to be.” Goat’s Gruff is scratched in dark red ink under a picture of the skull.

  “I find no comfort in that.”

  “I think that’s the point.” I check my watch and see it’s time to get this adventure going. Tapping Julia on the thigh, I stand us up. “Let’s head out.” I dump my bag and repack it with the flashlights, our hoodies, and some water. “The hike is only a mile. We should knock it out pretty fast.” I hand Julia the map and we head out.

  The woods seem normal enough except for the occasional bone wind chimes tied to low branches. They definitely don’t sound melodious in the wind. The daylight is fading fast and everything all at once becomes more eerie.

  We come up on a bend and find a small overgrown garden with rotted produce and a creepy scarecrow. And I swear that thing is watching me. We give it as wide a girth as we can while passing by a little faster. I hear some rustling behind us and the next thing I know the scarecrow sets out to chasing us. Julia beats me with her fists in hysteria, drops the map and hauls tail. And girl can flat out run. I grab up the map in a flash and it takes a good bit of effort on my part to catch up with her. The scarecrow is long gone, but we run the remaining trek until we reach a rusty dilapidated gate. I’m laughing uncontrollably and Julia delivers another good whack on my upper arm.

  “It ain’t funny!” she yells. She’s so worked up, her southern drawl slips right out. This makes me laugh some more. I’ve not heard ain’t come from those prissy lips in quite a long time.

  “Stop beating on me,” I say through labored breaths, checking my arm over. “You’re going to leave marks.” I scoff and laugh some more.

  I have to take a few beats to catch my breath before pushing the rusty gate open and motioning for Julia to go ahead.

  “I think we should just go back to the tent.” She’s looking in the new direction skeptically.

  “You realize back that way,” I point over my shoulder, “is where we left the scarecrow.”

  “Good point,” she says as she hurries through the gate.

  We walk down a broken cobblestone path until we come upon a group of normal-looking people sitting around a fat black cauldron. It’s raised several feet off the ground by a stone platform. It’s bubbling away from the fire that’s licking up its sides. Whatever is cooking up sure smells good. It sets my stomach to growling. I’m ready to eat, but Julia looks at it with disgust.

  “You all right?” I ask as we take a seat in the circle of benches.

  “Not sure,” she whispers.

  I check out the others and see the distinction of groups. There are two other sets of couples and a group of six college age guys. Frat boys, maybe. Everyone nods and says various greetings while looking around for what’s next.

  “Whatcha reckon is in that big pot?” someone asks. All kinds of speculative answers follow.

  A brunette woman pipes in, “I don’t think I want to know.” Her face is all drawn up like Julia’s. The guy beside her is trying to control his grin just as I am.

  We are murmuring about it but hush all at once when a curious squeaking sound approaches. A woman appears from the dusky woods, pulling a rusty cart behind her. The wheels on that thing could use a can of WD40. And the woman—wow. Her long stringy hair seems to entwine with her equally black dress that drags the ground. There’s thin braids randomly weaved into it haphazardly. Her eyes are darkened with black makeup and the flames from the fire add wicked shadows over her features. She looks young but weathered.

  She pulls bowls from the cart and begins filling them with the stew and starts passing them out without one word. The brunette tries to decline her bowl but gives in when the witchy woman mutters gravelly, “You refuse your bowl, you pay the toll.”

  Julia and I are served last and I’m excited to see what my girl does. I take my bowl happily and watch on.

  Julia waves her prissy hand out to shoo the bowl away. “No thanks.” She rolls her eyes at me before looking back at the woman.

  “Food. Food to eat or consequences you will meet.” She’s in a staring, or more closely a glaring, showdown with Julia.

  “No thanks,” Julia repeats slowly as though the woman might be too ignorant to comprehend. I’m thinking that’s not very wise.

  The woman looks dramatically up to the sky and nods her head. “It is done.” As she says this the sky is split with a streak of lightning, which is followed by a mean growl of thunder. Julia jumps and I have to cover a laugh with a cough. Serves her right.

  After giving everyone a can of water and another map, the woman stands by her cart and mutters, “Clean bowls of each spot, then place into the pot.” She then grabs the cart and leaves us.

  Once the last empty bowl is placed in the cauldron, the flame all at once extinguishes and leaves us in the pitch dark. Julia automatically grabs ahold of my hand and steps closer to me. One by one the crowd switches on flashlights.

  “What’s that saying?” One of the college guys asks. “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

  We all chuckle nervously. “I guess it’s time to check those maps out,” I say. I hand over the flashlight to Julia and unfold the map. There are three different paths out of this open air rotunda. Our map directs us to the path under a trellis of dead vines. So we head out while everyone else takes the other paths. One other couple joins us on our way.

  I extend my hand to introduce my rebellious companion and myself. “I’m Greyson and this is Julia.” I shake the guy’s hand, then the brunette’s hand.

  “Scotty,” the guys says and motions to the brunette. “This is my wife, Sally.”

  She gives him a look and nods her head. He chuckles as she says, “This is supposed to be a second honeymoon, but clearly my husband doesn’t understand the meaning of romantic.”

  He shrugs his shoulders. “I thought romantic means leaving the young’uns at home.”

  We all laugh and hesitantly head down the trail. We walk in the spooky dark while all kinds of screeching animal sounds surround us. I don’t know if it’s a special effect or for real. All I know is Julia won’t let go of my shirt. Yep. She’s scared.

  After a brief silence, Scotty teases Julia, “I don’t know if it’s wise to be paired with you guys. Who knows what trouble you caused by not eating.”

  “My sentiments exactly,” I say in agreement. “I think we should leave her.”

  Julia wrings my shirt tighter in her fist. “Don’t even think about it,” she warns.

  We eventually make it to a ramshackle of a lake cabin. The walls are all but gone and an old lady with long tangled gray hair sits rocking in a chair in front of a small fireplace. She is facing us and her features are masked under what looks like a witch’s hat with a shorter cone shape on top. Her dress is long and tattered as the other woman’s from supper. Half a dozen chairs in various styles and stages of deterioration form a half circle around her. She says not a word but gestures to the chairs.

  “These mountain people are of little words,” Sally whispers as we take the chairs farthest away from the old lady.

  We sit in silence for a few beats before she starts talking. “Settlers found their way to these here parts many moons ago. In the mid-seventeen hundreds.” Her drawl is so thick, I find myself leaning forward to try to understand her better. “It’s said a group of a hundred or so came seeking to take over this here land. They came in this wooded valley and were never seen again. No bodies ever found. All their supplies were discovered scattered all over the woods. But not one settler was found. Legend says them folks angered the spirits of the woods with overhuntin’ the land wastefully. So the woods took back what was lost as best they could.” Her voice is so raspy and languid, like it’s taking a lot of effort to get the story out. “The humans were sacrificed. Now their spirits are b
ound to these parts for eternity.” She pauses here to add a small log to the fire. Sparks crackle and pop around plumes of smoke. “Folks come in these witching woods. And them spirits of those settlers get restless. Restless.” With that, she hushes and just keeps rocking lazily.

  We sit not knowing what to do, when all of a sudden the empty chairs fall over. Julia is now in my lap and her chair joins the rest of the upturned ones.

  “Restless,” the old lady repeats. “That ain’t good. It’s best you get back to where you was.” She holds out a map with what I’m guessing is an alligator skull on the outside and one with the goat skull. I take the goat and Scotty takes the alligator. I’m wondering why an alligator skull, but I decide it’s best to ask no questions.

  We all gather our stuff and exit, parting ways in the late night. Julia and I walk along with me holding my flashlight to the path and Julia waving hers around nervously. She keeps stepping on my heels and I bark at her a few times to knock it off. Of course, we hear footsteps behind us but can never find anyone. And every so often an animal of some sort screeches into the night. It’s well past midnight by the time we make it to our site and I’m tired. And all of a sudden, annoyed. We find our tent tied up in the trees and all of our belongings scattered on the ground.

  “No,” Julia whines out as she starts tossing her clothes back in her bag.

  I scan the light around and find a note speared onto the goat’s horn. “Look what you did,” I say and point to the note that simply states, consequences. “Great. Just great, Thorton.” I take my hat off and toss it on the ground in aggravation. “I’ve been paying consequences for your stupid actions this entire trip!”

  “What are you talking about? You bring things on yourself!” She yells as she waves her bag in the air.

  And I swear to you, I near about pass out when something comes out of nowhere and swipes Julia’s bag right out of her hand, disappearing into the dark as quickly as it appeared. I may have let out a yelp like a sissy, but her screams cover it. She’s doing a panicky dance and launches herself into my arms, wrapping her legs around my waist.

  Once she settles, I say, “Maybe you might want to eat your supper next time.” She agrees by nodding her head that’s buried in the side of my neck. I can feel her heart pounding against my chest.

  “It took all of my stuff,” she stutters out. I have no answer or comfort on that, so I say nothing.

  I wait awhile to make sure the visitor doesn’t decide to return before setting Julia down and go to work on untying the tent. It’s not really complicated. Whoever strung it up did so in a way that would make it easy for me to get it down. Once I get the tent reset and our stuff inside, we crash. These Witching Woods have worn me out.

  I’ve been laying here for about an hour when I get up to go outside.

  “Where are you going?” Julia asks from her sleeping bag.

  “I gotta pee,” I admit and head out to find her following me. “I’m a big boy. I can handle this on my own.”

  “No. I’ve watched enough movies. The one person leaves the other one alone and never returns. You’re not getting out of my sight.”

  “No,” I say firmly.

  “Yes,” she says and won’t let go of the back of my shirt.

  “Really, Thorton. I can’t pee with you…” I’d just go back to bed and hold it, but that’s what I’ve already been doing for the last hour. I can’t hold it any longer.

  I stand on the edge of the clearing. “Can you at least let go of my shirt?”

  “No,” she declares.

  “I know you don’t understand boundaries, but this isn’t courteous. I need some space. I’m… shy.”

  “No,” she repeats. “I can’t see anything. It’s dark. Just go right ahead, honey.”

  We go around and around for minutes that feel like hours. So after coming close to wetting myself, I give in and pee. I’m not happy about it, either.

  “I don’t like you,” I gruff out.

  We go back to bed in the tent but get very little sleep. Our tent door keeps mysteriously unzipping until early morning. I have to admit, it’s pretty creepy. Needless to say, Julia ends up curled inside my sleeping bag with me.

  ~~~~

  Waking up in the late morning, I find Julia watching me. She’s cradled in my arms and I have to admit, it feels right. “Good morning,” I whisper.

  “We survived,” she whispers back.

  “We did, didn’t we?” I smile.

  “Thank you.”

  “I know you didn’t just thank me for this craziness I got us into.” I notice tears swimming in her eyes and then I get it. I understand what she’s thanking me for.

  “It’s the first anniversary I faced sober.”

  A tear releases from one of her frosty-blue eyes. I wipe it away. “I told you you’re not an island. You can survive. I want to survive it with you. Sweetheart, you don’t have to do it alone.” I pull Julia securely in my embrace, letting her grief wash over us. This is a moment that needs no rushing. As I hold her, the realization clarifies that neither one of us will be the same at the end of this journey.

  It’s getting close to our pick up time, so I reluctantly release Julia and go to climb out of the tent and stop with what I find. Laughing, I say, “They brought your stuff back.”

  Julia pops her head out and groans. Her clothes are now being worn by a puny scarecrow in our small yard. She slaps my arm playfully. “That’s not funny!”

  The driver pulls back up without a word as soon as we have everything packed up and he hauls us back to the RV. I load Julia and all the stuff in the RV and go inside the office to check us out.

  As I sign off on the paper, the familiar looking receptionist comments, “You two were a lot of fun.”

  I give her a good looking over and laugh when I realize this lovely young lady with glossy brown hair is none other than the scraggily supper witch from last night. “You guys got it going on in this place. Thanks for the adventure.” I shake her hand and head back out.

  Julia is already perched in the passenger seat, looking eager to be gone from this place. She’s a hot mess, wearing dirty, wrinkled clothes and smudges of dirt on her pretty face. I may have never seen her so pretty as right now.

  She catches me checking her out and rolls her eyes. “Yes. I need a shower and I need it really soon.”

  I check the GPS for the original campground plans. “You think you can handle your nastiness for about two hours?” I know we are both past-due for a wash. I can smell it in a mix of campfire smoke and musky sweat.

  She wrinkles her nose like she wants to gripe about it, but surprises me. “You think your back can handle it?” She smirks.

  I laugh. “Yeah. I think my back can handle it,” I answer.

  I just don’t think my heart can…

  Chapter Eighteen

  Julia

  Greyson Stone is one man not to be underestimated. It’s been a week since the Witching Woods fiasco and I’m still not over it—but in a good way. I cannot get over the fact that I made it through an anniversary of the rape without it haunting me to no end. Let’s not forget I was being haunted but not by that. And I’ll take that any day.

  That man amazes me that he would fake a backache and hunt down such an unusual distraction—just for me. I can’t wrap my mind around his abundance of selflessness. Greyson makes me want to be more like that myself. I’m definitely turning a new leaf, albeit slowly. The night after the stay in the woods, I found another Bible verse tucked into the pages of my journal.

  Greyson wrote – Isaiah 41:13 - For I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, do not fear; I will help you. He also wrote – You’re not alone.

  The Witching Woods craziness and a daylong white water rafting excursion have rounded out our more adventurous part of Tennessee. That day on the wild rapids was one of the most frightening yet most exciting days I’ve ever endured. The vigorous water whipping around our tiny raft was so po
werful. I had no time to think about anything but the moment. We paddled and bravely, or maybe naively, battled the rapids in two separate runs that day, and it was amazing. We were dumped out of the raft twice. The guide was quick to get us back in the first time due to us being in a slightly tame spot. The second time, we weren’t so fortunate. I got swept away for a good distance from the rest of the group and had to cling to a rock for what felt like forever before they could get to me. I loved every minute of it! By the time we headed back to the campground, my arms felt like Jell-O. We fell into our beds that night from exhaustion and I slept like a baby.

  Now things have become more leisurely, and that’s okay too. It sort of feels like we are catching our breaths on this leg of the trip. I’m mindful that Greyson still needs to not overdo things. He’s so much better, but I notice some days his energy levels lag behind. Those days, I insist on lounging around the pool or simply hanging out at the RV. He never opposes so I know he must really need it then. I’m amazed at how good it feels to take care of someone. I know I don’t do much for him, but I find that I really like to do it. I like bringing him a bottle of water when he doesn’t ask—just simple things to express his importance to me. And more astonishingly, I just love being in his company—talking or just sitting silently. I’ve never done the silent-sitting thing, but with him it’s so comfortable.

  It’s hard to believe we’ve been traveling for three months already. I’m surprised to find myself really enjoying it. And I feel like a calm has come over me. My hands don’t tremble as bad and the restlessness has subsided drastically. I focus on only the day before me and whatever fun I get to get into with my traveling companion.

  Greyson has found us a pretty nifty campground in this southern part of Tennessee. It’s nestled along the Chattahoochee River and looks like an old mining town. The little town has clapboard buildings lined in a neat row—specialty stores, a sheriff’s station, a saloon, and small restaurants. By the river, there’s even a sawmill building complete with a running water wheel. The entire place is just so quaint. The campground is located in a patch of woods, so it doesn’t distract from the authenticity of the mining town vibe.