Sinister Lang Syne: A Short Holiday Novel (Wicks Hollow)

by Colleen Gleason

  “Besides,” Maxine continued as the oooh-ooohs echoed in the stairwell, “I asked Jean to be here, so she can interpret for us.”

  “Who’s Jean?” asked Callie, really wishing she’d just stayed in Grand Rapids tonight.

  She knew what to expect. These poor little old ladies wouldn’t stand a chance against the angry, violent Brenda Tremaine and the fake cranberry champagne cocktail stuff she was always flinging around. That was why Callie had let herself be talked into coming—someone had to be there to save them.

  “Oh, Jean is their friend who died—actually, she was murdered—two summers ago. She was the sixth Tuesday Lady, and after her death, she came back and haunted her niece1 until she figured out Jean had been murdered and helped to catch her killer. It was before I moved here, but I heard all about it,” said Fiona.

  “That’s right,” said Orbra, who’d brought up the rear of the climbers. “Like I said before, if anyone was ever going to haunt anyone, it would be Jean Fickler. That was a good idea to invite her tonight, Maxine,” she called up. “It’ll be just like old times with the six of us together again.”

  Finally, they all got to the top and Callie opened the door to the room. It was just as clean and quiet and still as it had been last week, before she pissed off Brenda Tremaine and got caught in the tornado of her fury. And the chairs and cocktail tables she’d ordered for the reception and forgotten to cancel had been delivered. Just lovely. Another fee she was going to have to eat.

  The heat wasn’t on, so the air was chill. They were going to have to remain in their coats and hats. Callie wished—briefly—for a fire like the one she’d enjoyed at Ben’s last week.

  Then she quickly shut down that thought.

  “All right, Brucie, you’re going to have to sit on Mommy’s lap and be very good,” said Juanita, gently extricating the small dog from his tote.

  “Everyone sit in a circle,” ordered Maxine. “We need chairs. Get some chairs.”

  “Get your own chair,” Juanita grumbled.

  She tucked Bruce Banner under one arm and began to muscle a cushioned, upholstered chair to the center of the room. Callie shook her head as the other ladies scraped and dragged chairs from the stacks against the wall. There were multitudes of cold breaths puffing around, grunts and groans and loud scraping sounds.

  “We need a table,” Maxine said after all of the chairs had been arranged—which then meant the chairs had to be moved in order to fit the table through.

  Callie rolled her eyes as she and Fiona carried the table over. This was going to be a cluster-freak of the highest order.

  “I’ve got the candles,” said Cherry, and she and Iva began to arrange ten candles in the center of the table. “And some incense that will help to soothe our minds and open our sixth chakras as we welcome Brenda Tremaine’s spirit to our circle tonight.”

  “This is surreal,” Callie murmured as she took a chair next to Fiona.

  “It’s going to be fascinating,” replied her friend as she arranged her flowing skirts and long parka over her legs.

  “All right, everyone shush,” Maxine said as the candles were lit. “Now, we’re going to all be silent—especially you, Neety—and your little dog too!” She cackled a little and Callie couldn’t control her own giggle as Cherry muttered, “Spoken like a true witch.”

  “She’s not really a witch is she?” Callie asked Fiona, suddenly nervous. It was, after all, Wicks Hollow.

  “No one’s ever said she was,” Fiona replied off-handedly. “But no one’s ever said she isn’t. But besides, witches aren’t necessarily mediums. They don’t do séances.”

  “I wouldn’t put it past her—”

  “Hush,” Maxine said, and there was something different about her voice. It was strong and calm without being as sharp and annoying as it usually was. “Shhhh. Everyone quiet down and let’s hold hands, all right? Bare hands—take off your gloves.”

  Callie couldn’t help but glance at the picture of Brenda Tremaine, which was directly across the room from where she was sitting. Fiona took one of her hands, and Cherry took the other. Maxine sat across from her, with Iva on one side and Juanita on the other. Orbra sat between Cherry and Iva.

  The room fell silent and Callie felt an icy shiver run down her spine. Could have been from the fact that it was after dark on a December day and they were in a room with no heat…or it could have been because she was more than a little nervous.

  The candle flames swayed and bounced casually and Callie found herself staring at the dancing lights. The scent of the incense Cherry had lit smelled nice, and Callie relaxed a little as she breathed slowly in and out.

  “Now…we welcome any benign and benevolent spirits that wish to join us tonight,” said Maxine. “On this Winter Solstice…”

  Callie’s eyes popped open and she looked at Fiona, but her friend’s eyes were softly closed and her face seemed peaceful in its repose.

  Winter Solstice…that was a Wiccan celebration, wasn’t it? Maybe Maxine really was a witch.

  “If you are here, please make your presence known.” Maxine’s voice continued to be smooth and almost hypnotic. “Jean, that includes you,” she added a little more abruptly. Cherry suppressed a soft snort but immediately subsided.

  Callie felt the air move and her eyes opened again. Try as she might, she was not going to be able to keep them closed. She looked up at Brenda Tremaine’s portrait and gave a quiet gasp when she thought she saw the woman’s hair moving as if in a breeze. She blinked, and then the impression was gone.

  Maxine spoke again, “Jean Fickler, if you’re there, please—”

  Thunk!

  Callie’s attention whipped to the window, but nothing was there.

  Thunkity-thunk!

  “So you remember our special knock, do you, Jean?” Maxine said. There was a smile in her voice, though it was a little too dark for Callie to see it on her face.

  Thunk-thunkity-thunk!

  “Yes, it’s definitely you. I hope you’re doing well over there on the other side.”

  Thu-unk!

  “Glad to hear it! Well, I’m sure it’ll be a long time before I’m ready to join you, but it’s nice to hear all is well up there. Now, we need your otherworldly help with a problem. Iva wants to get married—”

  Thunk! Thunk! THUNK!!

  “I know, I know,” Maxine went on. “She swore she never would, but then Mr. Right came along and she threw all her feminism out the window—”

  “That’s not true,” Iva hissed. “Don’t be telling Jean that!”

  “Well, you can’t deny Hollis came along and swept you off your feet,” Juanita said practically. “And—”

  “I swept him off his feet,” Iva retorted, a little louder now. “And we’ve been together almost two years now, and we just decided for practical reasons that it makes sense to join our households. Don’t be shaking your ghostly finger at me, Jean Fickler,” she added, looking up and around the room. “You were happily married for a couple of decades.”

  Thunkkkkk…

  “Anyway,” Maxine said, her voice taking on its regular, strident tone. “Iva wants to get married here on New Year’s Eve, Jean, and one of your co-ghosts seems to have a bug up her supernatural butt about—”

  Brenda’s portrait crashed to the floor, and everyone jumped except Callie, who’d seen it fall. But Maxine was the only person who didn’t turn to look, even though her back was to the painting.

  “Well, it seems Brenda has decided to join us,” Maxine said matter-of-factly. “Welcome, Bren—”

  The other portrait fell off the wall, and then the wind inside the room suddenly whipped up in what was becoming a familiar scene to Callie. She held on to Fiona’s and Cherry’s hands as the spectral storm rose. The gale churned and thrashed them as they sat in their protective circle, gripping each other’s hands tightly.

  The room was suddenly frigidly cold, and their breaths came out in white bursts as the candles jolted and leapt and f
inally guttered into nothing. Darkness closed in on them, coming from within the room and from the wintry outside on this, the longest night of the year.

  Callie felt the wet spray on her face and the small, angry pelting of phantasmic cranberry cocktail, and she heard the quiet whine from Bruce Banner.

  “Hold on,” Maxine said, her voice deep and calm and powerful as Brenda’s wrath battered them. “Hold on!”

  They held on for what seemed like forever.

  And then at last the volley of wind and hail slowed, then eased away. Callie could hear her companions panting a little as quiet descended. Bruce Banner whined again, just once, then subsided into silence.

  “That was quite an entrance, Brenda,” Maxine said. “Even I don’t make entrances like that! Now, don’t get all riled up again, Brenda. We aren’t here to bother you—we just want to help put you to rest.”

  If Callie hadn’t known it was Maxine Took doing the talking, she would never have believed it…the voice was more smooth and reasonable than before. Maybe Maxine was possessed by this Jean Fickler’s spirit.

  “Iva here wants to get married on your balcony on New Year’s Eve,” Maxine went on. Her eyes were wide in her dark face. “She is asking your permission to do so, and we request your cooperation for the evening. Will you give it?”

  It felt like an earthquake.

  The room shook and the entire tower seemed to sway. The stacks of chairs against the wall rattled, and Bruce Banner began to whine piteously.

  “What is wrong?” demanded Maxine. “Why are you so angry, Brenda?”

  The walls shook more violently and Callie was actually afraid Tremaine Tower might come down. She squeezed Fiona’s hand tightly and looked at the others around the circle. None of them had their eyes closed—in fact, the whites of everyone’s eyes were somehow reflected in the darkness.

  “Brenda Tremaine, I call upon you to cease your bitching and complaining and leave this place!” cried Maxine. “Or at least, cease your bitching and complaining so we can have a wedding here!”

  Brenda didn’t respond immediately, but Callie felt the shaking and vibrating ease a little. And then a little more. And then more.

  And finally, it was quiet again. The only sound was the very low whining from Bruce, and a very normal wintery wind buffeting the outside of the building.

  “Well, that was interesting,” said Orbra, speaking for the first time.

  Thunk-thunkity-thunk!

  “Jean?” said Juanita.

  Thunk-thunk!

  “Jean must have done something to calm her down,” Cherry muttered.

  “Took her long enough,” crabbed Maxine, back to true form. “Someone light the damned candles again, will you? Can’t see a blasted thing.”

  “I wonder if she’s really gone,” said Iva as Cherry lit the candles. One by one, the flames began to sway and bounce normally on their wicks. That alone told Callie that things were back to normal.

  “There’s no real way to know…” Fiona’s voice trailed off. “Oh. Maybe there is.”

  She pointed wordlessly to the wall where Brenda’s portrait used to hang.

  Scrawled on it in rickety, barely legible red lettering was:

  FAR WELL

  WARE RAIL

  Nine

  “What the hell does that mean?” Cherry said.

  “Looks like gibberish to me,” Maxine grumbled, thumping over with her cane to look more closely at Brenda Tremaine’s message. Callie followed her and shined her mobile phone light on the wall.

  “Far-well-ware-rail? What is that? Some sort of word puzzle?” Orbra sounded annoyed.

  “You know, Jean, if you were going to help us, you coulda made sure she wrote something that actually meant something,” Maxine said, planting her free hand on her hip.

  Thunk!! Thunk!!

  “Whatever,” Maxine sneered. “See if I call your ghostly butt into my next séance.”

  THUNK!!!

  “I guess it’s a good thing Jean hasn’t learned the whole indoor-tornado technique yet,” Fiona muttered to Callie, who couldn’t keep from laughing. The whole situation was just ludicrous…and as far as she was concerned, nothing was really resolved. “And what’s that red stuff that’s splashed all over your face—and mine too, I assume? That’s from Brenda?”

  Callie nodded. “It washes off. I think it’s a throw back to the cranberry champagne cocktail she was holding when she died, and guessing she used whatever it is to write her message.”

  “Well, now, let’s just calm down and take a minute to see if we can decipher Brenda’s message,” said Iva in her prim, librarian voice. She probably had no idea her face was covered in blood-red streaks as well. “And not go around insulting specters and phantoms, shall we, Maxine?”

  “It’s not like they didn’t speak English when they were living,” Maxine grumbled. “Where’d she go to school anyway?” But Callie noticed her sharp eyes were fixed on the words and she could almost hear the wheels moving in the curmudgeonly woman’s brain.

  “All right, so let’s just take it one little bit at a time,” said Cherry. “Far…well…ware…rail. It’s a little bit of a tongue twister…”

  “Far well could be ‘farewell’,” said Juanita, who was cuddling a much happier Bruce to her ample chest. “She just missed a letter. Maybe she’s saying goodbye.”

  “Good point,” said Orbra. “You did ask her to leave, Maxine,” she reminded her friend.

  “She didn’t ask, she ordered,” Juanita said.

  “True dat,” Maxine admitted.

  “So she’s saying farewell, is she? That bodes well for your wedding coming off, doesn’t it, Iva?” said Cherry.

  “I like it. Jean, we need an interpreter. Is she saying farewell?” asked Iva.

  Thunk.

  “Since it wasn’t a vehement you’re-on-the-wrong-track thunk, I’ll take that as a yes. So that’s good. The wedding is on!” Iva beamed at everyone, spreading her arms wide. “I can’t wait to tell Hollis! He’s going to be so excited—and nervous. I’ve never seen a man so nervous about getting married in my life—and it’s going to be his fourth wedding! You’d think he’d be used to it by now.” Her cheeks were pink behind the red streaks and her eyes positively sparkled.

  Callie really hoped Iva was right.

  “But what about the rest of it? Don’t forget, Brenda was around in the 1920s, so we need to think about common vernacular back then.” Cherry said, standing in front of the wall again. “Ware…rail. Ware…rail. Waril? Whirl? Hmmm. War?”

  “Ware could be from beware,” said Juanita. “Isn’t that an old-fashioned way of giving a warning? Ware those who step on a gravestone, yada yada?”

  “Could be,” mused Iva, who clearly didn’t like the idea of a warning. “What about rail?”

  “Rail. Well, there’s a railway station out there—or used to be—and the tracks go by right below. And there’s a rail going up the stairs—and a rail on the balcony,” said Orbra. “She did die on the balcony, don’t forget.”

  “Maybe she missed another letter and it was supposed to be trail,” mused Cherry.

  “Or rain, instead of rail—oh, that could make sense. She’s warning about rain on the balcony during your wedding, Iva,” said Orbra.

  “Oooh. That could be—”

  “But it’s winter. It’s probably not going to rain in December. Why wouldn’t she say snow or ice instead of rain?” said Fiona.

  “Maybe she was trying to cover all bases,” said Juanita.

  “There’s also rail, as in a night rail—an old-fashioned word for nightgown,” said Iva in her sweet, prim voice. “Maybe she mixed up the words—homophones give lots of people trouble—and meant to say ‘wear’ as in w-e-a-r—wear a rail. Which is what I definitely don’t plan to do on my wedding night,” she added with a mischievous grin and a deeper blush.

  The ladies burst out laughing, and even though Callie felt like it might be a little TMI, she couldn’t help joining in. Iva r
eally was the most likable, lovely woman.

  And Callie really didn’t want her wedding to be a disaster—or, worse, a tragedy.

  “All right, then…she’s leaving, so the wedding is on. Iva should not wear a nightrail on her wedding night, and should beware of rain, and maybe beware of a train or the rail. I think that about covers it,” said Cherry.

  “The most important thing is: the wedding is on!” Iva said, then she whirled to Callie. “You got that? So you’d better get cracking, young lady!”

  “I do love my family, but I’ve had my fill of them for a while,” said Jake DeRiccio. “A solid week of holiday stuff and I’m done. Between Pops and my sisters…yep, that’s it. Over and out. Thank God it’s the 27th and all the parties and family obligations are over.”

  Ben grinned and nodded. “I feel you, man. And I only have one sister to deal with—plus my mom.”

  He loved his family—he really did—but he was also used to living alone and having a relatively quiet, stable life. He was in complete agreement with Jake that more than two days of family-holiday stuff—especially when there were a half-dozen nieces and nephews who were hopped up on candy and cookies and presents and who loved to play “Pile On Uncle Ben” after he’d eaten a very large meal. Or two. One of the girls had even decided his beard needed decorating.

  Ben was still shedding glitter two days later.

  “Declan’s still in the honeymoon phase with his new woman,” teased Jake. “We had to practically drag him out for Trivia Night—he wanted to stay home and play Trivial Pursuit with his hottie Leslie instead of coming out and helping us retain our championship title here.”

  “Well, since the way Leslie and I play trivia is a lot different from Trivia Night here with you bozos, who can blame me?” retorted Declan, looking around the Roost. “But it worked out because Les flew back to Philadelphia to see her mom for a few days. She’ll be back in time for New Year’s Eve.”

  “What do you mean, how you play Trivia Night?” asked Ben as he sipped a B-Cubed beer.

  Declan gave them a sly look as the Trivia Night emcee came by to collect their team’s signup sheet. “We like to play Strip Trivial Pursuit. Every time one of us gets a wedge piece, the other one has to take off an article of clothing.”