Taurus: A Hearse of a Different Color

by Sèphera Girón

  I need a companion. Soon.

  The singing changed into another song and Dorothy lowered her arms. The drums beat faster, the Morris dancer bells jingled faster, the Maypole dancers skipped faster. Dorothy shook her head and took out her cell phone from her cloak pocket and tapped the power button, to see the time.

  Time to get moving.

  She sang one last round of the Beltane song, and then floated her way back along the sand of the beach until she reached the boardwalk. As she walked away from the celebrations, she spotted more Maypole dancers skipping around more makeshift poles that had been quickly erected along the beach. A new influx of early morning risers wandered through the park and beaches, walking their dogs, jogging, smiling at both tourists and pagans alike as they began their day. Clouds of incense rose from smudge sticks and mini-cauldrons and candles. Dorothy looked over at Lucy’s house one last time and saw that the coven had left, perhaps circling through the crowds, or on their way to work themselves. Or luckier still, on their way home to bed!

  * * *

  Dorothy walked along the cobblestones, her boots clacking, her purse buckles jingling, her hand holding her hat against short gusts of wind, her long heavy coat keeping the last chill from the night at bay. The fog was lifting even from the narrow alleyways and Hermana was unfolding for the day. She turned down a side street, which made her journey a little longer but she wanted to enjoy what she could of the delicious warmer yet still nippy weather. Spring was in the air, the smell both sweaty and musty from the ocean and the earth. Her body hummed from the celebration, boosting her with energy.

  I could walk all day. If only I didn’t have to go to work.

  Dorothy slowed her step, noticing how some of the stores had changed hands and a couple were empty. Halfway down the street, she saw that the funeral home had changed its sign. Again.

  A Hearse of a Different Color

  As she neared the building, she saw that the facade had been painted; black with deep scarlet trim and touches of gold. A big brass ornate knocker gleamed in the morning sun. The fog swirled and curled around the doorframe as she drew near. The fog morphed into spectral humanoid figures with spindly arms and legs; long fingers snatching at nothing, long chins and open mouths crying out. Their swirling in anguish was in contrast to the sheer joy resonating through her body. She grew dizzy and she loosened her grip on her hat.

  As she stood staring up at the knocker, the door opened and the whoosh tugged at her hat. She clamped it down to her head and the spectral vision vanished. A tall, dark-haired pale man opened the door. He was crisply dressed in a suit, a top hat in his hand, freshly shaved flesh glistening at his neck and the scent of aftershave tickled her nose. He stepped out to the street and waved his hat in front of Dorothy with a little bow.

  “Happy Beltane, miss,” he smiled. His eyes were dark brown; his long black hair fell to his shoulders in a straight-edge gleaming smooth bob. He placed his hat upon his head.

  “Happy Beltane,” Dorothy said. “Were you at the celebration?”

  “Why yes. It was beautiful. So inspiring. I think I’m going to like it here.” He smiled as he made a point of loudly breathing in the morning air.

  “I was going to ask if you’re new in town,” Dorothy said.

  “I bought this place about a month ago. The owner seemed quick to be rid of it. I’m not sure why,” he said as he stared into Dorothy’s eyes. Dorothy smiled. She knew the legends of the funeral home. Dead didn’t often stay dead inside those walls. Funeral directors had bought and sold that home dozens of times over the past century.

  “It happens,” Dorothy said. “Lucky for you, I guess, that he wanted a quick sale.”

  “Doubly lucky. He was so quick to be rid of it that he accepted my first lowball offer.” The man smiled again and looked up at the turret. “I wonder, though, if there’s something I need to know about this place.” Dorothy stared up at the turret as well. They both looked up at the darkened windows, watching the fireball sun rising still higher in the reflections.

  “Where are you from?” Dorothy asked, turning her attention back to the funeral director.

  “New York, Manhattan... the big city. This will be quite a different change of pace, that’s for sure.”

  “Well, Mr. Big City, houses are strange here in Hermana. Most of them are haunted, of course. Some more than others.”

  “I don’t believe in that stuff... really, though I’m not dismissing it.”

  “Everyone’s experience is different. Hopefully you’ll have a good one.” Dorothy said, looking up at the turret. The man glanced back up at it again.

  “I guess, I should introduce myself,” he said, extending his hand. Dorothy took it. It was firm but cool. She shook it while studying his face. She enjoyed the sharp angles of his jawline, that freshly shaved smooth skin...

  “I’m Aloysius Underhill,” he said.

  “Pleased to meet you, Aloysius. I’m Dorothy.”

  “A pleasure, Dorothy,” he said as he kissed her hand. A tiny jolt of electricity passed from her hand to his lips. He jerked back; his eyes wide with fear.

  “What was that?”

  “Carpet shock?” Dorothy laughed. “It happens all the time.”

  “Right... It’s just that, here, sometimes...” he looked up at the turret and dropped Dorothy’s hand. He avoided her gaze. “I really must get back...”

  “Of course, I have to get to work myself. I don’t really have time to chat.” Dorothy turned; her hand on her hat.

  “Nice to meet you,” Dorothy said as she walked away without looking back to see if he was watching her or even said good-bye.

  Nevertheless, she sensed something from the turret looking down on her.

  * * *

  By the time Dorothy had cooked up some veggie soup and cut up some cheese cubes, she was exhausted. The day at the store had dragged. She sometimes wished that she could quit the cashier gig but she needed the healthcare insurance plan that crystal ball reading didn’t provide. Dorothy organized her soup bowl, her cheese cubes, several small pieces of fresh French bread, and a spoon on the TV tray and flopped onto the couch. She clicked on the TV to her favorite show, Scary Haunted Tales. It was an anthology show with a new storyline every season. The last episode of the season was playing that night and she couldn’t wait to see who the killer was and if there really was a ghost and if the policeman was really the stripper who was the heroine’s brother’s best friend who killed the club owner who was murdering the other girls. She also wanted to see if her favorite serial killer would get killed, sentenced or escape and more importantly, would he be shirtless if not naked at some point?

  She didn’t mind objectifying handsome young TV stars. They made the shows more fun. Hot guys. Hot girls. Lots of nakedness and blood. No one took a role on a show like Scary Haunted Tales and expected they were making high art. Nope. It was about the gore and eye candy and style. That show had all of it!

  Sometimes, just sitting in front of the TV watching her favorite actor, Oscar Dominion, hypnotize a few people with his charismatic good looks and some well-delivered quirky lines while he conned people out of their souls was all Dorothy really needed.

  Although, it would be really cool to meet the actor Oscar Dominion, even just once. She imagined she’d have to fly to Los Angeles or wherever they filmed the show and break into a sound stage to do that. Then what? What would she actually do when she saw him face to face? Make him her sex slave?

  Dorothy laughed at her own fangirl foolishness and fell into the storyline playing on the big screen while she ate her soup and bread. She was very pleased that Oscar Dominion’s character died naked at the hands of a sexy vengeful ghost that night.

  Merry Beltane, indeed!

  Chapter Two

  Nine of Pentacles: Working hard can provide luxuries, don’t forget to stop and smell the roses.

  Dorothy sat on her couch in the living room and stared at the items resting on the gleaming shine of the c
offee table top in front of her. She had laid out pencil, pen, eraser, highlighter and hairbrush. She studied their positions one last time.

  Okay. I can do this.

  She leaned back against plush velveteen cushions and relaxed with deep breathing. She let her hands grow limp at her sides and imagined her feet firmly pressed against the floor. She was grounded yet relaxed. She breathed in and out several times clearing her mind and trying to think but not think about the exercise that she was about to perform.

  After she had settled her mind and her breath, she opened her eyes and looked at the items before her. First, she looked at the pencil. She imagined it rolling off the table and onto the floor. She breathed into the thought, forcing her mind to push the pencil. Nothing happened. Then she looked over at the pen and thought about that too rolling off the table and onto the floor. She pushed it with her mind and sang to it but the pen didn’t move. The same thing happened with the hairbrush and the eraser. Nothing.

  I have to clear my mind. I have to not think of this. I have to think of nothing but power. My mind is power my mind is energy, my mind is energy I can move these objects. I can move this pencil.

  Pencil, move.

  She looked at the pencil. She studied its long yellow angled edges, the tiny black piece of lead at the point, and the worn away tip on the other end. The pencil was smooth and old, a relic from high school. She had used that pencil many times for notes, shopping lists, even tax math. She knew how the wood fit beneath her fingertips, where the grooves from her fingers pushing it against the page fit. She stared at the pencil lying on the table.

  The pencil is rolling onto the floor.

  The pencil is rolling onto the floor.

  The pencil is rolling onto the floor.

  I can see it. I see you rolling, Mr. Pencil. Rolling Pencil, be free of the table.

  The pencil didn’t move.

  The pencil is on the floor.

  She pushed hard with her mind. Her head began to ache around the temples.

  The pencil wobbled slightly. Her heart beat a bit faster.

  The pencil is on the floor. You are rolling onto the floor. Rolling now on to the floor.

  The pencil wobbled a little more.

  Roll, roll onto the floor. Onto the floor onto the floor onto the floor.

  The pencil tumbled over itself once.

  Dorothy gasped. She clasped her hands to her mouth.

  Relax. Focus. Don’t lose the power. Contain it. Contain it.

  She quickly shifted and channeled her breath properly once more.

  Rolling onto the floor.

  The pencil rolled onto the floor.

  Dorothy restrained herself from jumping up in joy. A small grin appeared on her lips for a moment. She turned her focus to the next item on the table.

  The pen is rolling onto the floor.

  She pushed hard with her mind towards the pen; a new black pen with leather grip and silver clip she had used in her Book of Shadows to record her Beltane notes. She would have something to record on this day as well.

  The pen rolled once and stopped at the clip.

  Roll off the table and onto the floor.

  The pen bounced up from the clip, rolled off the table and landed on the floor. Dorothy’s stomach tightened. She stared at the pencil and the pen lying on the floor by her feet. It’s quite amazing, really.

  Dorothy turned her attention to the eraser. It was an old-fashioned pink rubber square. She had found it in her grandmother’s desk when she was a kid. The eraser had fascinated her; she secretly used it whenever she visited. One day, her grandmother had noticed Dorothy erasing a note and told her she could keep it. Dorothy had been happy and kept the eraser in a safe spot. After that, Dorothy rarely used it. It grew hard over time, losing its erasing capabilities. It was heavier than a pencil or pen and not round. She would have to slide it or flip it over like a tire.

  Onto the floor with you, Mr. Pinky!

  The rubber inched along the tabletop, then fell over the edge.

  It landed on the floor beside the pencil and pen.

  Her last item was the hairbrush. It was large, prickly compared to the other items. It was a cheap brush, one that she never used.

  Onto the floor with you! she commanded mentally.

  She pushed her mind hard and felt the prickles of the hairbrush pushing back.

  Weird.

  She pushed with her mind again.

  Onto the floor with you. The hairbrush wobbled a bit and then held still. Dorothy pushed again with her mind and this time she felt no push back. The brush rolled and then dropped to the floor.

  She looked at the four items on the floor. She allowed herself a small grin.

  Don’t get cocky.

  She looked at the pencil.

  Roll over to the door.

  She pushed with her mind and the pencil rolled over itself and stopped by the door. Her heart beat rapidly, forehead sweating. The headache grew a bit stronger. She rubbed her temples with her fingers.

  Roll back to me.

  The pencil rolled back to her and stopped by her foot. She picked it up with her hand and put it back on the table.

  Amazing!

  She picked up the pen, pencil and eraser from the floor and returned them to the table. Her head ached with sharp spikes. She put her head in her hands for a few moments, rubbing her temples. She peeked out at the items still sitting on the table in front of her.

  It was me, wasn’t it?

  She looked around the room and she figured that there were no ghosts. Today she hadn’t felt any at all. So it had to have been herself that moved the items. Pleased, she stood up and stretched. Her bones popped, and she enjoyed relief. She realized that she was really hungry.

  Thank You Blessed Spirits for helping me move these items. I really want to master the art of telekinesis. It’s going to come in handy one day.

  She went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. She looked at the meager offerings inside. Leftover stir-fry takeout food from the day before. The fixings for a salad but she wasn’t in the mood to chop and slice. Lots of juice to make smoothies and fruit to go with it. None of it appealed to her.

  Maybe I’ll go for a walk and see if anything calls to me.

  * * *

  It was a cloudy evening with the salt spray from the ocean hanging thick in the air. Pockets of fog gave New England an old Victorian look. Dorothy felt as if she were on a movie set. As she walked, Dorothy heard the waves from the ocean slapping the shore in the distance. It sounded like the tide was rushing in today, strong waves crashing. There was a bit of a drizzle, but the air was noticeably warmer than it had been in weeks. Spring was well on its way and she couldn’t wait for it. As she walked along the cobblestone of the city, she noticed even though it was after sunset there had been more growth in the gardens.

  There were a lot of people out and about with the warm weather. Some of the outdoor patios were open with people in heavy coats sitting stubbornly at the little chairs watching the world go by. Dorothy’s stomach grumbled but at least her headache was beginning to dissipate. She walked along until she came to the Crone’s Cauldron, one of Hermana’s more popular taverns. She walked inside and plopped herself into one of the wood panelled booths. She grabbed one of the menus that was stuck into the wooden holder at the far end of the table. The large laminated menu was full of pub grub and an assortment of bottled and draft local craft beer. Dorothy pulled out a typed-up piece of paper that displayed the daily specials.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted one of her coven sisters, Toni, working her shift as a server. Dorothy smiled at her. Toni grinned and came over to take her order, looking much different in a traditional waitress uniform with tucked white cotton shirt and black dress pants than in the robe she wore at the circles.

  “Good day?” Toni asked, pushing her short black bangs from her eyes, her pencil in hand ready to write in her little notebook.

  “Yeah, not bad,” Dorothy said
. “Not bad at all.”

  “Not so bad for me either. Perhaps Beltane is working its magic.”

  “We can only hope,” Dorothy said. She looked back at the menu.

  “What do you want today?” Toni asked. Dorothy tapped at the paper.

  “Are the specials still on?”

  Toni nodded. “About another hour or so. We run them late for the tourists. They’re trickling in. The Beltane Celebration gets bigger every year.”

  “I was amazed at how many people were there this year. How many do you think?” Dorothy asked.

  “Someone posted that it was nearly a thousand people. All spread out everywhere,” Toni said.

  “That’s incredible. And so peaceful. I didn’t see anything bad this year. I almost expected something to happen with some of the other stuff that’s happened over the past few months.”

  “I’m not sure if Hermana draws in the crazies or makes us that way once we get here,” Dorothy said.

  Toni looked down at the menu in Dorothy’s hand.

  “Oh, right, sorry!” Dorothy laughed. “Just because I have all night doesn’t mean that you do... Let’s see... I’ll take a club sandwich, please.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “And maybe a glass of water with a lime.”

  “Great. I’ll be back in a sec with your drink,” Toni left.

  Dorothy looked around the room. She did like this place. There weren’t a lot of people in yet as it was that in-between time of day when it wasn’t dinner time or drink time and there wasn’t a live band. Tony returned with her beverage.

  “Here you go,” Toni said as she placed it on the wooden table.

  “Thanks.”

  “So, what brings you out tonight?” Toni asked.

  “Getting a little bit of cabin fever in there. It’s so nice out. I was just walking around and ended up here,” Dorothy said. “It seems like all I did all winter was watch Scary Haunted Tales reruns.”