Calm Before the Witch Storm
by
Constance Barker
Copyright 2019 Constance Barker
All rights reserved.
Similarities to real people, places or events are purely coincidental.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Calm Before the Witch Storm
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Abstract:
Instructions:
Warning:
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Thanks for Reading
Catalog of Books
Who do you think you are,
NANCY DRUID?
Chapter 1
Great-Aunt Nancy’s house looked just as Nann remembered as she pulled the rental car from the winding gravel road up to the broad space in front of the garage. The drive from the Syracuse airport lasted almost as long as the flight from JFK. She was here now—let the adventure begin. Another car, a fancy-looking SUV, parked in the shade of the gingerbread pile. Out of it stepped a trim woman, about Nann’s mother’s age, in a blue power suit and heels. Her look was incongruous with the surrounding wilds.
Nann glanced at the view of the lake visible from the front of the house. Wind made waves of uncut grass atop the bluff. She was sure you could see all the way to Canada from here.
“Barb Buford, Shoreline Properties,” the woman thrust out a hand. “You must be Nancy Szymanski.”
“Call me Nann,” Nann shook Barb’s hand. “Nann, with two n’s. Can you hear it? Nannnnn. Nancy Szymanski is too rhymey. I was named after my great-aunt and my grandmother. Nancy Ann Szymanski, which is fun to say, but not really a good name. So Nann. Call me Nann.”
“With two n’s.”
Nann slapped the woman on the shoulder. “Yes! You’re getting it.”
Barb took a breath. “Well, welcome back to Founder’s House. It’s all yours now, I understand. Let’s go take a look.”
More than a decade had passed since Nann last visited. Aunt Nancy was diagnosed with dementia not long after her husband, Uncle Ed, passed. Nann never saw the symptoms. Aunt Nancy was always crazy. “I haven’t been here since high school.”
Barb paused unlocking the door. “You must know all the house’s secrets.”
“Mostly I learned how not to get third-degree sunburn and poison ivy.” Nann craned her neck. “It looks bigger than I remember.”
They walked in through the kitchen. All the furniture remained, covered up like you saw in old cartoons about haunted houses. From the living room, the view was breathtaking. Lake Ontario filled the horizon with blue. Below the bluff was a private beach. Surrounding were dense woods. From the west, the concessions at the state beach wafted fried and sugary smells on the breeze.
“Welcome to Port Argent, the city that never came to be. Capt. William Argent built this house after his service in the War of 1812. He promoted the area as the future of shipping to the frontier. As you can see, it wasn’t to be.” Barb must have given this speech before, Nann thought.
She prowled around the first floor of her new digs, Barb dogging her steps. Smells of old wood, warmed by the summer, flooded Nann with memories. When she stepped into a powder room, she noticed the toilet seat was missing. Which was weird. Tiny hooved tracks crossed the hexagonal tile.
“This would make a great vacation home. Port Argent State Beach Park has become one of the top vacation destinations in New York. We have fishing, swimming, boating, a wonderful golf course, cabins, hotels, B-and-Bs, nature, hiking, just everything.”
It sounded like Barb was trying to pitch the place. Nann already owned it. She walked through the foyer, passing the dining room, a big bedroom, a room just for sitting, and finally another guest room with tall windows and a view of the wooded slope. A glance told her that the toilet seat was gone from the en suite bathroom. What was up with that?
“What I’m saying is that you could get a really good price for this house. In fact, I have some papers if you’d like to pursue a quick sale,” Barb went on.
Down the hill, a tiny pig ran through the trees, a toilet seat in its mouth. Nann stared. The trip from New York was less than three hours. She wasn’t exhausted or anything. The pig, dwarfed by the white ring in its mouth, vanished in the woods.
As a practicing witch, Nann had frequent visions, and had learned to pay attention to them. But she had no idea what a little pig running around with a toilet seat might mean. Distantly, Barb prattled on and Nann followed the voice back to the kitchen. Documents covered the kitchen table. Barb, holding a pen, gave her a hopeful look.
“Where’s Mr. Greenbaum? I thought Aunt Nancy’s lawyer would be handing over the keys.”
“He’s semi-retired, probably off somewhere playing golf. Now, as I was saying, you could probably get in the high six figures, maybe even...”
Nann gazed out the kitchen window at a path below. It led to the altar circle where Aunt Nancy and her friends would have barbecues and dance naked in the moonlight, occasionally burning an effigy contained within a wicker man. Good times.
“You know, it’s probably a good thing, you showing me the house,” Nann said. “My bookstore is packed up and on its way here. I need a place to set up shop.”
Barb Buford’s features drooped. “You’re not interested in selling?”
“Did you not hear the word ‘bookstore?’ I’m kinda counting on living for next to nothing. You must know some retail space in Port Argent.” Nann’s eyes swept past Barb. Pots and pans hung over the stove, the cabinets in pale wood, the floor tile dark. It felt homey and vacation-y at the same time.
“Are you sure? We could take care of this today.” Barb tried to sound hopeful.
“I gotta check into my hotel. The power and gas won’t be on until tomorrow. Who knows when the cable and internet guy will come. But it would be great if you showed me around town, found me a new place for the bookstore.”
“I CAN’T BELIEVE THE price of a lease around here.” Nann sat with Barb in Kim’s Café, a greasy spoon on Main Street. “Where do they think this is, Manhattan? I paid half as much for the shop in Brooklyn.”
Other than she and Barb, a plump blond about Nann’s age sat at a table, glancing at the door and the time on her cell phone.
“That’s why you can sell for so much, Nann. This is an exclusive community now, much more posh than when you visited as a girl. People want upscale businesses, the best of the best.”
“What are you saying, Greenpoint Books is chopped liver?”
“A used bookstore is always a great place to shop. Personally, I can spend all day in one. But that’s hardly upscale, Nan.”
“Nann. Nannnn. With two n’s.” She scanned the joint. It was nice, the coffee and pastry pretty good, but upscale? Nah. She dug through her conjure bag and checked her cell. “The truck is loaded. It’ll be on the road in a few hours. Where am I gonna keep all those books? My garage? I gotta find a place fast.”
“I know a place.”
The hang-dog blonde turned in her chair. She eyed Nann’s conjure bag. “Is that alligator?”
“It’s Javan rhino.” She waited for a smile, but the chubby blonde only looked confused. “Where is this place? Is it close?”
“Not too far. It’s the next town over,” the blonde said. “I’m Zinnia. I have a gallery there.”
Barb nearly dropped her coffee cup. “Not Cemetery Center! That place is horrible.”
Zinnia’s brow wrinkled. “It is not horrible. It’s up-and-coming.”
“It’s down-and-outing,” Barb said. “That whole town should be washed into Lake Ontario.”
“It’s not that bad,” Zinnia lied. “Plus it’s cheap.”
Nann’s ears pricked up. “Cheap? I’m in.”
“It’s cheap because of all the tweakers. Not even the bars and strip clubs managed to stay open after the mill shut down.” Barb shook her head. “I wouldn’t even bother looking, Nann.”
What choice did she have? Well, none, at this point. The owner of her old building was set to demolish the place and build condos. While he had offered to sell her a retail space in the new building where her old space was, Nann would have to put everything in storage for a year until the place was knocked down and rebuilt. Also, she didn’t have an extra five million dollars lying around.
Ten minutes later, they rode in Zinnia’s truck through farm country.
“I don’t know if this is gonna work. I don’t own a car. Heck, until this morning, I hadn’t driven in years. Is there a bus or something?”
Zinnia kept her eyes on the road. “Yeah—no. You live up on the bluff over Port Argent, right? You’re going to need a car. Or, considering that road, a truck. This is the Great Lakes. We have weather here.”
“A truck? I can barely drive that little compact. That, and I’m on a budget.” Aunt Nancy had left her some money along with the house, but not that much. Hopefully enough to move the store and get set up. And eat. Eating was important. “A gallery, huh?”
“I’m a painter.”
“You sell your work there?”
Zinnia’s face colored. “Oh, no, I’m not that good. Mostly photography, some local artists. I give classes to make ends meet.”
Ahead, a sign appeared, hanging askew by one screw. It read “Welcome to Amity Corners” but someone had graffitied a C-A-L before the Amity. “Amity? Like where Jaws the shark ate all those people? Like the Amityville horror?”
“I swear it’s not that bad.”
“No, that’s perfect! My shop focuses on supernatural books. What better...”
A few houses appeared, sagging roofs and porches, boards over windows. The ones that appeared abandoned looked better than the occupied ones. Young mothers with a zillion children hung out on stoops looking desperate and bored. Shuttered buildings gathered as they drove on, closed bars, tattoo shops, guns stores, check cashers. Only a bar and grill, a liquor store and a convenience store looked open. They also looked ready to fall down from neglect.
Just before Nann asked Zinnia if she could, please, drive her back to Port Argent, a spiky brick building appeared where the road sloped upward. It took up most of the block, three stories tall, little spires, turrets and a bunch of chimneys jutting from the mansard roof.
“That looks like a place where the Addams Family and the Munsters shop.” Before she could complete the joke, Zinnia pulled over.
Zinnia got out. Nann stayed in the car. “You serious?”
All hurt eyebrows and pouty mouth, Zinnia set her jaw. “It’s nicer than you think.”
“Whatever.” Reluctantly, Nann got out of the truck. She looked both ways along the sidewalk. Before she could make up her mind whether the town looked post-nuclear-holocaust or Deliverance-hillbilly, Zinnia unlocked the door to a gallery.
Nann took a breath. Plate glass windows bore the gold-leaf legend GALLERY. The trim was wooden, and recently painted. Inside, the ceiling soared, the hardwood floors gleamed, paintings and prints stood on easels, hung on walls. Sculptures stood on platforms and in a glass counter. The tall, narrow windows let in a lot of light.
“Okay, I take it back. This is a real nice gallery, Zinnia.” Nann paced the floors, noticing they didn’t creak much. “And it’s big.”
“This is only half of it.” Zinnia motioned to her and stepped through a door. On the other side was the same size space, this one filled with long tables, easels, racks of art supplies. “Here’s where I teach. And then, back there, is my office.”
“Oh. My. Gawdess! This place is yuge!” Nann did a quick calculation. Did she have enough books to fill a space like this?
“The storefront for rent is just like this, on the other side of the building. There are apartments upstairs.”
“Yeah? Anything for rent?” Nann thought about the offer on her aunt’s house.
“No, there are just two. I rent one, and the owner, Tom, has the other.”
“Two apartments in this enormous building?”
“They were supposed to be office spaces, but no one ever wanted to start a business here.” Zinnia shrugged. “Let’s go up and talk to Tom.”
Before they could, the only traffic they’d seen since arriving in Calamity Corners filled Cemetery Street. Nann stared out at the parade—beat up pickups, dusty old cars and half a dozen police vehicles took the road across from the gallery. Squinting, Nann saw a big, fenced in parking lot.
“What’s all that?”
Zinnia’s brow furrowed. “No clue.”
“Drug bust?”
“Way too many civilians.” Zinnia led her out of the gallery. “Let me show you my place, and we can talk to Tom. He owns the tattoo shop in the middle. Maybe he’s up by now.”
They had to go outside to get to the second floor stairs. Steep, narrow and creaking, by the time Nann surmounted them, she was breathing hard. Three doors framed the landing. Zinnia opened the one above her gallery and turned on the lights.
“Oops, wrong ones.”
Nann saw the dull orange glow of heat lamps, at least a dozen, before Zinnia switched them off and turned on standing lamps. She stared at the acre of living room, a big sectional dwarfed by the volume of space. Covered easels sat in a corner by the windows. She practically needed binoculars to see the kitchen. “You could fit, like, four or five of my parent’s Brooklyn two bedroom in here.”
Zinnia smiled. “I really need my space.”
“You really need furniture. And maybe a golf cart to get to the bathroom.” Nann tilted her head at the sectional couch. Half a dozen electric cords trailed off of it. The whole couch was covered in electric blankets.
Nann startled as Zinnia shrieked with laughter. “Javan rhino! That’s awful!”
So her new friend was a little slow. So what? “Why Cemetery Center?”
“Actually, it’s called Amity Center. But it’s on Cemetery Street. And, well, there was a battle here during the French and Indian War. The Accidental Battle. British troops were heading west to cross the lake near Niagara Falls, French troops were heading east to attack Fort Oswego. Both sides were surprised, and it was a massacre. The dead were buried in a mass grave.”
“Here? Under our feet?”
Zinnia waved her hands around vaguely. “Around here somewhere. There used to be a church on this site, but it burned down. Like, three times. People name things around here whatever they want. Amity Corners becomes Calamity Corners, Amity Center becomes Cemetery Center, like that.” She looked at her watch. “Tom should be awake by now. He owns the building. That’s his tattoo shop, downstairs in the middle.”
Nann followed Zinnia out of the odd apartment. She glanced at the middle door on the landing. “What’s behind here?”
“Oh, the third floor stairs. There’s nothing on the third floor.” Zinnia knocked on the door opposite hers. Almost immediately, a young man with long blue hair on the left, a shaved head on the right, wearing a scowl, walked out. He shrugged into a flannel shirt.
“Hey, Zinn, is there a problem?”
“Tom, no, but my friend Nann needs some retail space.”
His
face brightened. “Sweet. Listen, I’m late to join the search party. Can you show her around?”
Digging keys from his jeans, he handed them over. “Search party?”
“That kid who went missing a few weeks ago. He’s still missing.”
“That’s so sad.” Zinnia said.
He waved as he hurried down the stairs. “Nice meeting you, Nann. Talk to you later.”
A search party for a missing kid? This town was getting worse by the minute.
Chapter 2
Despite the requisite dust, heaps of garbage, plywood windows and broken furniture pieces, Nann gasped at the space. Without a dividing wall, it was nearly twice as big as Zinnia’s gallery.
“Kind of a mess, but it has potential,” Zinnia said.
She switched on the lights. Only two out of two dozen lit up. One of the many fans turned, the rest still. A built-in counter sat across from the plate glass window. Behind the counter, a door led into an office. The rest felt like a few square hectares of retail space. “This is incredible. I don’t think I could fill it.”
“Your old store was smaller?”
“It felt more like you were buried in an avalanche of books than a store.”
“I’ll help you clean up.” Zinnia made a wide circuit around the space. “Hopefully Tom will give you the same rent as me.”
Nann’s eyes bugged at the rent. She might actually be able to make a living in this store. She said aloud, “Except it won’t be cheap to heat that big old house. And I’ll need a car.”
“Truck.”
“Whatever. But my books will be heading here soon. I don’t think I have any choice but to take it. Is there somewhere we can eat, wait for Tom to get back?” From searching for a missing boy, her mind added. Nann ignored her mind.
“No. That’s why I was in Port Argent.”
“You drove all the way to Port Argent to sit in that diner?”
Zinnia paced away. “Well, I was there to meet a guy. He didn’t show.”
Awkward. Nann felt compelled to fill the silence. “What about that greasy spoon we passed on the way here?”
Calm Before the Witch Storm Page 1
